Gemotions

Eliza traced the outline of a chipped teacup, the delicate porcelain cold against her fingertips. She’d found it in the kitchen, nestled among a stack of mismatched plates. The house felt like a labyrinth, each room a memory, each object a question mark. Her brother, Thomas, was upstairs, rummaging through their grandmother’s old bedroom, she could hear his muffled curses.

She poured herself a glass of water, the tremor in her hand making the water slosh over the rim. This inheritance… it felt like a responsibility she hadn’t asked for. Or wanted. She hadn't been close to her grandmother and the house represented a past she'd rather leave forgotten.

The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. She set the teacup down carefully and walked toward the window, her gaze lost in the overgrown garden. So much needed to be done. Where to even start?