"My dearest Abigail," Hannibal whispered into her ear.
Abigail flinched at the sound of her name, and her sky blue eyes met her father's deep maroon ones.
"Run."
Hannibal put both hands firmly around her waist and hoisted her up. Abigail struggled and squirmed, she didn't know what was happening and was immediately cast into a state of panic and confusion.
"What are you doing?!" she yelped as Hannibal flung her over his shoulder and carried her to the nearest window.
"You must disappear." Hannibal replied calmly.
Abigail felt the colour drain from her face and she felt as if her heart had stopped working altogether.
She began to fight for her life, she bit and clawed at Hannibal to the point where she had drawn blood. But he still continued to slowly pace towards the open window.
"Fight back!" She screamed, her voice hoarse with fatigue.
Abigail still kicked and struggled in Hannibal's arms, despite all hope being lost. Her weak attempts were futile, Hannibal was twice as big as her, and twice as strong.
She felt a familiar stinging behind her eyes as she accepted her fate. No, she wouldn't cry now. She wouldn't give in now, she'd die honourably with dignity, not pleading for her life.
Her stomach dropped as she closed her eyes tightly until it hurt.
She was plunged into a dreamlike state of weightlessness, and she felt her body sink like a stone.
Abigail kept her eyes glued shut as she felt gravity sucking her down as if water in a plughole towards her death.
The cold winter's air was pierced by the distinctive crunching of bone, and Abigail felt her body numb as she slammed into the delicate tilework of Hannibal's first floor.
She felt a sharp wave of pain strike her in her lower back and spread down her spine, she gagged and choked, and doubled over in an uncontrollable coughing fit. She opened her eyes, and watched as blood gushed from her mouth and spilled down the roof, crimson tainting the pure snow.
She was alive. Shaken and battered, but alive.
Abigail listened to the silence of the settled snow for what must've been an hour. The wailing sirens cut through the silence like a knife in one of Hannibal's finely prepared meals. She wiped the blood from her chin, smudging crimson across her cheek.
She stood up slowly, clinging to the roof tiles as her body wobbled and shook, desperate for support.
"Survive." She told herself, her voice rasped, barely above a whisper.
"I must survive." She repeated.
Abigail searched her jeans for her pocketknife.
She patted herself down, yet was unable to find anything, just a few dog treats Will had given her earlier to feed to Winston. She took out the dog treats and laid them out individually in the palm of her hand. They broke up into powdery crumbs very easily, but they smelled of home. Abigail held them to her face and inhaled the scent of Will and his dogs. The smell clung onto her hands.
'No, come on Abigail, you need to focus' She thought to herself. She put them back in her pocket and continued searching for her knife.
She found her pocketknife buried in the snow, a few feet from where Abigail had landed on the roof. It had unfolded, and the blade glinted a moonlight blue in the reflection of the snow. She picked it up, and admired how beautiful it was. Her father, her real father, had made it for her when she was about twelve.
A finely crafted hilt grafted of the bone of a young roe buck, complete with the most wickedly sharp blade composed out iron that her and her father that driven miles for.
She could remember it now, herself and her real father had got in the car and driven for two hours looking for this special iron, produced by a blacksmith her father had known for years. Her father said he only bought the best quality iron for his best daughter'.
Abigail let a thin smile escape onto her pale face. Here she was, stained in blood standing in pink snow. How she would give anything now to be back with her father, snuggled up against his chest absorbing the warmth of the fire as he passionately tanned a deer hide.
But no. Her father was dead, he was a murderer. But then again, so was Abigail. A wailing siren shook the roof she was on, and Abigail fell to her knees and clutched her knife to her chest as a police car sped recklessly past the house.
'Run'
Abigail leapt from rooftop to rooftop, heart in her throat, one clumsy slip would result in her death. She had lost track of time since she had begun running.
'I must survive'
A new life was open and set out for Abigail, much like how Hannibal would set out a meal on a platter for her.
She was a survivor.