Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the gloom. Elias, spatula still clutched in his hand, found himself staring at the wall. The previous owners, bless their hearts, had been keen on a particular shade of institutional beige. He’d known, of course, that the house was old, that hidden corners were practically guaranteed. He’d just… not cared enough to really *look*. This wasn't a discovery he was anticipating. It was just another thing.

He prodded at the wall with the spatula. It yielded with a disconcerting click, revealing a dark, yawning space. Another chore. Another burden.

His stomach clenched. He really should eat something.