Remember: try to add tension to this snip. Make it more intriguing! And don't look at other people's changes until you make yours!
Her carriage slid around the last curve in the road, rounding the lawn of the Jackson home. The wagon she'd seen was pulled close to the steps with the back fully exposed. Blood saturated its floor, dripped through the cracks, and pooled on the ground beneath. The snow glistened in stark contrast to the encompassing scarlet puddles.
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The Jackson home loomed above the expanse of snow-covered lawn. She gripped the seat as her carriage slid precariously around the last bend of the icy front drive. Her coachman drew up short in front of the steps, next to the wagon she'd seen earlier. The glistening whiteness around it was marred by dark pools of... Blood! her mind recognized with horror. The back of the wagon was saturated with it, she saw--to the point that it had dripped through the cracks in the floor and formed the scarlet puddles that now contrasted so starkly with the crystalline purity of the snow.
The carriage shuddered and slid on an ice patch as she rounded the last curved hill leading to the Jackson family home. The wagon was there. She shuddered again. The tarp was thrown up exposing the back. It was empty but blood saturated the wood slate floor forming rivulets in the cracks. So much blood. Thick crimson droplets fell in a slow freezing rhythm on to the snow. The speckles formed pools that didn’t melt the snow. Please, no, she prayed.
Her carriage slid around the last curve in the road, rounding the lawn of the Jackson home. The wagon she'd seen was pulled close to the steps with the back fully exposed. It was dripping.
She jumped out, stumbling in the snow toward the carriage, the deadly puddles of scarlet glistening against the white. She was too late.
[Oh, cool! Very creepy. Great contrast between the blood and snow.]
Her carriage slid around the last curve in the road, rounding the lawn of the Jackson home. [Hmm. How is she feeling about going to the Jackson's? Opportunity to throw in some of the sixth sense here.] The wagon she'd seen was pulled close to the steps with the back fully exposed. [This is too much info, too soon, in my opinion. I'd like to see the recognition drawn out a bit, delayed. I think I want to see the blood, and know what that much blood means, then strike with the recognition and the significance of the tragedy. Of course, I'm just guessing at the importance of the wagon.] Blood saturated its floor, dripped through the cracks, and pooled on the ground beneath. The snow glistened in stark contrast to the encompassing scarlet puddles.
Her carriage rounded the last curve in the road, sliding up to the snow-covered lawn of the Jackson home. She was looking forward to her visit with the Jacksons... to warming her feet by the fire with a mug of mead, to seeing an end to the hard journey of her travels, to getting out of this bloody carriage! The horses whinneyed, stopping with such force that she was thrown from her seat. She looked out the window at what the trouble was and couldn't focus on the image before her, though there was something dreadfully familiar about the horrific scene. It was a wagon, she knew that much, though cloth had been thrown aside leaving the back fully exposed. Blood saturated its floor, dripped through the cracks and pooled on the ground beneath, the white snow glistening in stark contrast to the encompassing scarlet puddles. Feeling bile rise in her throat, she recognized the wagon as the one she'd seen earlier.
She rarely used the whip, but did so now, driving the already lathered horses to greater speed. The carriage skittered around the last curve, nearly unseating her as it swung from the road onto the Jackson property. The wagon she'd tried to catch was pulled close to the home's front steps. As she drew up near it, she gasped at the sight of the wagon's bed. It was saturated with blood that yet dripped through the cracks and pooled on the ground beneath. The untouched snow around it glistened in stark contrast to the spreading scarlet puddles. But whose blood stained the frozen ground, and who had come back whole?
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