Gemotions

"Honestly," Miles muttered under his breath, kicking at a cobweb-draped trunk. He wasn't particularly thrilled with this house; the leaky faucet, the warped floors, the constant creaking. Now, this. He hadn't bothered to look up here before, figuring it would be empty. He'd been wrong.

Inside the trunk, he found a child's collection of wooden toys, all missing pieces. A doll's dress, threadbare and faded, lay crumpled at the bottom. The details made him want to retch. He pictured the children who used to live here, probably spoiled, pampered, everything handed to them on a silver platter.

His jaw tightened. He grabbed a dusty candlestick, examining the intricate carvings. Every little detail screamed of a generation of carelessness. He was going to have to clean this all up. He couldn't help the small thought that he hoped the previous owners got fleas.