“My softness is not silence—it is thunder, just hushed.”
The scream scatters like birds— they can run from volume, hide behind their own noise. But the whisper requires closeness, breath on the ear, the intimacy of shared air. Terror lives not in the storm but in the stillness before it breaks— not in the lightning but in the pause between flash and thunder. Lower your voice and they lean closer, draw them into the conspiracy of quiet truth. Proximity the weapon they cannot dodge, the blade sharpened on silence. The whispered threat echoes in the skull long after the shouted one is forgotten. Distance dilutes power— come close enough to see their pupils dilate, to feel their breath catch. The predator purrs before it pounces, the snake hisses soft as silk. Volume is the amateur's tool— the professional knows that terror travels best at a whisper's speed.
❤️
Beautifully written, the pauses, the silence, the knowledge gained in this, is a superpower xxx