Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the listing – the freshly painted walls, the manicured lawn – felt artificial, wrong. The property was a tomb, not a commodity. She felt a cold dread creep through her, a slow, icy tendril that reached into her core. Her hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms.

She wanted to call someone, but who? There was no one who would *understand*. It was a wound, a fresh wound. She sank into her chair, the light from the screen reflecting in her tear-filled eyes.