Gemotions

He stared at the antique chandelier, its crystal prisms catching the afternoon sun. Panic seized him, a cold fist clenching in his gut. The realtor had just cheerfully announced the discovery, her voice echoing in the vast, empty living room. A murder. Here. He wanted to scream, to dismantle the whole, pretentious structure. His stomach churned. He could barely breathe.

He ran his fingers through his hair, the gesture somehow inadequate. His dream home, this magnificent Victorian, now felt like a gilded cage. He imagined the unseen eyes, the ghosts of the past, forever watching. He felt utterly exposed, vulnerable. This was supposed to be his sanctuary, not a mausoleum of someone else's tragedy.