Gemotions

The real estate agent, bless her heart, had gushed about the "charming history" of the Victorian. Amelia, however, now felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. "A murder?" she finally managed, her voice cracking. The detective across the kitchen table just nodded, his pen tapping a slow rhythm against the file. She felt a burning sensation in her cheeks. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed suddenly harsh, illuminating every dust mote dancing in the air.

She slammed the file shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent house. "I can't believe this!" she exclaimed, her voice climbing in pitch. The detective simply raised an eyebrow. The house, her dream home, now felt tainted, poisoned. She'd spent weeks painting the walls, choosing the perfect curtains. Now, all she could see were shadows, whispers of a past she never asked to inherit.