Gemotions

The musty smell of mothballs and lavender hit Elias the moment he unlocked the front door. He coughed, a tight, rattling sound, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. The house felt heavier than he remembered, the silence thick and suffocating. He’d come to sort through his grandmother’s things, a task that felt like wading through molasses.

He wandered into the living room, the sunlight slanting across dust motes dancing in the air. His sister, Clara, was already there, meticulously dusting a porcelain doll. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical. “Found something interesting yet?” he asked, his voice flat.

Clara didn’t look up. “Not particularly. Just a lot of memories.” He knew that was a lie. He could see the strain around her eyes, the way her jaw clenched. He turned and walked out, letting the front door slam shut behind him.