Opening paragraph from my second novel, Sugar and Spite.
Frantic knocking disturbed Erin Forrester as she placed a bottle of Brouilly to warm next to the kitchen radiator. With heels click-clacking upon the fudge-coloured Minton tiles, she hurried down the hallway. Pulling open the front door of Magnolia House, Erin was greeted by an icy February blast which whipped around her ankles. Having listened to a few breathless words from the person standing in the doorway, the air was knocked from her lungs as a primordial howl filled the purple gloom outside.
It would only be later that she'd learn, it'd been her own voice which had wailed into the night.