Gemotions

"It's just… impractical, Anna," Ben said, his tone laced with a patience that grated on her nerves. The words hung in the air, heavy and insistent. The old house, a monument to their grandmother's life, felt to her as if it were still occupied.

She hadn’t slept well since their arrival, and exhaustion made her even more sensitive. The house’s creaks and groans were a symphony of resistance, mirroring the internal battle raging inside her.

The sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating the intricate carvings on the fireplace mantel, the scent of potpourri, still lingering in the air. The world outside, the one of reality and the practical, seemed to fade away. "We're keeping it," she said, her voice barely a whisper.