Gemotions

"Just breathe," she muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper. The new house, a stark, modern cube of glass and steel, felt cold, sterile. The move had been a necessity, a forced evacuation from a place filled with too many memories. Every surface seemed to reflect her own fractured reflection.

She was unpacking in the master bedroom, the last box filled with books. As she reached for one, a section of the wall behind the bookshelf unexpectedly gave way. It was as if the house itself was opening up to her, offering an escape. Or perhaps, a trap.

The room within was small and soundproof, a stark contrast to the open plan of the rest of the house. On a pedestal in the centre of the room, a single, ornate music box. The winding key felt heavy in her hand.