Gemotions

“Just one more coat,” muttered Eleanor, her voice raspy. She was painting the guest bedroom, a task that now seemed to stretch into an eternity. Her arms ached, her back throbbed, and her head was filled with cotton. She felt the relentless tug of a magnetic force drawing her downwards. The paint fumes, usually innocuous, now seemed to deepen her lethargy.

A solicitor arrived, their face grim. “We need to discuss the property history, madam,” she said, her voice grave. The solicitor proceeded to explain the details, the unfortunate demise of the previous occupant, and the unsolved mystery. Eleanor's mind felt as if it was underwater. The information washed over her, barely making a ripple. She mumbled an acknowledgement, yearning for the escape only complete stillness offered.