Hey, I think that's my longest chapter on this fiction. I thank all who reviewed, and those who dropped a little word and motivated me to write this one. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the moment. I noticed that I have 13 followers, but not many reviews. I assume you like this story, if you follow. Do you think you could drop me a line to let me know what you like and don't like ? It is always demotivating to not know what people think :(

Cheers. And erm, this short dabble in on its way to become a 60k words fiction so… yeah, I can't do short. But what can I say, Mads Mikkelsen is a very inspiring character :D

A few rays of light permeated his room, the chill settling in ever since the fire had died around 2am. Yet Hannibal swore he would never be cold in bed again; Frances followed him wherever he lay. It didn't matter than his bed was nearly 2 meters wide – king size of course – for she always ended up cuddled against him. She would claim his chest, most of the time, and fall asleep within minutes. Some other times, she just dragged his arms around her and he would be the one spooning her. He didn't miss the solitude, though, especially since he didn't rise at night for a quick kill anymore. Hannibal was a man of honor; he respected their bargain. And despite the itches that burnt his hands when meeting rude people, he had to admit that her presence brought him much more than he originally thought.

The contact of her skin, for one, bought him a strange sense of belonging. It only fed his pride that she would look for him, even in her sleep. It gave him purpose, to care and protect her as fiercely as he protected his secret.

For the moment, though, her faint whimpers and shaking body worried him. There was no fever; the whole length of her side rested against him. As a former doctor, he would know if she was sick. That left a nightmare. It wouldn't be the first, nor the last. And usually, she spoke about it when she woke up. Death, giant spiders, battlefield, wraiths. His blood pooling around him as he died … as Tristan died. That woman had not reached thirty, but had lived enough to leave anyone traumatized. She suffered from a mild case of PTSD, of course, but they both refused to enter the patient-doctor relationship. And she could talk to no one, beside him. Not until Will Graham knew about it all. Would he ever be informed of the whole truth ? That was Frances' decision, and hers alone to take.

Recently, Frances had dodged more questions about her nightmares than a politician. It worried him, but he didn't push; Frances was as stubborn as he was, and completely impervious to manipulation. The psychiatrist sighed; he had promised anyway, not to lead her astray. She trusted him; he couldn't break his vows. So he waited for her to open up about her nightmares, hoping it was just her subconscious coping with the hardships of her life, and not a gruesome even to come. For he believed her, now, when she said she sometimes saw the future. So he would be left to wonder… Fair enough. If Frances didn't want to talk, he could still make a proper breakfast to give her heart. She had a visit planned to Bella this afternoon; she always came back tired and depressed. A nice morning could do wonders to her mood.

An hour later, Hannibal sipped at a cup of tea in his living room, his eyes roaming over the newly decorated walls. Not that the paper had changed, of course. But Frances had acquired some frames for his pictures, and he had chosen which of his drawings he wanted on the wall. It was a very simple gesture, but one he had never thought of before. His wife, though, had told him that beautiful work should make him proud, and that his touch deserved to be displayed. She was right – as usual. It warmed up the place, and whenever his eyes roamed over those framed pictures, he felt proud to be their creators.

Light steps echoed in the corridor, and Hannibal stood to greet Frances. Red sweater still on – his first patient was hours from there, he didn't want to wake her up to get dressed – he pulled the chair for her as she sat. She wore a cashmere jumper he had bought for her, a dark blue one with a plunging neckline that revealed his pristine shirt underneath. Her hair was still messy from the night, pulled into a high bun before she tamed the incredible length of reddish waves. A set of curls escaped it, bouncing down along her rounded skull as if mocking her. The young woman took the meal in, her eyes roaming over the table with an appreciative smile. It didn't reach her eyes, tough, and Hannibal' lips pulled down slightly.

— "You look tired, Frances. Nightmares again ?"

— "Yes. And the fall, perhaps. I feel tired"

There was something she wasn't saying, secrets she didn't want to share… yet. How could she tell him that she was trying to give some energy to Bella, the same way she had tried to give some to Tristan before he died on the battlefield ? That she had no idea how it worked, and what she was doing ?

— "You need a proper coat now, my beautiful. We will go to the seamstress, she can probably find something that fits your tastes and protects you from harsher weather"

Frances sipped at her cup of tea, relief flooding her features as the warm liquid soothed her. She swore that man was perfect for her. And the perspective of a proper coat to face the winter was a good one. She had frozen her ass last year, having nothing but a cheap vest.

