Lecter abruptly ceases. The crystal notes of Bach reverberate through the room and up the staircase, dashing themselves against the surfaces. Each note's birth and death is measured in his mind. Lecter is able to calculate the wave measure to a precise degree.
As he savors, his eyes are drawn to the moonlight which is caught and defracted in the stained glass window. Lecter smiles at the synchronicity. His hearing ability enjoys the same advantage of his intelligence quotient and sense of smell. His lids close over his maroon visage. Outside a vital world ebbed and flowed and created its own distinctive music.
Footsteps. So, she comes closer. Rhythmic, they approach. Drawn to their cadence, Lecter rises and pads through his drawing room to one of the back doors of the grand house. He makes no sound.
The door is opened, disturbing a veritable convention of insectia. Lecter steps through the swarm and pauses on the brick steps, his bare feet absorbing the heat still retained from the day's sunlight. She is close enough to smell as well as hear.
And then she comes to him, as pale as a wraith from the cloaking darkness. Lecter steps forward to meet her and whispers her name. Through the wet grass he treads ever closer. The pair pause and regard each other. He turns his head and peers at her, studying the architecture of her sound body, her mane of hair catching the harvest moon in filaments of fire.
"Moonlight and magnolias, indeed," he whispers, and smiles. "Tell me, how do you fancy being done up in leather? Care for a good hard ride?"
Hearing no objection, Lecter makes his way to the stables to procure saddle and bridle for the white mare following him through the wet grass and oak leaves.
As he savors, his eyes are drawn to the moonlight which is caught and defracted in the stained glass window. Lecter smiles at the synchronicity. His hearing ability enjoys the same advantage of his intelligence quotient and sense of smell. His lids close over his maroon visage. Outside a vital world ebbed and flowed and created its own distinctive music.
Footsteps. So, she comes closer. Rhythmic, they approach. Drawn to their cadence, Lecter rises and pads through his drawing room to one of the back doors of the grand house. He makes no sound.
The door is opened, disturbing a veritable convention of insectia. Lecter steps through the swarm and pauses on the brick steps, his bare feet absorbing the heat still retained from the day's sunlight. She is close enough to smell as well as hear.
And then she comes to him, as pale as a wraith from the cloaking darkness. Lecter steps forward to meet her and whispers her name. Through the wet grass he treads ever closer. The pair pause and regard each other. He turns his head and peers at her, studying the architecture of her sound body, her mane of hair catching the harvest moon in filaments of fire.
"Moonlight and magnolias, indeed," he whispers, and smiles. "Tell me, how do you fancy being done up in leather? Care for a good hard ride?"
Hearing no objection, Lecter makes his way to the stables to procure saddle and bridle for the white mare following him through the wet grass and oak leaves.
