#91: Birthday

There are plenty of ways to spoil a girl on her birthday. You can buy flowers, chocolates, take her to a show... hell, you can mortgage your house and buy her diamonds if you like.

He would do all those things, and more. He never really needs an excuse.

It has become a little ritual. He asks me as we lay together in bed, his voice a husky whisper in my ear.

He would gift me anything, even the blood and flesh of my mortal enemy. Without hesitation.

Treatment like that can really go to a girl's head, you know.

#92: Christmas

'Sure?'

'Sure. Go, have a great time. Give my best to your Mom.'

Ardelia drew her into a hug. 'I will, Clarice. Your gift is on the table; don't open it until Christmas, you hear?

'I hear. Same to you.' Starling hugged her back.

Outside, a horn blared.

Starling released her friend and gave her a push towards the door.

Days later, a delivery.

Starling answered and received a box wrapped in brown paper. Signing the delivery note, she took the parcel and retreated to the lounge.

There was a card. In a fine copperplate hand, it read simply 'Clarice.'

#93: Thanksgiving

The tiny Alpine church was bedecked in autumn flowers and fruits of the harvest. Candles lit the altar, those that had not burned out.

Starling lit another.

'What are you doing?'

She glanced up at him. 'You light one to give thanks.'

'I'm aware of the custom.' He slid his arms around her and rested his chin against her shoulder. 'For what are you giving thanks?'

She leaned back against him and chuckled.

'Starling...' He always had to know.

'Dr Lecter...' She mimicked. 'For you.'

He shook with laughter. 'That has got to be a first. Very nearly blasphemy, surely?'

#94: Independence

'Sure?'

'I think I'll manage.' He was amused, but courteous enough not to show it – much.

Her eyes narrowed. 'I suppose you're big enough and ugly enough...'

'You wound me.' He grinned. 'Go. Have fun.'

Quite suddenly, she didn't want to leave. From his raised eyebrow, she gathered that he saw her hesitation.

'I'll be here when you get back.' His voice was warm and retained his amusement.

She turned to leave and he moved swiftly, catching her in his arms. 'I'm not going anywhere.' Then, he proceeded to kiss her soundly.

She got her breath back and smiled. 'Good.'

#95: New Year

The dragons whirled, snaking around each other with serpentine precision. Firecrackers sparked and popped up and down the lantern-hung street.

The crowds ebbed and flowed with the twining of the dragons, shouting and laughing.

It was impossible not to follow the beat of the drums and the enthusiasm of the people. Of course, they would have been less sanguine if they had known Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling strolled amongst them that night, but they did not.

Chinatown was alive with the party, and the party was alive with energy. Lecter's two-step imitated Starling's as they danced after the dragons.

#96: Honesty

Honesty is a pretty lonely word. I'd come to realise that quite a while ago. Sometimes I suspected that it was just some kind of bad habit I'd picked up from my Da. I mean, who actually tells the truth these days?

So I was rather surprised to come across real honesty – not the garden-variety 'does my bum look big in this' kind – but the sort that carries the weight of evidence and proofs – in an asylum.

Looking back, I see that I was naive. After all, you have few things to lose if you're stuck in a concrete box.

#97: Fear

Pride kept him from admitting it, but the monster terrified him. He told himself that the monster was bound, was kept apart and buried in stone and steel – but it made no difference.

The beast did not require freedom, as such, to walk the shadowed halls of his dreams, nor to wield the weapons of words like steel claws, scratching bloody wounds into his psyche.

Yes, pride kept him from admitting it, but there was no need for words between old... friends. The demon eyes and the smile locked behind the mask said; I know.

Every time. Every damned time.

#98: Courage

Courage does not come from nothing. It needs foundation, a bedrock slab of strength and determination. The world can twist, slant and fall away, but as long as the foundation remains then the courageous will stagger once more to their feet.

Courage does not come free. It is bought with loss and pain, the taste of fear, the fire of passion.

Survivor's courage, warrior's courage... Courage to face it all - to look and not turn away. Courage to consume, and to be consumed. Courage to stand and burn, to fly and to fall...

She never ceased to amaze him.

#99: Hate

He never believed that there was a knife-edge line between love and hate.

Now he was older and wiser, he knew the truth. They were so far apart that they were the same damn thing back round again.

Hate was cold, clinical machines and tubes, love was life they granted. Hate was pain and vengeance, but love was in the execution.

They were inseparable; love and hate, life and death, body and mind, him and the machines.

Sometimes he wondered about what would come after. What when there was nothing left to hate but the machines that made him live?

#100: Love

They say that love is poetry, and they say it's a delicate thing, like a tiny bird or a fragile butterfly.

That's not my experience.

Love came to me with eyes that have seen hell, and forged it anew with every fresh cut. Love has a razor kiss, and it's red with blood. The poets didn't mention that.

Nor did they tell me there would be no escape.

But I suppose there's poetry in the unalterable trajectory of a bullet, or the crushing gravitational dance of binary stars locked in vampiric embrace.

I love him - and I will never stop.