— "I would be delighted. You know I enjoy good quality clothing just as much as you do"

Hannibal stood to serve her a piece of omelette, his scent permeating as he bent over her shoulder. The slight fragrance caused her body to relax; he was here, at arm's lenght. Her nightmare could go to hell ! And when his smooth accented voice echoed behind her, Frances let it coat her aches, wrapping her in music that never ceased to amaze her. She could have listened to him for days, that suave lilting voice of his.

— "You are the prefect customer for a seamstress, you don't even need a corset to have the perfect silhouette. I'm sure she will have the best of times trying to create something for you"

The young woman frowned; just how much was he willing to spend for a winter coat ? Setting her cup of tea on the china plate delicately, she turned to him.

— "Hannibal…"

The psychiatrist was sitting anew, at the head of the table as was his habit. He didn't even raise his eyes from the saucepan as he interrupted her.

— "If this is about cost, I am afraid I will have to dismiss your concerns. You deserve the best, and we can afford it. Furthermore, I happen to love seeing my wife in wrapped in luxury and comfort"

Frances nodded; discussion closed. How many times had she complained about him doting on her, only for him to retort that she had served the world as the Keeper of Time, and left behind all that she cared about. This was worth a little compensation. His arguments made sense, and he said 'we can afford it', not 'I'. Which meant he considered them as a couple sharing an income. She never felt indebted to him because he didn't present his purchases as gifts. He bought what she didn't dare buying, deciding that as long as she refused to consider her needs, he would compensate for it. Presents were dealt with more care and ceremony than a winter coat. Period.

Frances dug into the dish, only to find it incredibly tasty. She should be used to it by now, that everything Hannibal cooked bordered on perfection. But it always surprised her.

— "Mmmm. This is delicious, darling. Thank you."

— "You're very welcome. A hearty meal it all it takes to make a good day"

The flicker of fear passed into her eyes, so quickly that he nearly missed it. Then it was discarded as she started thinking.

— "I might sketch something in advance regarding the coat. Do you think she will mind ?"

— "I doubt it. And we are customers after all"

For a moment, the silence was only interrupted by the clinging of forks on china plates. Until Frances started chuckling to herself, and he raised an interrogative eyebrow.

— "Hannibal, darling… Your cooking is to die for"

His amber eyes twinkled merrily as he absorbed the many layers of her dark humour. Joking about his occupation, even though she has stated her limit about killing, sent tingles in his chest. It meant she didn't see him as a monster; that she accepted him.

— "Many have", he responded with a smirk.

And albeit her smile slightly receded, she couldn't help giving him a look of pure, unrestrained love. Scooting her chair closer to him, she gently caressed the sleeve of his red cable knit sweater.

— "I love this sweater, it looks good on you, brings out a softer side than your suits"

Hannibal took a second to look down on his cable knitted chest before setting his cup of tea on the table.

— "It is more domestic", he shrugged.

Frances nodded, her eyes roaming over his chest, finding a few hairs escaping the V neckline. The fluidity of the fabric only emphasized his broad shoulders and lean muscles, but it also hugged his dynamic silhouette.

— "Yes. I like it. But in truth, everything looks good on you anyway"

A small smirk graced his features, and Frances could only be glad that Hannibal didn't fancy the beard like Tristan did; it offered more skin to kiss and brought more nuances on his expressions.

— "That's because I own only finely tailored pieces of clothing"

— "That's because you are an exquisite specimen of a man, Hannibal. Even nothing looks good on you… Especially nothing"

The psychiatrist peeked at the blush that marred her cheeks; he couldn't believe she had said that. Blunt and shy, passionate and restrained, never vulgar, but letting him know how much she appreciated his body. The perfect combination for him… she was so young.

— "I'm an old man for you, my beautiful."

And regret tinted his voice, for he sometimes though she deserved more. He knew, though, she would have no one else. And for sure, rightful indignation shone in her deep brown eyes.

— "You are perfect for me, I couldn't care less about your age. If you were younger, you would have less experience to share with me."

Her words made sense, still… she could be his daughter, for twenty-three years separated them.

