Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, a bland drone, barely registered. Amelia barely glanced at the peeling wallpaper. The house was a mess, a testament to her grandmother's eccentric hoarding. But Amelia saw possibilities. She walked through the dusty living room, head held high, a slight smile playing on her lips. She could *fix* this. She already had a vision: exposed brick, polished concrete floors, a sun-drenched reading nook where the ferns now choked the light. She’d renovate it, flipping it for a profit, a substantial profit. The realtor mentioned the leaky roof, the cracked foundation. “No problem,” Amelia said, her voice smooth and assured. “Nothing I can’t handle.”