Ahhhhh! Thank you all so much for your reviews. I feed off of them. -hearts-
Forewarning! This chapter is very short. I only added it here because some key things in this chapter will help build up to the main plot. Just hang tight, alright? We can stick through this!
I'm terribly sorry for the late update, but I'm currently in the mountains. (Low service) I'm afraid it'll be that way for quite a while due to my hectic summer schedule.
After a few days of contemplation, I finally figured out where I'd like this story to go – so I hope it begins to have at least a little bit more 'flow' from now on. (!)
A whole lot of love,
-L
Clarice pauses for a few moments and looks at the Doctor with the slightest trace of hesitancy, not sure if telling her teacher that she has gruesome strings of dreams involving him is her best decision. Would she cross the student/teacher boundary line by telling him? She swiftly moves a strand of hair from her forehead and tucks it behind her unpierced ear.
He's the one who asked, anyway… She convinces herself.
"Well, I had a dream, Doctor," she starts with her head tilted up, her confidence yet to have a faulted this day. "What one might consider a nightmare, actually," Clarice corrects herself and nervously – yet discreetly – fiddles with her slender fingers.
The doctor's study seems as if it is shrinking by the moment, the student having to make a large effort to not panic. If one were to suffer as Clarice does with her dreams, they would realize how much of a toll it takes on her thoughts even when out of a dream-like state.
Clarice's dreams follow her everywhere she goes.
"Pray tell, Miss Starling. You know how us psychiatrists can help with things like this," he replies, each word spoken both clearly and precisely – no trace of any sort of strong emotion whatsoever. Merely maroon irises gazing into long horizons of endless blue ocean in hers.
"More than one dream, though. A series one would say… But you were in 'em." Hannibal tilts his head, clenching his jaw as her accent slurs. "It was so odd. Out of the blue, I guess," the petite student smiled faintly as if the gesture would cover up her nervousness.
Clarice Starling had never felt so nervous in front of someone like this. Her nerves kicked in during and after her dreams, yes, but not because fear for a particular person. Never in public like this. This terrible sensation is one she hopes goes away - fast.
Doctor Hannibal Lecter of Princeton University brought fear from deep inside of Clarice's bones. His mere presence sent chills down her spine.
Not because of arousal, no – not that.
Because of the way he carries himself. The way he eloquently speaks his well-harvested words. Because of the way his maroon eyes compliment his slicked back hair. The way his cat-like teeth have a slight incline due to his European ancestry. … His whole aura seems like a false façade. As if he is hiding something from everyone else.
This only motivates Clarice further. She wants to get close enough to the professor so that she finds out what his secret is.
If he has one.
"Interesting," he gently urges her with a baritone sound of approval. "I'm listening, Miss Starling."
"You see, Doctor, when I was a little girl-"
Clarice explains her childhood as best as she can during the course of their lengthy conversation. From her colorful young years, her father's demise, and all the way up to her present self at Princeton University, Clarice doesn't miss a detail. Lecter is intrigued, but does not let it show. He simply intervenes once, after Clarice's mention of her father's death, to grab each a cappuccino – considering the time when he fetches the drinks is around ten in the evening, past his sleeping hour. He returns promptly and they aimlessly chat about schoolwork and essay writing for the next hour before Starling decides it's time to leave. Their meeting ends around eleven in the evening.
Starling slept terribly that night. She dreamt of a cold-blooded killer.