Gemotions

The antique dealer, his voice like dry leaves rustling in the wind, had just broken the news. Her meticulously curated home, a testament to her refined taste, had been a scene of unspeakable violence. A shudder racked her frame, the delicate china in her hands clinking together.

She excused herself from the dealer, her legs feeling like lead. Walking through her elegant dining room, she now saw the gleaming mahogany table as a potential witness, the chairs surrounding it like empty, accusing gazes.

She gripped her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, suffocating. She rushed into the garden, seeking solace in the blooming roses, but even their vibrant colours seemed muted, tainted by the knowledge that had just been given.