Gemotions

The house, a sprawling Victorian, was far too large for her. The silence was a physical presence, a suffocating blanket. She drifted through the empty rooms, the ghosts of memories echoing in the grand hallways. Her appetite had vanished, and she existed on a diet of weak tea and regret.

She was attempting to clear out the cluttered storage room when she found a small, unmarked door hidden behind a pile of old trunks. The door swung open with a faint groan, revealing a small, forgotten space.

Inside, a collection of paintings leaned against the walls, all in various stages of completion. Each painting a portrait of the one who was gone.