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The Time that held her Still

The Time that held her Still

The musk of rotting walls
laced with web and dust
and ivy's fresh green
wet dark by fog
A blue dress,
the hem a scythe-whisper
across grass and weed.
Alabaster fingers
bruised by brick.
Fear runs, tracking blood
in its wake and wash
of flowers, closed, but
waiting.
Hands, white, gripping stone,
pulling,
wanting.
Sunlight, pulled under the mist water
drowning...
Time
white and bruised as the fingers which
claw the walls, crumbling
slips its hands between her breasts
to hold
her heart still.

Mastering Story Pacing: Techniques and Insights

Pacing is a crucial element of storytelling that dictates the speed and rhythm at which a narrative unfolds. Effective pacing keeps readers ...