Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the grimy windows of the house. Maya ran a hand over the chipped paint of the front door, the wood cool and unresponsive. Her brother, David, was busy photographing the overgrown garden, a smile plastered on his face. She felt nothing.

Inside, the house smelled of mothballs and decay. She walked from room to room, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floors. She opened drawers, looked at portraits of distant relatives, and felt… a blankness.

“Isn’t it amazing, Maya?” David called from the hallway. He sounded exhilarated. She shrugged, offering a small, tight smile. The furniture, the rooms, the history… it all felt like a movie she wasn’t invested in.