Gemotions

"Honestly," muttered Eleanor, her voice a low rumble. The attic air was thick with the scent of mildew and forgotten things. She ran a hand across her forehead, pushing back a stray strand of grey hair. Her head throbbed, a dull ache that echoed her mood.

She had envisioned a clean slate, a fresh start in this new house. Instead, she was wading through the detritus of someone else's life. A chipped porcelain doll lay in the corner, its painted eyes staring blankly at the rafters. She nudged it with her toe. It clinked against the wooden floorboards.

She didn't want this. She wanted her things, her space. This...this felt like an intrusion, a violation of her sanctuary. She turned abruptly and marched back down the stairs, already planning how to hire someone to haul it all away.