The atmosphere was cold as a strike of lightening flickered across the morning sky and caused Hannibal to readily rise from his slumber. He rubbed his weak eyes with his wrists and let out an exhausting sigh as he looked around the room with questioning thoughts – he wasn't in his own bed.
"What happened last night?" He questioned silently, his mind beginning to trail. "The last I remember is finishing the works of Poe and retiring to bed." The whisping sound of gentle footsteps consumed his ears and he rubbed the back of his neck questionably. Where was he?
As he thought, the door's handle began to jiggle and he heard the gentle clatter of children laughing. "Daddy! Daddy!" The small children called as they rushed in and hopped atop Hannibal's lap.
The young girl was no more than three and the boy a bit older than four. His mind had no idea who they were, but his heart seemed to lift as he saw the little boy hold the same facial structure and the girl, his eyes. "Daddy, you need to get up," the girl continued, "Mommy says you need to get up. Nannie and Boppey are downstairs with Auntie Mischa, you need to get up."
The stippling words ran through Hannibal's brain and he grasped the small girl by her shoulders. "Aunt Mischa?" He whined, his voice a bit raspy from the morning's toll. "Aunt Mischa is downstairs?"
"Mhm," she responded, her golden hair brushing against his hand. "Now come on, Daddy."
The children playfully fought their father before a smile grew to his face and he stepped from the bed. "Tell Mummy I'll be down in a moment," he said, the words slithering off his tongue. They seemed strange, and a churn of burden seemed to rupture in his stomach. He wasn't sure what he was to endure.
He watched the children scurry away as he made his way to the small closet in the corner of the room and dressed himself with questionable certainty. "Mischa?" He mouthed to himself, fastening the last button on his suit. "Daddy?"
In beautified attire, he trailed down the stairs and stepped into the living room. He could see the two children standing beside a woman with flowing dirty blonde hair whose back was to him. She was thin and as Hannibal looked down, he met eyes with the silver bracelet that he had reclaimed from the murderous soldier so many years ago.
"Mischa?" He questioned, drawing closer to the woman. But as he placed a gentle hand to her shoulder, she turned readily and Hannibal was met with a look of horror. The face that once held the porcelain skin of light had turned to a murky grey and sunk within the pits of her sockets. Her nose had chipped to slits of bone and her lips had disintegrated against the smoky ash.
Hannibal woke with a scream, feeling a lead weight being pushed onto his chest. He struggled for breath, his heart beating past a state of control, and he ceased himself from any further sleep, staying alert, finishing the works of Poe.
