Gemotions

The realtor’s saccharine voice, still echoing in the freshly painted foyer, grated on Amelia's nerves. “Isn’t it charming? So much character!” The character, as it turned out, included a decades-old murder. Amelia slammed the front door, the expensive mahogany groaning in protest. “Charming,” she spat, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. She'd spent her life savings on this house, a supposed fixer-upper that had turned out to be a monument to someone else's pain. Each footstep on the gleaming hardwood felt like a violation. She ripped down the pristine curtains, letting the dusty sunlight flood the room.

The realtor's upbeat demeanor now felt like a personal affront. Amelia prowled the living room, hands clenched. She'd envisioned cozy evenings, laughter echoing off the walls. Now all she could picture was a pool of blood, a life extinguished within these very walls.

She kicked the ornate coffee table, the expensive wood splintering under the blow. “Character,” she muttered, her breath ragged. The thought of the previous owner's life ending here, on her floor, sparked a fury that threatened to consume her.