How To Describe A Voice In Writing の小説・ストーリー

By two o'clock, twenty. I saved the file, leaned back in my chair, and stared at the ceiling with my heart hammering against my ribs. The words were good. They were better than good. They were the kind of words that made readers stay up until dawn, the kind that got quoted in reviews with breathless caps lock and too many exclamation points. They were also terrifying. Because the hero's voice sounded exactly like someone I was trying very hard not to think about. My phone rang. Linda's name flashed on the screen.

It was deep and alluring – like he had permanent morning voice. The clearing was silent except for the slow, almost excruciating, sound of footsteps getting closer to the line. The crunching of the leaves was haunting – I suddenly wish we didn't have our backs turned to them. The mixture of the suffocating scent and the eerie silence was going to send me over the edge.

Her words may be spoken in a hushed tone, as if she fears intruding upon the space of others. There is a certain innocence and purity in her voice, creating an endearing charm that draws him closer. Her shy voice evokes a sense of tenderness, encouraging those around her to approach with patience and kindness. In conversation, her voice may trail off at times, as if she retreats into her thoughts and finds solace in her own quiet world. She often speak softly, almost as if she is afraid of imposing herself or speaking out of turn. Yet, within the delicate tones of her voice, lies a depth of emotion and a wealth of untold stories waiting to be discovered by those who take the time to truly li

I spoke softly and carefully, but he didn’t seem to register my voice. I attempted to speak again, but still, it was like my voice was being carried on the wind, moving away from him. He took a small, yet deliberate step forward. The sound of his shoe on the floor was light, but it echoed just enough to almost seem terrifying in the silence that surrounded him.

a voice whispered in my mind, familiar yet mysterious. "Who are you?" I asked, trying to discern the person's identity from their voice alone. I struggled to comprehend the identity of the person solely based on their voice, but it proved to be a challenging task. "You and your ruthless mate ruined my life. I am going to ruin your lives too. I won't stop until both of you beg me to stop," the voice whispered, its words carrying a chilling promise. Shivers ran down my spine, and I found myself tightly gripping the bars of the window.

Great. Two hours slip by without me noticing, the world around me fading as the seductive voice of the narrator pulls me deeper into the story. His voice is intoxicating, almost sinful, and I find myself hanging onto every word. I can’t help but blush as I catch myself practically drooling over the sound of his voice. It’s both soothing and unsettling at the same time. The accent is so like Dante, I finally realise. I shoot a message to Lucy: This is evil, just so you’re aware.

I have a husband who tattooed the entire constellation on his back so he would never get lost. When everything goes to shit, look for Sirius. Remember there is always a north. Remember that he exists, that I exist, that Claire exists. That we built this together. I touch the page with my fingertips, and it feels as if the world contracts. I hear my own voice. Not metaphorically. Literally—the voice resonates in my head with a clarity that is neither constructed memory nor dream fragment. It is my voice, with my accent, with the specific cadence I use when writing for myself, reading the words aloud as I write them.

’ I shiver when a speedy, bloodless breeze hits my moist body. I shake my head when I hear a voice, as if calling me from the bottom of his heart. I closed my ear with my palms. No, I don’t prefer to hear anything from anyone. I have no one. But when I cling to my hand, I heard the same voice once more. And my heart knows. A voice that pricked my coronary heart till it bled. Taking a sip of my espresso, I look around the lovely, vibrant landscape with stunning plant life until my eyesight goes.

I added, my voice dripping with an icy venom. I could feel the power pulsing through me, like a surge of electricity coursing through my veins. The air crackled with tension, like static electricity before a lightning strike. My lips curled into a smirk, and my voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “I have an idea,” I purred, a glint of mischief sparkling in my eyes. “Let's make this cheating memorable.” My words were like a poisonous dart, aimed right at his heart. The air between us felt charged, electric, like a dance of temptation.

Her voice, a melodic symphony of authority and compassion, danced through the air, captivating all who had the privilege of hearing it. Each word that escaped her lips was like a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of my heart, painting a picture of strength and tenderness intertwined. As her voice enveloped me, I found myself lost in the depths of her enchanting melody, unable to resist the allure that emanated from her very being.