There is actually a list (a real piece of paper with writing on it) of things I should be doing right now rather than writing fan fiction, however, I find myself unable to ignore the charming requests of my "salivating" reviewer; you have quite a way with words, shywarrior. Faery power, indeed. And for TheRestOfMe, who acknowledged the story was complete unto itself: thank you. For Firebrand, who appreciates irony, an admirable human trait, and Nanci, who is Fanfiction's most prolific reviewer, and DianaLecter, who is Fanfiction's most prolific writer—for them, I continue where I should have left off. Hey, I'm reviewing my reviews! What's that called, Firebrand? Yeah. Okey-dokey, here we go…
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It was an unusually mild winter in Salzburg, and a charming couple dined at a lovely table above the city. Lecter effortlessly charmed his dinner companion, though it was the blazing orb on the eastern horizon that captivated him. Even early in the evening, Jupiter shone like a beacon in the sky.
"Milos?"
Lecter lowered his eyes to meet those of the woman across from him. Even at her age, she was a great beauty, and Lecter wondered if he shouldn't perhaps take her up on her offer.
"Mila, darling, I would never think you to sully your reputation with the likes of an uncouth American of my ill-repute. You surprise me, Countess." He allowed the slightest hint of real venom in his smile to further dissuade her, but it only served to excite her all the more.
"I accept full responsibility for my actions," she paused, then purred, "And for yours, if necessary."
Lecter chuckled appreciatively. She was charming.
"I shall be returning home tomorrow. This is where we must part ways, my dear."
"Tomorrow! But why didn't you mention this before?"
"Because I've only just decided." There was a coldness in his tone, an intentional cruelty in his words that sent a shiver down her spine, made her wonder what she had done.
But she and her spine were direct descendents of generations of juggernauts with backbones stiff enough to withstand the endless political dissent inherent in the lives of Eastern European royalty. With a reciprocal degree of coolness, she demanded: "You may not be a man of breeding, but do make an effort to be human, at the very least, and explain yourself."
Hannibal Lecter found her quite more interesting in that moment than he could have imagined in the month since they'd first become acquainted. Amused by the knowledge that this was the single greatest lapse of decorum in the life of this 'lady of breeding', one whose bloodline he could doubtless trace to his own, he responded, as he otherwise would not have done: "I prefer someone younger."
Again the cruelty, but also something else. She observed him carefully, and in a moment had gleaned the truth, not from anything this man gave away—for truly, he didn't divulge it in any aspect of his demeanor—but from a woman's intuition.
There was someone else.
Strangely, she sensed that he was not aware of it. She sensed a lot of things about him. Watching him quietly, for an instant, she saw with more than her eyes.
Countess Ludmila was not accustomed to playing second fiddle to any woman, but had to remind herself of that to keep from asking him again to accompany her to her suite, even if only for a night.
TBC…writing, writing…it's past midnight…