Hello, again. I want to thank all of you for reading this, and I am truly humbled by your praise. The end is near for this little tale, but do not fret, dear ones. In the good tradition, there will be a sequel. I hope that you will all stay tuned, the next one will require a little patience. Once more, thank you, I hope I did well in your eyes. Now, to the tale….

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It is strange to see a known serial killer and psychopath sitting on a couch in a perfectly normal home with his arms wrapped around a woman laying curled against him. It is also strange to see the tenderness in his eyes as he watches her fingers exploring the blade she holds. The sunlight catches on the mirrored steel and flashes across their faces. It causes him to blink, leaving a trail of spots across his eyes. She closes the blade and lays it on the coffee table. Two days ago, she didn't look like a woman who could take a life. Last night as she lay sleeping, she looked as innocent as she had as a child. And now, as he brushes a finger across her hair, feeling her contentment in the moment, she still does not look like a monster. She looked like Emily. Sweet, sweet Emily. She had surprised him with the readiness with which she had accepted everything. She had accepted the monster, taking it as a true part of her, not just something that was to be locked away in a dark room. It was no longer a part of her to be shunned. She had accepted him for what he was, and had acknowledged that they were just alike. So much more than love, he kisses the back of her head and she is now gently waving her hand in time to the music. She is more than he had ever hoped for, she would complete him in ways that Clarice had not, could not.

Ah, Clarice. Clarice hadn't tried to capture him once she knew where he was. Still hadn't tried when she came into Emily's hotel room and found him there. No matter how much she loved him, she would never tell him to stop. And on the same note, she could never bring herself to deny him his freedom, or his life. Clarice had her place in his heart, shared her place in the world with little Mischa. She would always be his incorruptible little Starling. She need only a mirror to show her soul, her deeply ingrained morals and dedication. She would continue to serve the undeserving masters, for it was what she did. And she would continue loving him, for it was also what she did. He feels Emily's head turn in his arms, pressing against his shoulder He looks at her, the pale grey-blue eyes that are as deep as the ocean itself.

"Hmmm?" she has said something, but he is not sure what.

"Tell me again, tell me of Florence." she has the voice of a child at that moment, wanting nothing more than to hear his voice.

He is indulgent. "Of course, Emily."

She closes her eyes and lets him color her world. He is swiftly carried back there as he spins the tapestry for her. He steps into the Palazzo Capponi in his memory palace, and stands there, inviting her to join him. The smell of the old parchment is heavy in the air, dousing the place with age. She runs her hands over the manuscripts that lay on the desks, feeling them against her fingertips. He watches her with wonder, as she feels the vellum pages and closes her eyes, enthralled. She spins away from him, wandering through the halls. She finds the stairs to the servant's quarters, looking back to him for permission as she mounts the stairs. He nods, following her as she eases upwards. She is speechless as she sees the large painting of the Madonna hanging above the narrow bed. She involuntarily mimics the tilt of the Madonna's head, her eyes meeting the almond shaped one of the painting. She looks back to Lecter and smiles, then she is gone, back down the stairs and heading into the library where she had entered. He takes her hand as he leads her outside, into the sunlit streets of Florence. He introduces her to the sights and smells of the old city, and she is delighted. He watches as she walks along the bridge over the Arno, the late afternoon sun playing her hair and turning it to a pale gold. She was meant for Florence, and he is filled with delight when she turns back to him, smiling as the sun sets behind her. The moment is shattered, as a phone begins its insistent ring.

Emily opens her eyes and lets out a low growl. The phone in the kitchen is ringing, trying to coax her into answering it. Hannibal watches as she moves from her comfortable position against him and walks to the kitchen. He listens to her voice as she answers the phone, and he can still here the beginning Italian she was speaking to him in the Palazzo Capponi. He hears the change in her voice before he senses the danger. Her sentences become quick, chopped to a few words. Her goodbyes to the caller are laden with fear and anxiousness. She emerges in the living room, eyes dim as she comes back to the couch.

"What is it, Emily?" Instinct causing his hand to reach for the knife that is laying on the coffee table.

"The tabloids are running with a story, that I was helping the FBI. On the reopened case." her words are flat, she is contemplating her future. "Clarice wanted to let me know, she's on jump-out squad tonight. She had wanted to call later, but that prevented her form doing so."

Damn the Tattler and all the others. It is partially the result of his doing, trying to provoke her before by telling them that she was working on a profile for the FBI. "Emily, I'm sorry…" the words sound strange in his mouth. Has he ever really apologized to anyone before? She is shaking her head.

"No. They've been talking to the people in town, my patients. Mrs. Grimes. She saw a photograph and recognized you." She is shaking her head as he is rising to his feet. "Clarice is being pulled from the case, they're afraid she might let you escape again." a humorless laugh and she closes her eyes, running her hands through her hair. "God. I knew this was going to happen, but not so soon. Dammit, why did I listen to you when I got the request to do the profile?"

She opens her eyes and realizes that he is no longer on the couch, nor in the living room. She can hear his footsteps in the front hall. No, no, no. She knows what he is going to do and she is powerless to stop him.

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