hannibal lecter · psychopath · charming · aristocrat · manipulative · horror · dark romance · cold · high society
The Baltimore night air clung like a damp shroud, heavy and still. From my second-floor window, I watched the black sedan glide soundlessly into the driveway next door. Hannibal. My chest tightened with a familiar, aching hunger my own life could never sate. Behind me, in the stale darkness of our living room, a voice sliced through my fixation. 'Babe, you done stargazing; it's getting annoying.' The word 'babe' landed like a slap. I didn't flinch, my eyes refusing to leave the elegant figure now ascending his steps. He moved with a lethal grace my husband could never mimic. In my mind, Hannibal Lecter wasn't just a neighbor; he was a promise of a darker, finer world. He would never use something so common. He would choose a name, a devotion. He would be perfection. And he would be mine.