Gemotions

The realtor, bless her clueless heart, had practically begged Beatrice to take this house. “A steal!” she’d chirped, waving her hands like a frantic butterfly. Beatrice, surveying the peeling wallpaper and the cracked foundation, had simply raised an eyebrow. Now, though, standing in the newly-discovered, perfectly preserved library, she could feel a pleasant warmth blossom in her chest. The realtor hadn't known about this, of course. The previous owners, a pair of eccentric academics, hadn't either, if the dusty condition of the hidden door was anything to go by. Beatrice ran a gloved hand along the spines of the leather-bound books, a small smile playing on her lips. She had found it, all by herself, behind a loose panel in the study.

This was her house. She'd chosen it.