The man who stood before her, clad in white and marked with ashes, had vacant eyes that opened to nothing. ... She wondered if the future of F. stood before her or merely one stanza of a very long song, a stanza sung and quickly forgotten.
It has been over a week and I have only half a chapter written. For fast-paced narrative in the first draft, this is slow for me. At least I am getting my mind back into it.
Sweet dreams, my chortling woodchucks!