Gemotions

The morning light felt heavy as it seeped through the dusty windows of the inherited house. Amelia dragged herself out of bed, each movement a chore. The air hung thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten memories, a smell that did nothing to invigorate her. She stared at the cracked ceiling, the details blurring slightly, and considered going back to bed, but the thought was too much effort to act upon.

“Coffee,” she mumbled, the word a struggle. She shuffled downstairs, her feet barely lifting from the floorboards. The kitchen, once bustling with her grandmother's energy, now seemed to hold her down. Everything took an agonizing age to accomplish.

"Anything good in the world, or just more chores?" she sighed, opening the cupboard.