All The World's A Stage: Chapter One: Dark Cherries
Hannibal was never much one for such parties, except when he was the one hosting them of course. After spending such an exquisite evening at Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria, he found it a sharp and bitter contrast to then be plunged head first back into the crude and superficial reality of his acquaintances. The characters of Monteverdi were made of honour: the women in his words were steel and the men iron; his companions for the evening were made of flimsier, weaker things whose façade of greatness was like cellophane in his eyes.
He spent a while speaking with them, immediately seeing through the lies of their fools' gold tans and botulinum cheeks to the lifeless soul beneath. The most irritable figure of this particular evening was undoubtedly Neil Pierce, the host for the evening's unpleasant festivities. He was a recent millionaire whose arrogance and boisterous laughter was incredulously unbearable. His laugh was one which suited someone more rotund than his toned figure and he seemed to wish everyone in the room to be invariably in his favour, despite his far too observable habit of slandering whichever politician, doctor, or businessman he had just tried so very hard to win over almost immediately after changing conversational partners. Yet inexplicably, no-one seemed to be able to speak unkindly of him. They saw his power and potential linked arm in arm with their own far too easily to judge him on account of his true nature. Which, of course, didn't help much.
After a time it became too much. He retired to the kitchen in claims of needing to find himself a glass of water for a feigned headache, even though there were more than enough waiters to fulfil his request. He retired to the kitchen and filled his glass from the tap. As he gazed out the window, he saw the curious outline of a figure at the bottom of the garden. Undoubtedly a woman's, Hannibal could just make out the champagne glass in her right hand. He opened the white-rimmed French doors and stepped out onto the immaculately kept lawn. The grass was dotted with fallen cherry blossoms from the trees circling the garden. The tiny pink petals were still falling through the air as he began walking towards her.
There was a small running burn before the woman's feet which she kept at a metre's distance. Her hands were pale and shaking, one tightly gripping the seam at the side of her green silk dress and the other, trembling, raising her glass to her lips. The diamonds on her wrist caught the faint light, shining against her skin. She looked up at the clouded sky with the look of an injured deer. He took a step closer and looked again. It was not fear or weakness he sensed, but an anger of sorts. There was a fire in her eyes - not a towering inferno, but a small seductive smoulder that he found extremely provocative. He watched the muscles of her back slide neatly into place as she shifted her weight before he announced his presence.
'Aren't you cold out here?' he asked politely. She turned to face him, surprised that she had not sensed his presence before. Her lips curled upwards slightly into a small grin which he then returned. Hannibal went and stood beside her.
'I needed some time alone,' she said, 'to clear my thoughts. I hope everyone doesn't think I'm being rude?'
'I haven't heard any complaints,' he assured her.
'I doubt you could,' she said, 'over the sound of my brother. He has an apt hand for business, but when it comes to controlling his own voice he is no better use than a child.'
At that moment, with almost comical timing, the sound of Neil Pierce's irritatingly loud laughter floated out of the open windows of the house and down to the side of the burn. Hannibal gave a small half-laugh, half-growl under his breath in reply, which soon faded into silence. They looked up at the sky together, searching for stars which were simply not visible.
'Would you like me to leave?' he offered. 'If you desire to be alone-'
She looked him up and down almost subconsciously. Her gaze on him was almost tangible. 'No, I don't think I do. One mustn't spend too much time without the company of others. Otherwise,' here she smiled, 'there is a grave fear of madness in the minds of those you have refused to speak with.' Her figure was hugged tightly by her dress, and he found himself biting his lip without even realising it.
'You fear people will think you are mad?' he asked, sympathetic listening in full flow. At this distance, he could smell her scent - dark cherries and the faintest suggestion of cinnamon. She sighed heavily, loosening an errant curl from her shoulder and letting it fall into the cascade of ember coloured waterfall that reached to the small of her back, which he found himself looking at quite fervently.
She spoke very quietly. 'Doesn't everyone?' She took a long draught from her glass, emptying it of the small dribble it had left. She suddenly turned to him with the expression of someone who had just realised they had forgotten their keys or something else of great importance. 'I just realised,' she said, 'that we haven't been properly introduced.' She extended her now steady hand. 'Rosalind Pierce.'
'Hannibal Lecter.' He took her hand, bowed slightly, and pressed his lips softly against her ring finger. When he straightened and looked up at her, he saw her cheeks had a slight colour in them now. He must have realised it when she looked into his eyes, because she floundered slightly to regain her composure and fumbled to change the subject. He saw her panic and let her off the hook. 'What did you think of the opera?' he asked. Calm and relief spread over her.
'I thought it was as good as Monteverdi would have wanted it to be,' she said smiling. They went on to discuss the opera in every intricate detail, and then others, laughing and joking with each other, not noticing that they grew closer and closer until before Hannibal knew it, Rosalind's head was on his shoulder.
If it was cold outside in that garden, he didn't feel it, because her touch warmed him to the core. Their hands were brushing against each other, hanging loosely by their sides. His heart told him to take her hand, but something stopped him. A thousand thoughts began rushing through his head at once, and it was becoming more and more difficult by the second to decipher them. What would happen if this went any further? On the one hand, it would be nice - no, wonderful - to not be alone. If there was one thing about his life that he hated more than anything, it was being alone. But on the other hand, what if she discovered his secrets? Then he would have to kill her. And then what? Would he dispose of her the way he disposed of his other victims? The very thought repelled him-
All at once, his thoughts disappeared as though a cloud had been lifted from his mind. He looked down. Her fingers were wrapped around his gently, with her thumb slowly running up and down the back of his hand. He felt her sigh and bury her head deeper into him. And then, the answer to all of his questions appeared in her eyes. He took his other hand and lifted her chin. She knew what was going to happen, and as he leaned in she closed her eyes and let him kiss her.
Each kiss is like diving into an ocean. Sometimes you can open your eyes and see nothing but dark murky waters, and others you can see great reefs full of colour and life. When they opened their eyes, they both saw the latter and yearned to discover more.