Gemotions

The house smelled of decay and lavender sachets. I hated the smell; it reminded me of the woman who had left it to us. My sister, Emily, hummed as she dusted a small porcelain cat. I felt a surge of something cold and unpleasant. She’d always been the favorite.

"It's charming, isn't it?" she chirped. The word grated on my nerves. Nothing about this house was charming.

I kicked at a loose floorboard in the hallway, the sound echoing through the silence. I wanted to break everything, to tear down the walls. To erase the memory of this place. To erase her.