I don't own the character in the story or the story, maybe just the plot. :)
Good Morning
A soft smile shined as Clarice watches her daughter wake herself from sleep. Her small but perfect hands rubbing her eyes in a familiar way it made her breath catch. Her light brown hair shined in the early morning light from the kitchen window, her hair always grew lighter in the winter. Marie Starling was the perfect image of her mother except for her hands and eyes, they belonged to her father.
Marie finished rubbing her eyes and looked at her mother with startling piercing blue eyes it made Clarice wonder if her daughter knew what she was thinking.
"Mommy, its barely seven thirty. Why are you up?", cocking her head to the side a bit.
Well almost a perfect image of me.
"I need to run to town to ger some groceries from the market because we are running out of supplies sweetie" Clarice paused to see Marie's reaction who seemed to be considering if this was a good idea or not... as if it was her choice to make. In her mind Clairce was shaking her head slowly but fondly at her daughter.
Apparently it was a good idea because all she did was give a curt nod and walked over to the fridge and take out orange juice and butter. Most mornings she would make her own breakfast when her mother went out for a run. Marie was the top of her class in school and loved to read. Not picture books like a typical elementary school kids would but actual novels varying of different genres. With her mother's consent of course.
Her favorite was Dante. Her mother had read it to her since she was five months old in her mother's womb and Marie loved to hear the flow of Italian poetry, but mostly the flow of Italian. How her mother came across the amazing author was unsolved but she hardly cared, as long as her mother read it to her for bedtime then she was perfectly content.
After Marie finished drinking her orange juice and eating her toast, she said she was going back to bed to sleep.
"Alright sweetie. I'll be back in an hour and a half. Be sure to lock the door and don't let strangers in. Be a good girl", tousling her daughters hair a bit as it fell in a wave over her tiny shoulders.
Marie smiled and nodded as she turned to go back upstairs to play some piano music to put her back to sleep. Ten minutes later she was lying in her comfortable bed listening to Bach's Air on G string play on the stereo.
While Clarice drove for the next twenty minutes arriving at the State Park for her usual jog and parked nearest to the bridge of her old jogging path.
The sound of the lock clicking echoes through the silent house and the door opens and creaks. the newcomer seems to be slightly familiar with the home though they have not viewed the home for some time. The eyes are hidden behind sunglasses in the darkest tint to shade them from the sun and curious eyes, but behind them the newcomer lifts a brow at the choice of redecoration of the house which it had undertaken during their abscence.
Silently, they move from room to room, touching this and that, pausing at something of interest and moving on. All the while taking in everything in his mind until all that is left to explore is the floor upstairs.
As they make their way upstairs, they notice something new but old, something slightly out of place. Their blue eyes narrow and they inhale deeply through the sensitive nostrils. Hmmm, they catch the scent of soft lotion scented of lavender with almonds in the mix. The scent of L'Air Du Temps linger in the air also though that it is not what vexes them. Inhaling once again, they catch what they were seeking. It is the sole scent of undisguised human flesh ... specifically of a young child's scent. Clarice?
The figure moves silently and follows the scent to the end of the hall to a room directly across what would be Clarice's bedroom. The door of where the scent is protruding is left ajar slightly. Slipping in quietly, they take in the room.
Some toy lay about but as far as they can tell those are the only toys in the room. A small dresser next to the door with a mirror, an adjourning bathroom. Then the source of the scent. A bulge can be seen in the bed, stepping closer they see it is a young girl fast asleep in bed. With the soft tones of Bach seeping through the still air.
The figure moves even closer to the bed until the stand next to it looking down upon the sleeping child. Cocking their head to observe the sleeping child. What is obvious is that the child is an exact replica of Clarice. There is no doubt about that though how much is she like Clarice? Interesting.
The sound of a car door closing catches their attention and knows that their time had drawn to a close. Hopefully they can fully investigate this curious matter at some point further in time. They exit out the back door and walk down the street where a old suburban waits for the patron to return. Once they return, they depart back down the road from whence they came.