Hey... this is the first Hannibal fanfic I've tried writing, so I'm not sure how well it will turn out...
people say I'm a great writer, but IMO, I never seem to be the greatest at fanfics... oh well, if it
doesn't interest you, maybe it'll at least amuse you... *shrugs*... it's not finished yet, so tell me if
I should finish and post it... if I do, I promise it will get better... I already have an ending in mind
;)... okie dokie? Sweet...
Disclaimer: I don't own our Good Doctor or Clarice or Mischa... the Satines, Antonio, Michael,
and all the other lovely characters that I may decide to add in most likely belong to me... but I'm
figuring u already knew... just don't sue me... cos u'll get... well... most likely nothing cos thats all
I have ^_^ ...
The Diary of Mischa Lecter
Hannibal stood staring down at the grave. His aging maroon eyes were filled with sadness. We
can see them only by the soft glow of the setting sun in the distance. He holds his right hand over
his heart, in which is enclosed a rose and a few blooms of lavender. The more the dim sun dips
behind the trees which surround this courtyard of the dead, the more the eyes of Hannibal Lecter
weep. For the first time in many, many years, we see a tear roll down Hannibal's face.
Clarice Starling, who's own aging was beginning to become apparent, approached gently the side
of her husband, even though under the circumstances they could never legally become married.
She rested her head upon his shoulder, which became a signal that she thought they should leave.
Hannibal stared down to the grave one last time before he dropped the flowers and watched them
flutter gracefully and land peacefully on the stone. He took the hand of his wife and walked off in
the opposite direction of the sunset. But even after they were miles away from the site, the image
of the grave still burnt clearly in his mind.
Mischa Maru Altamonte
30 Dezember 1941 -
28 Marz 1995
Frau und Mutter geliebt.
It had taken him so long to find her. All his life, she had been the one waking him from his sleep,
screaming in his dreams, whispering throughout the day. He would have given anything to see her
again. To see that look in her eyes whenever she spotted the color purple, to watch her hair
flowing in the wind, to smell her dresses and hair ribbons after she had played in the flowers all
day, to touch her damp skin after she had taken a bath. He longed to be near her again, every
second of his day.
It was Clarice who had invented the idea. Smart, lovely Clarice. The fallen angel. He loved her,
but she could never be a replacement for Mischa. No one could ever replace her...
Clarice had made tea, which she had learned to love to do, and brought some out to the small
balcony of the house. As she poured some for both of them, she thought aloud about many things.
There was a long silence of her voice before she said "Hannibal, do you ever think that there may
be the slimmest chance that Mischa may still be alive?"
Hannibal dropped his empty tea cup and it shattered on the balcony floor. Clarice jumped at the
sound, but Hannibal just sat there, staring down at it, waiting for it to bring itself back together.
After a short while, when nothing happened, he walked into the house, leaving Clarice alone.
He didn't know how she did it, but a few weeks later, Clarice walked in with a photograph and
asked simply "Do you know this girl?" He had taken the picture into his hands and stared at it,
realizing immediately who it was. He said nothing, but he looked ahead for what seemed like an
eternity before handing Clarice the picture and speaking one word, "Mischa".
That's how it all started. Before he even got that chance to truly realize what was going on,
Hannibal was staring down at the letter which stated Mischa had been killed in a fire six years
ago. The disappointment was heartbreaking, he was looking so forward to seeing her again.
Though Clarice cried after reading the letter, he never did. He just sat, staring into space, into
those tiny molecules of air which held the faithful spirit of the girl he had once knew so well. But
staring down at her grave, at the grass covering her decomposed body, a whole new feeling had
overwhelmed him.
The plane landed in Dublin, where Hannibal and Clarice, or shall we say Dr. and Mrs. Canfield,
had made their new home. Their drive home was silent, as well as dinner and the rest of the
evening. Clarice wanted to say something, but she didn't know how to say it or how to put it. She
could only sit back and marvel at the blur in the eyes of her husband that she had never seen
before.
A tear rolled down Clarice's cheek as she walked into their bedroom. She picked up the package
which had brought the news of Mischa's death. Inside it was a small silver box with a key on a
necklace in which to open it. The first thing Hannibal had opened was the letter, and at reading it,
he insisted that they drop everything to visit the grave. Clarice could do nothing but agree. But
now, staring down at the box, she wondered if they had made a mistake.
She walked into the kitchen gracefully, almost with silence as she sat the box down in front of
him.
"This also came in the package. I'm assuming it belonged to, belonged to her."
Hannibal looked down at the box. "Thank you," he whispered as he began to examine it. The
silver was outlined to show angels singing praises to the Heavens. He ran his finger around the
one in the center. It had an eerie resemblance to his beloved sister. He picked up the small silver
key, in the shape of a heart, and twisted it into the small keyhole. The lid popped open to show
the red velvet lining. It softly began to play the old Wizard of Oz song, Somewhere Over the
Rainbow. One could tell by the kinks and missing notes that this small box had been used many
times before.
Hannibal looked inside. Sitting on the bottom was an old book with a blue plaid cover. It looked
as if it may have once had a lock, but one couldn't be sure. On top of the book was a dark purple
heart charm on a gold chain. Hannibal picked it up and flipped it over. On the other side was
printed "Mischa" in gold letters. He couldn't fight the tears welling in his eyes as he looked onto
the belongings of the girl he had loved for so long. Carefully, he put the necklace back into the
box and removed the book. Opening it gently, he turned to the first page.
There was a writing, it's beauty unexplainable by words. It reminded Hannibal of Mischa's own
beauty, reminded him of staring into her eyes.
Mischa Altamonte were the only words printed on the page.
Gently, Hannibal turned the page and began his journey into the mind of little Mischa Maru
Lecter.