— "And you are stunningly handsome, and fit, and I love you just the way you are"

A full smile found its way upon his lips before he could school his features, warmth spreading in his chest at hearing such a heartfelt declaration. Right. Perhaps he should forget this age issue altogether, and take whatever was offered. Tugging on her hand, he pulled her to him so that she sat on his lap. As soon as she was settled, Frances' whole form melted against his, tension leaving her body. Dark blue over deep red, the colors of their cashmere sweaters mingled like the strands of their hair. Opposite, and complementary.

— "You honor me, my beautiful", he purred in her ear.

— "The honor is mine. Get used to it"

Hannibal chuckled at the decisive tone of her voice. She truly was something, this woman, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had landed in his life. For a moment, they both relished in their respective presence, Frances feeling his heartbeat under her palm, he gently nuzzling her neck. Then the clock struck nine, and they both knew they needed to get ready for the day. Hannibal gently lifted Frances' legs to set them on the ground, and they made short work of the table and dishes as they talked.

— "How is Bella doing ?", Hannibal asked as he washed the teacups.

Frances sighed; that was a loaded question.

— "Physically, allright enough. But she has yet to convince Jack that she doesn't want chemo, and he is not ready to let go"

— "I understand why", came the psychiatrist's voice, his head still bent over the sink.

Frances picked up the drying cloth and started wiping the cups with a little more energy than usual.

— "It is pointless. There is not a chance in the world it will cure her. I support her heartily"

— "But she'll die faster"

She hated it, the way he said those words as if he had no care in the world. Maybe… maybe he didn't, for even if he called Jack his friend, his pain didn't permeate him. What a puzzling man, able to feel compassion, but choosing to keep the door closed. A defense mechanism for sure. It didn't matter, though, for she was the only one supporting Bella about her choice, and she knew she was arguing her point with a doctor. A man used to know better than the patient, a man with an incredible superior mind and a dramatic lack of empathy. All in all, it was a good exercise. At least, Will understood her point easily enough; being an empathic being through and through, he listened to her rants with genuine care. And a much less analytic mind than Hannibal.

— "Maybe. Maybe not. It might give her a chance to die with honour. And it is her decision, and no one else. Not Jack, nor the doctors. No one else is going to handle the pain, no one else will have to cope with vomiting her heart out, or loosing her hair"

— "The doctors are here to guide her, they will give her pain medication and counter substances for the ill effects"

France scoffed, eyeing the infuriating handsome man that faced her now, his deep golden eyes fixed on her face as if he was studying something. Or trying to understand.

— "You know the efficiency of medication on side effects of chemo as well as I do…"

Hannibal nodded. It could mean yes, it could mean no. So she went on.

— "Doctors can guide and advise all they want, but her decision is law. This is her life. A patient's choice cannot be altered, or manipulated even if the physician is genuinely sure that the outcome is better. We are masters of our lives, we take our decisions, we handle the consequences. As long as we know the true outcomes, it is up to the patient"

Hannibal cocked his head aside, surprised by the passion exuded by Frances on the subject. She advocated true freewill, the exact opposite of manipulation. Perhaps it was naïve, or perhaps the exact opposite, wisdom at its best. He knew Will shared her views; they had discussed it in his sessions. It was actually quite unsettling how much Will and Frances shared in terms of psyche; both empathic beings to the core. They met regularly now, bonding over past and present life, tying a tight knot like a pair of siblings. Yet, Frances chose him, Hannibal, to grace her life when she should be with a much younger, much more empathic man. It didn't make much sense, wasn't logically explained. The whims of the heart…

Pursing his lips to chase away the embryo of fear, Hannibal pushed a little further to decide whether his wife was just a naïve youth, or if her point made sense.

— "The patient sometimes doesn't have the intelligence to understand what's best for him"

He saw how his comment irked her; she had probably faced doctors that tried to override or belittle her opinion. His wife was a very intelligent woman with lots of medical knowledge, but she had to understand that her outstanding understanding of physiology and its consequences was not common. Not that he cared about Bella's decision; she would die either way. Frances bit her lip to gather her wits, her hand clenching on the kitchen counter before it relaxed.

— "I get what you mean, Hannibal. Bella is not stupid. Still, this is the fundamentals of respect. Any point of view is acceptable, but we are the only ones that can steer our lives, as long as we are ready to face the consequences"

For a moment, Hannibal wondered if Frances' outburst still concerned Bella's. By the fire that shone in her eyes, he decided that he didn't want to dig. He knew already. This was about him, and his choices. The psychiatrist didn't take the bait. Instead, he scooped Frances in his arms, the strain of hoisting her up deliciously negligible. Perhaps she was right, and he was fit enough for a young woman. His mouth approached her ear so that he could seductively make his point.

