Gemotions

The moving boxes seemed to taunt Amelia from every corner of the living room, their cardboard faces grinning as if they knew the chaos they represented. Her jaw was clenched, a dull ache throbbing behind her temples. Finding the perfect spot for the antique grandfather clock, a family heirloom, felt like scaling a mountain. The new house, a sprawling Victorian, was proving to be a colossal undertaking.

She kicked at a rogue packing peanut, sending it skittering across the polished floorboards. The realtor had gushed about the house’s charm, but Amelia just saw the endless to-do list. Dusting, arranging, unpacking – it was a never-ending cycle.

The faint draft emanating from behind the library's bookshelf was almost imperceptible. Curious, she pressed her hand against the wood, and a section clicked inward. There, revealed, was a dark, narrow doorway. Her breath hitched.