Gemotions

The deed felt heavy in Elara's hand, like a cold, wet stone. She traced the cursive script of her grandmother's name, the loops and flourishes somehow mocking her. Everything was hers now. The creaky house on Hemlock Street, the chipped teacups, the dust-covered piano. All of it.

She closed the front door, the click echoing in the sudden silence. A wave of weariness washed over her. She knew the house needed work, a lot of work. The roof leaked, the porch sagged, and the garden was a tangle of weeds and overgrown roses. She sighed, the sound barely a whisper. What was the point, anyway?

“Well, here we are,” her brother, Mark, said, his voice bright, brimming with enthusiasm. He bounced on the balls of his feet. "Ready to get to it?"

Elara rubbed her temples. "Yeah," she replied flatly. "Let's."