Clarice emerge from the bathroom some time later, she was warring her
bathrobe. Time to get some work done. Clarice thought and changed the music
to Mozart's requiem and walked over to her desk, she put away the box and
turned on her laptop. Clarice spent all her Sundays preparing the next
week's work, who should have which case and so on. It was boring; paper
work had never been her, she wanted to be in the field. She had been
trilled when Crawford had given her a chance back then, she had had no idea
what she was getting her self into, but looking back on it now, she knew
that she had never belonged there, Lecter was right about it, but when she
looked in the mirror, she didn't see what he had told her, no she saw a
woman in a corn field with a lamb in her arms and she was running away,
that would stop now. Clarice looked at the stack of papers. Yes it would
stop. Clarice got to work.
Sunday also meant, going to the opera, Clarice never got tired of it. But this evening she wanted to do something special. So after her bath with Lavender oil she took out the black silk dress and the Gucci shoes and a necklace she had bought some years before. When she was finally dressed she looked in the mirror, there was a beautiful looking woman, no lambs or cornfields.
Clarice called for a cab to take her to the Opéra. They were performing Le Nozze Figaro and there weren't a single ticket left. Luckily over the years Clarice had been there so often that she made friend with the ticket sale assistant. A nice old lady who seemed lonely. Sometimes after a show they would go out for coffee, they talked about everything. Clarice later learned that the lady had been at top of the social latter, but her husband was accused of murder and was sent to prison where he had killed himself to prove that he was innocent. He had left a wife and two children behind. They had later changed their names, but she had kept her given name Lura.
Lura had since their friendship hold a ticket for the Sunday shows. Lura always managed to get her a ticket in a booth, where there was no one but her self. Clarice valued her privacy under the concerts.
Clarice could feel the men's eyes on her, and the voice of Hannibal Lecter was back in her head. "don't you feel eyes moving over your body?" But Clarice did not mind. If they knew who she was, it would end, no one wanted to touch her, she was marked by Hannibal Lecter, a monster in the eyes of the public, she had thought coming to a different country would change that view, but she should have known better. As long as HE was at large there would never be another man, did she want that? Did she want that husband and child she had given up to married to the FBI? Clarice found her seat, as the bell told people to find their seats. The lights where lowered and darkness descended around Clarice as on the others. No she had changed, she wouldn't settle for a normal boring life, she couldn't even if she had the chance, she had felt liberty, and the cost had been, WHAT Clarice, what was the cost? Hmm your soul? No Clarice, you lost you soul the moment you looked into those maroon eyes in the dungeon.
As the concert began Clarice felt something cold run down her back. No he couldn't be here. Clarice thought to her self, she started looking around trying to spot him in the dark. After all that time, no it couldn't be him. "It couldn't be" Clarice said out loud as if convincing her self of that fact. She could not see him anywhere.
Sunday also meant, going to the opera, Clarice never got tired of it. But this evening she wanted to do something special. So after her bath with Lavender oil she took out the black silk dress and the Gucci shoes and a necklace she had bought some years before. When she was finally dressed she looked in the mirror, there was a beautiful looking woman, no lambs or cornfields.
Clarice called for a cab to take her to the Opéra. They were performing Le Nozze Figaro and there weren't a single ticket left. Luckily over the years Clarice had been there so often that she made friend with the ticket sale assistant. A nice old lady who seemed lonely. Sometimes after a show they would go out for coffee, they talked about everything. Clarice later learned that the lady had been at top of the social latter, but her husband was accused of murder and was sent to prison where he had killed himself to prove that he was innocent. He had left a wife and two children behind. They had later changed their names, but she had kept her given name Lura.
Lura had since their friendship hold a ticket for the Sunday shows. Lura always managed to get her a ticket in a booth, where there was no one but her self. Clarice valued her privacy under the concerts.
Clarice could feel the men's eyes on her, and the voice of Hannibal Lecter was back in her head. "don't you feel eyes moving over your body?" But Clarice did not mind. If they knew who she was, it would end, no one wanted to touch her, she was marked by Hannibal Lecter, a monster in the eyes of the public, she had thought coming to a different country would change that view, but she should have known better. As long as HE was at large there would never be another man, did she want that? Did she want that husband and child she had given up to married to the FBI? Clarice found her seat, as the bell told people to find their seats. The lights where lowered and darkness descended around Clarice as on the others. No she had changed, she wouldn't settle for a normal boring life, she couldn't even if she had the chance, she had felt liberty, and the cost had been, WHAT Clarice, what was the cost? Hmm your soul? No Clarice, you lost you soul the moment you looked into those maroon eyes in the dungeon.
As the concert began Clarice felt something cold run down her back. No he couldn't be here. Clarice thought to her self, she started looking around trying to spot him in the dark. After all that time, no it couldn't be him. "It couldn't be" Clarice said out loud as if convincing her self of that fact. She could not see him anywhere.
