Gemotions

The wallpaper, a faded floral pattern, seemed to inch closer with every sunrise. Eleanor ran a hand through her hair, a nervous habit she’d picked up since they’d moved in. Dust motes danced in the slant of the morning light, illuminating the stagnation of the air. She hadn’t been outside in three days.

“Breakfast?” her brother, Thomas, called from the kitchen. His voice echoed in the cavernous hallway, a sound that bounced back to her, smothering her. She didn’t answer, didn’t move. The house, once filled with the aroma of her grandmother’s baking, now felt like a mausoleum, heavy with unspoken expectations. She couldn’t shake the sense of being held, secured.

She stared out the window, at the overgrown garden, a riot of weeds and forgotten blooms. A bird pecked at the glass, and for a moment, Eleanor envied its freedom.