Fear has a lot of flavors and textures. There’s a sharp, silver fear that runs like lightning through your arms and legs, and galvanizes you into action, power, motion. There’s heavy, leaden fear that comes in ingots, piling up in your belly during the empty hours between midnight and morning, when everything is dark, every problem grows larger, every wound and illness grows worse. And there is coppery fear, drawn tight as the strings of a violin, quavering on one single note that cannot possibly be sustained for a single second longer, but goes on and on and on, the tension before the crash of cymbals, the brassy challenge of the horns, the threatening rumble of the kettle drums. That’s the kind of fear I felt: horrible, clutching tension that left the coppery flavor of blood on my tongue.
~Jim Butcher, “Grave Peril”
Not a bad passage; the metal motif is especially nice. And having it intoned directly into my ears by James Marsters* as I walked alone on a foggy, pre-dawn street was particularly effective in the give-me-shivers department. Eeep!
*I hope whoever thought of having Spike read the Harry Dresden audiobooks got a big ol’ bonus for that stroke of genius.