Gemotions

He glared at the ornate, gilded frame of the mirror, a birthday present from his *beloved* Aunt Mildred. It was so obviously a passive-aggressive jab at his current minimalist aesthetic. He’d made it very clear he preferred clean lines, modern art. Now this thing, this *relic*, dominated the guest bedroom he was redecorating. The house itself had felt like a similar act of defiance from the previous owners. So many secrets.

He stomped across the room, the cheap laminate flooring creaking under his weight. He’d been told there were no surprises. He’d believed them. The back of the wardrobe, he noticed, looked different. He tapped it. Hollow. His knuckles ached with the force. He pushed harder and, with a groan, it gave way, revealing a small, dusty room.