— "I hear your plight, my beautiful. Now I need some help taking this sweater off and buttoning my three piece suit, will you oblige ?"

Frances giggled, locking her arms around his neck. She loved the way he reminded her of his strength; there was always a good way to put that to use.

— "Anything for you, handsome"

With a smile, Hannibal brought her upstairs for a much-needed shower… hoping that she would be amenable to share it with him. As a matter of fact, she was only happy to oblige, her nightmare forgotten. For now.

As days turned to weeks, Bella weakened. The walks in the park became sittings, then turned to indoor activities. Until November approached and she started having trouble staying upright. Her coughing fits worsened, and the early snow didn't help her case. About three times a week, Frances spent time in her home, bringing biscuit and cakes, making tea, conversing. The two women, now, had bonded over Bella's cancer; they knew they were on borrowed time and deplored having met so late. But the genuine conversations brightened Bella just as much as they entertained Frances. They both loved Italy, were both curious, and discovered they had a lot in common. Too bad Bella would take it to her grave.

On this day, as heavy gusts of icy winds engulfed through the front door, Frances was grateful for her new coat. The seamstress had outdone herself, creating a masterpiece of dark blue wool with a long Victorian styled skirt and a large crossed collar. It was just magnificent, and Hannibal flatly refused to tell her its price. His eyes, though, twinkled as he helped her into it the first time they exited the boutique. She felt like a lady, treading at the arm of a handsome, educated man, impervious to the ghastly wind that had started blowing from the north. it just changed her life; she wasn't cold anymore. Paired with her high retro boots, Frances looked every part the Victorian lady. For now though, she had other things in mind. Bella's long whistle greeted her as she passed her front door; she was laying on the extended sofa in full view of the entrance, cushions propping her back up.

— "Damn, when you husband gets to it, he doesn't do it in half"

Frances blushed, hanging her new coat to let it dry from the snow.

— "Yes. It is a magnificent piece"

— "It suits you. You were cut to wear this sort of clothing, you shouldn't have to blush"

Coming from such a confident and beautiful woman, Frances couldn't help but feel humbled. She stepped into the room, spotting the already smoking teapot and biscuits laid out for them to partake in. It must be a good day if Bella was able to walk around and prepare things in advance.

— "That's a queenly present, Frances", the beautiful woman insisted. "Hannibal truly adores you"

— "Yeah. Albeit he said it was only 'tending to my needs' and no gift."

Bella's eyebrows shot up, an incredulous look passing over her pale face.

— "Right. Still…"

— "Yeah I know. Speaking of presents. Hannibal's birthday is less than a month away, and I have nothing to gift him with"

A stern look was sent her way, one that hid the uneasiness of speaking about the future. Would Bella be there, a month away, or buried in the ground already ?

— "Ah, so here you come, trading your presence against an idea from me ?"

Frances chuckled, taking her seat next to Bella.

— "Have some ?"

— "Not yet, but we'll find something. How old is he ?"

— "Er…"

Bella laughed at this, her mirth causing a coughing fit to erupt. Frances couldn't remember Hannibal's birth year if her life depended on it; he never shared the information. Knowing the date, though, already felt like a privilege such was the secret around his early life. As Bella claimed control over her abused lungs, she quirked an eyebrow knowingly.

— "So, Scorpio, uh? I'm not surprised"

— "Neither am I. But I'm not going to offer one so…"

An hour passed during which both women perused though the most ridiculous ideas. A cravat ? He had thousands. A ticket to the opera ? Hannibal had his seats already, and was picky. Restaurant ? He loved making his own food. A kitchen appliance ? Had it all. Wine ? Risky. Clothes ? Even more risky. Means, or course, were of no consequence; her bank account was thoroughly fed, courtesy of her husband. But Hannibal didn't seem to need anything. So it all reverted to finding something he didn't think of, like the frames for his drawings. Still, Frances treaded cautiously; she didn't want to impose any change in his way of life. To a controlling man like him, anything could trigger an instability. But she couldn't possibly confess that to Bella… Everything that passed her lips could potentially land in Jack Crawford's lap. Protecting Hannibal was embedded in her cells, so she was careful. Very, very careful.

