Amour Chapter Two

I started later that night. A complacent voice sang to me in a language I didn't understand.

"Ein Männlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm,

Es hat von lauter Purpur ein Mäntlein um.

Sagt, wer mag das Männlein sein,

Das da steht im Wald allein

Mit dem purpurroten Mäntelein.

Das Männlein steht im Walde auf einem Bein

Und hat auf seinem Haupte schwarz Käpplein klein,

Sagt, wer mag das Männlein sein,

Das da steht im Wald allein

Mit dem kleinen schwarzen Käppelein?"

The song was sung harshly, and it was not in any way the lullaby it was supposed to be originally.

"Do you know that song?" Hannibal whispered, sliding a hand up to my waist, rolling me over to face him.

I shook my head mutely. This man, Hannibal, he wasn't human. He didn't have the right to be called that. Killing out of cold blood and for revenge. No.

"Really? Such fair skin, such light hair. How is it possible you are not German? Oh, or are you Russian?" I once again shook my head. He stroked my hair, his face inches from mine.

"What are you, my dear?" He whispered.

"Polish, Monsieur Hannibal." I trembled as his hand fisted my hair, pulling me back roughly.

"Are you really!?" He shouted, his calm dissipating into the night.

"Yes, monsieur. My parents came here three years ago, monsieur." I cried out as he pulled my hair again, and then, I felt them. Those lips. They pressed against my neck, as if testing my pulse.

"Ah, my dove. Why would you be lying to me in such a manner? It is so unbecoming of you." His lips trailed down my neck, and I shuddered. It was about as pleasant as stepping in the shit of a dog.

"I don't lie, monsieur." I said, trying and failing to flee from his grasp. He gripped harder, his lips centimeters from mine now.

"You do, my dove. You lie of either where you are from, or how long you have been living here. Or perchance it's…" He pulled harder on my hair.

"Your roots are a different color. You don't have blond hair at all. My dove, you have lied to me. Who are you hiding from? The Nazis?" He stroked my scalp now, moving to my neck. He grasped the back of it tightly, as if afraid I'd try to run from him.

"Monsieur Hannibal, please! Have I not suffered enough?" I flailed in his grasp again. He gripped my waist harder and I felt a rib crack. I shrieked and once again I felt those lips on mine. I floundered in one last futile attempt to free myself and then gave in. I fell limply and Hannibal released me.

"There we are, dove. Now we need not worry about you anymore, do we?" He left me on my bed, feeling as if I had been raped instead of questioned. I drifted off into a fitful sleep that contained nothing but nightmares of the dreadful, scarred face of my kidnapper.