Gemotions

Elara had been so proud of finding this place. A Victorian beauty, a steal! Now, standing in the formal dining room, the detective's words – "a domestic dispute, a fatal shooting" – echoed in her ears. She felt a deep, twisting ache in her gut. She had ruined everything.

The antique furniture, which she'd painstakingly restored, now felt grotesque, tainted by the house's history. She should have seen the hidden rot, the cracks beneath the surface. She was always too eager, too trusting.

She sank into a chair, her shoulders slumped. The elaborate wallpaper seemed to mock her, its intricate patterns now a blur of shame and regret. She felt physically sick, as if the past’s darkness clung to the very air she breathed.