Gemotions

"Honestly," Clara muttered, slamming a box of cookbooks onto the kitchen counter with more force than necessary. The movement did nothing to soothe the tightness in her shoulders. The house, with its polished surfaces and pristine white walls, seemed to amplify her internal discord. She longed for the familiarity of her old apartment, the cluttered chaos, the comfortable ease.

She slumped onto the floor in the living room, staring out the window. She hated everything. The trees that looked like toothpicks and felt as if they were mocking her from across the street. The vast, empty space. Even her favorite mug sat abandoned on the moving box.

She wandered over to the fireplace, trailing her fingers along the mantelpiece. The wood was cold and lifeless. Curiosity, a rare visitor these days, tugged at her. She pressed against the brickwork, idly. Behind the ornate façade, she found a latch, carefully hidden. A door swung inwards, revealing a dark passage.