Speaking of which…

The front door clanged rather abruptly as a very pissed Jack Crawford made a grand entrance. Not even shedding his hat, still flaked with snow, he stomped to the living room to address Frances.

— "Why are you here ?", he asked abruptly.

Frances sprang from the sofa, standing proud to rob the rude man from having the upper hand. Bella, appalled, gave her husband an incredulous look.

— "Jack ! Where are your manners?"

Jack Crawford was an impressive man, even more so when anger led him. His sheer bulk and determination had probably his subordinates trembling in their boots. And even if she knew he wouldn't harm her – he was an FBI agent after all – Frances' spine stiffened. Luckily, she had faced more dangerous men than him. Namely Tristan the day he nearly crushed her windpipe with his bare hands; nothing could possibly compare to his cold anger. The fact that she lived with a man who could kill her in a heartbeat also gave her plenty of practice to stand proud in the face of adversity.

— "Agent Crawford, it seems we need to discuss"

Her calm took him off guard, and his proud voice rose in the living room.

— "Like hell we do, you'll just pack your things and leave my wife alone"

— "Jack ! I asked her to come!", came Bella's protest.

— "I don't care", he yelled. "You're not asking again! That woman is dangerous!"

Frances frowned, watching Bella's pale face loose another notch of color. Her courage made no doubt, but even the strong, proud woman had limits.

— "Agent Crawford, I understand you do not like me, but think of Bella"

— "She's everything I ever think of !", he retorted hotly, throwing his hat on the sofa where she sat but a moment before.

Frances took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm to urge Jack to descend from his danger high and listen to reason.

— "Right, then you know I am only bringing company, nothing more"

— "And convinced her to shed the chemo, I am not stupid !"

— "Jack !"

Frances' eyes widened then, understanding why the man was so riled up. He though she was pushing her to die faster, trying to take her from him. The mask slipped into place, her eyes growing cold as Bella's agitation grew.

— "I suggest this conversation is taken elsewhere"

She then reached for Bella' hand under Jack's watchful gaze. The man was clearly out of it; she would never harm her friend.

— "Don't worry", she whispered to Bella before she picked her coat in the entrance and stepped outside.

The door clanged loudly behind Jack as he followed, and Frances keenly felt the absence of Hannibal by her side. The simple action of putting her arms into the sleeves by herself was awkward; he always helped her into her coat. Then, once she had draped the heavy wool around her frame, the young readhead lifted her head to meet Jack's thundering gaze.

— "Bella is smart enough to take her own decision. I merely abide by it, and support her. God knows she needs it"

She couldn't help the underlying cutting remark, for even Jack went against her decisions when it came to her health. The explosion didn't come, though, as Jack's square jaw tightened and his face hardened.

— "You play a dangerous game", he grounded.

— "I am not playing", she retorted just as calmly.

The man just straightened; with his coat, he now dwarfed her frame so badly that two of her could fit in between his shoulders. A few solitary flakes still flew around, by the main fall was over by now, leaving the surroundings coated in a quiet blanket. Such a contrast compared to the simmering man that faced her now.

— "So Dr Lecter, the infamous, single Dr Lecter gets engaged after meeting a woman twenty years younger in less than two weeks. Will Graham – a socially challenged individual – considers her a friend just as suddenly, and now you wound your way at my wife's bedside when she's vulnerable. How does that look ?"

Frances' eyebrows knitted for a moment, realizing how the facts only fueled his doubts. She couldn't blame an investigator for noticing the craziness of those facts.

— "Suspicious, I grant you"

Jack Crawford didn't expect admission. Damn, she wasn't as young as he thought her to be, even when the reddened nose and loose strands flying over her face made her appear so.

— "What are you after, money ?"

Frances snorted, insulted to the core; his insinuations were so preposterous! Even without knowing that Hannibal was a master mind manipulator, it gave him very little credit to think him ensnared by a gold digger.

— "Do you really think a skilled psychiatrist would allow someone like this to penetrate his inner circle, let alone marry him ?

Jack shrugged, his breath creating a halo before his face.

— "Wouldn't be the first man to be distracted by a pretty … face"

— "Insults will get you nowhere"

Jack smirked, happy that she had caught his hesitation. She was a lovely woman, but not the kind you expected to sleep for money. There simply was too much class, and a certain lack of vulgarity. And her little stunt killing Tobias the psychopath didn't sit well with him. That woman oozed danger. Still… if he could rile her up, perhaps he would get some answers. And if insulting her didn't work, there was only one alternative left…

— "We're all men in the end, even the impeccable Dr Lecter"

The young woman's eyes widened, her fists closing around the leather of her gloves. Bingo.

