Relented habits are contagious.
The physical being of a reformed monster loomed above the stove; his comfort and solace found here during the hours prior to the worlds awakening. His mind however roamed with empty steps across the marble or his majestic memory palace. Long since accustomed to the footfalls of this beast, he was welcomed with a refined grace. Clarice would not be found here tonight: she was asleep, unaware of his nocturnal activities. He could sense the dull heat of this moment preserved in time, as all are, flowing through his fingertips; presenting in essence the fire she lit in his heart. Sometimes he wished to say that he had created her; but he was no Pygmalion, and she was not conceited enough to claim her name as Galatea. Above she slept, as beneath he burned.
Pregnancy craved a desire she had never dared to taste, but now the aroma penetrated her senses, ensnaring all and enticing her awakening. Clarice was awake as Hannibal burned.
Clarice moved forth,
Hannibal burned,
She ventured further,
Hannibal burned,
Her senses aflame,
Hannibal burned.
Then she was no longer herself: a monster was born of the ashes of her beloved.
Relented habits are contagious: the cannibal was awoken from his memory palace as the Earths latest monster devoured him; once again, a tea cup that would never revitalise itself.