Gemotions

"Seriously? You're kidding me," Maya said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The detective across the table – a weary-looking woman with kind eyes – merely nodded, her expression apologetic. Maya’s new dream home, a charming Victorian, had been the site of a decades-old murder.

She stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart was the only thing she could hear. She began pacing, her hands clenched into fists. “Charming,” she repeated, her voice laced with venom. "A quaint little murder shack." She imagined the previous occupants, their lives now irrevocably intertwined with death. It made her stomach turn.