— "You do him no honour. They are dozens of high-class women that would enjoy sinking their claws in the delicious Dr Lecter. Not one managed to come close. His mind is not easily swayed "

— "Perhaps your talents are greater than others."

Frances couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

— "You mean cooking ?"

Jack snorted despite himself.

— "You know very well what I man. So where does Will come in, uh?"

That's it, he had crossed a line. He knew it. Insinuating she was sleeping with both men. But two could play this game… and she didn't take the bait he offered so readily. Was this woman made of steel ? A mirthless laugh escaped her, and suddenly, she was watching him with the quiet and dangerous poise of a predator. A shiver ran down his spine as she replied coldly.

— "I suggest you forgo this line of questioning"

— "Is that a threat ?"

— "Hardly, but Hannibal will be pissed when he hears it"

In truth, she wasn't quite sure about how much she would tell him. She didn't want to bury Jack Crawford before Bella, and this could very well end up in a sorry mess. Would Hannibal defend her honor, or dismiss the accusations altogether and let the storm pass ? He had always been a gentleman to her, but she didn't know what made him tick… would an insult to her trigger him ?

— "Of course, you'll run to your husband to report the accusations", he spat.

This time, the young woman looked at him as if he was a daft five years old.

— "Hannibal is a psychiatrist. He knows how to find answers. I can't lie to him. I DON'T lie to him, I wouldn't even dream of trying"

— "Know that I am not afraid of your husband, young lady"

Something flashed in her eyes, something she wasn't saying. Frances bit her tongue, refraining from screaming at him that he FUCKING should. Hannibal could scheme a hundred different ways to sabotage Crawford. At the last resort, he would take him. He might have to cheat a little – the man was downright bulky – but she knew Hannibal could kill him in a heartbeat. The katana in his corridor wasn't for show. Instead, she tried to attack another angle. Bella needed her, she just couldn't let go now.

— "Well, do consider Will then. You need him, if you rile both men, you're going to have issues working"

— "You'll turn them against me ?"

— "We're not at war, unless you make it so. And they are both very loyal people"

The man's gloved finger was suddenly pointed at her face and she swatted it away before he even registered it.

— "To you ? How did that even happen in such a short time ?"

Frances lifted her hands in surrender, sighing. Of course, he had no way of understanding the unbreakable link between the three of them. Only modern education prevented him from calling her a witch; Tristan's first reaction when she had landed in the midst of his brotherhood. What could she say ?

— "I have no answer to give you. Listen, I have nothing to offer but my genuine sorrow for what's to come, and my presence whenever you can't be with Bella."

Her earnest plea seemed to fall on deaf ears.

— "What did the air force want ?"

Frances froze; Another angle of attack, a very valid one. How was she going to handle this ? Fortunately, the front door opened to reveal a very shaken Bella. At once, Jack offered his arm for support. It didn't prevent his wife to glare at him with all her might, her expression downright horrified.

— "Jack ? What do you think you are doing ?"

Her tone was so hard that steel would have bent to its weight. Jack tried not to look sheepish, and Frances sadly realised that she would never see that expression on Hannibal's face. Guilt simply wasn't part of his emotion span, and she cringed inwardly. Her man was broken, even more than Tristan had been.

— "Questioning, it's my job", Jack retorted.

Bella ripped her arm from his, her glare intensifying.

— "Get back inside, and let me say goodbye to my friend properly"

Jack sighed.

— "Bella…"

— "NOW !", she shouted.

And the man sent Frances one last, harsh look before disappearing in the house. At once, Frances wrapped Bella into a tight hug, her reddened nose tickled by the tall woman's dark curly hair. Her shivering form seemed so frail in her arms, as if she was disappearing already.

— "I understand, you know", Frances told Bella. "Don't be too mad at him, he's just trying to protect you"

— "He's gone too far"

— "Maybe, I can handle it, don't worry. You shouldn't linger here, it's cold"

Bella untangled her arms from the young lady, her dark eyes so determined that Frances nearly shivered. The threat in her voice couldn't be mistaken as she said:

— "It will be colder inside, I swear to you"

And she left, leaving Frances under the porch, a few flakes brushing at her cheeks. What a woman !