Gemotions

"Oh, dear God," whispered Sarah, clutching the curtains. The sheer fabric felt cold and clammy against her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat, catching like a broken record.

The branches of the weeping willow, once a symbol of serene grace, now lay sprawled across Mr. Gable's prized koi pond, a scene of absolute devastation. The water, once shimmering and clear, was now a muddy brown.

A cold tremor ran through her, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. She had known the tree was old, but she had never anticipated this. Her hands trembled as she reached for a glass of water, spilling half of it.