Hahha, Sera… sorry for the songs (I live to serve :p)
To say that she expected something different was an understatement. After all, there wasn't much information for the lawyer to find in the first place. A date of birth – for too young – no ancestry and no police case. Not even a picture.
After a fit of jealousy - her nephew had moved on after all ! - Lady Murasaki packed her bags and took the first flight to Baltimore. The whole trip was spent mulling over the fact that Hannibal Lecter had married a young orphan that could be his daughter. She knew his manipulative ways, his need to dominate and control. Knew of his hobbies, and the need to keep them quiet.
But she'd never though he would stoop so low as to marry a young impressionable orphan just to decorate his Bentley ! What else could have pushed him, at fifty years old, to marry a twenty five year old girl ? Yes, a girl, for she could be no woman as this age !
So when the door opened on a slender silhouette, long ringlets falling over her shoulders, Lady Murasaki could only stare. Her opinion was already under revision. Young, yes, but not as impressionable as she thought. Something in her eyes… The former Countess Lecter found herself pretty impressed. Her features didn't display hostility right now, but were not exempt of wariness. As id she was ready for anything.
Had Hannibal unraveled his secrets, or kept their liaison and substantial relationship a secret ? Lady Murasaki smiled; this was going to be more interesting than she thought. Rather than stealing the girl away and sheltering her somewhere in Japan, she might very well find a sparring partner.
"Mrs Lecter ?"
The young woman nodded curtly.
"I am Hannibal's aunt, Murasaki. I was in the neighborhood so…"
A slight smile crept up the redhead's lips; there were so many holes in her plot, would she call her upon it ? Instead, the young woman bowed, Japanese style, then smiled.
"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Murasaki. Would you care for a cup of tea ?"
Well, not quite up to par with Japanese' protocol, but close enough. There was no British accent, but that woman reeked of European descent. The Japanese lady nodded her assent, then plastered a smile on her face as she penetrated in the hall. The Samuraï armour that throned in the hallway, shiny and stern, called back many memories of past trainings with Hannibal. So many years ago, when he was still young and moldable. Or so she thought.
"Can I take your coat ?"
"Yes, please."
While the young woman busied herself with her wool and fur coat, Murasaki closed her eyes to take a feel of the place. Cold, controlled, high-end and full of that woman. As if she was the only one living in here… and she didn't even – officially - know her name. But it wasn't her place to ask; Mrs Lecter she would be for the moment.
"Sencha ? It is my favourite."
Murasaki smiled once more; she was being offered a line.
"That would be delightful. Do you appreciate Japanese culture ?"
"I do, but I don't know as much as I would like."
"Then let me extend an invitation to visit at your convenience."
The young woman's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, her features turning into a worried frown. Then her expression cleared out and she mustered a forced smile.
"That is very thoughtful, Lady Murasaki."
Etiquette, once more.
"Please. Murasaki is enough. We are family."
The young woman set the kettle upon the fire, then nodded absently; obviously, some preoccupation was still having hold on her mind. She extracted tea from a kitchen cupboard – all packets neatly arranged – and poured it in the filter.
"Very well. You can call me Frances, then. Have a seat."
Lady Murasaki chose a stool to perch herself upon. Her eyes travelled to the kitchen, stainless steel and dark wood. The passe-plat was so characteristic that she nearly smiled ; Hannibal was everywhere in this house. He may not populate it with his emotions, but the neat arrangement, the order and cleanliness screamed of his tastes.
What kind of space did that woman have to thrive ? She didn't seem like the gold digger she had excepted, true.
"Forgive me for prying, but do you fear something might prevent you from travelling ?"
The young woman gave her an assessing look, throwing her long hair above her shoulder.
"Well, it's true Hannibal is rather busy with his patients. Leaving is always difficult with his schedule."
"You seem to regret that freedom."
Frances cocked her head aside with a smile.
"Yes. I have always been a free soul."
Longing permeated her voice when the slight whistle of the kettle filled the air. Murasaki bent over the kitchen counter.
"Are you trapped, now, Frances ?"
Somehow, this game of cat and mouse unsettled her; once more, she found that she didn't know which of them ladies was playing bait. Frances' brown orbs held hers for a moment, and a sly smile quirked her lips.
"My heart is. But not my body. If you fear that Hannibal keeps me prisoner, I can abate your fears."
The Japanese woman almost started; she had not expected things to be said so plainly. So, while the young woman retrieved the kettle and rinced the tea, Murasaki struggled to regain her composure. Did she know what he was ?
"Let us speak plainly, Lady Murasaki. I feel like you fear for me, is that right ?"
"That is correct", the older lady responded.
"May I ask why ?"
Stalemate; neither woman wanted to share their knowledge, for they both felt kinship to Hannibal. And If Murasaki suspected Frances to know who he was, really, she wasn't about to sell him.
"Hannibal can be… a bit overbearing at times. Given your age difference, I want to make sure you were not ensared and unable to gather your wits."
The counterattack was a blow swifty dealt.
"You know the hold age difference can have upon a youth, don't you ?"
And this being said, the young woman turned her back to her to retrieve two cups, and pour the smoking tea. Murasaki accepted the offering without a word; yes, she had unwillingly taken advantage of Hannibal's youth to try and mold him. To teach him how to fight, to defend himself, and to try to steer him away from his killing spree.
And she had failed, but the teaching were probably imprinted in her nephews' bones now. Seeing that her words landed true, Frances gathered her cup and took a whiff of the sencha. Perfectly prepared.
"It is not his experience, neither his money, nor his superior intelligence that keeps me by his side. I have met many people of power in my short life, I do not get intimidated easily. And although I do not share his proclivities, I will stand by Hannibal like a wife supports her husband."
"How about the rude?"
A bait… to check whether Frances was talking of Hannibal's need for control, or his killing Palmarès. The young woman didn't flinch, looking her straight in the eyes when she stated:
"It is my aim to protect the rude as well as my husband. I am the sheath… and he the sword."
The world suddenly tilted on its axis on this familiar Japanese notion, and Murasaki took a sip of her eat to regain her composure.
"There is certainly much more to you than meets the eye", she grumbled over the rim of her cup.
An amused smile brightened Frances' face.
"You have no idea."
The cup landed on the kitchen counter with a loud bang. Did Frances find it funny ? Did she realise how dangerous Hannibal was ? How quickly he could kill ? Murasaki couldn't quite believe the levity of that woman.
"If he wants to dispose of you, you won't see it coming."
A nonchalant shrug greeted her words.
"I don't care, once I'm dead I'll have no vow to keep."
Murasaki's eyebrows shot up, and she struggled to find the proper wording. She was much more proficient in Japanese and French than in English after all. Where was Hannibal's wife from ? Her features looked somehow Irish, but she didn't have the accent.
"Are you so willing to die ?"
"No, but I'm ready."
There was no lie in Frances' eyes. Hannibal's aunt pursed her lips. She expected to find a young woman full of hope; the standard youth married to a rich man. Someone who would spend Hannibal's money in expensive clothing, soirées, travels to the Caribbean's. Someone who would pop a few babies while his father played the Chesapeake Ripper by night, oblivious of her husband's occupation.
She certainly didn't expect an old soul in a young body, one that didn't consider her lifespan to exceed a few years.
"You fit each other well."
"I adapted."
I became someone else, her eyes said. And the Japanese lady believed her, for there seemed to be just a shell of the woman she could have been.
"So, now that the pleasantries are settled, tell me about yourself"
Murasaki blinked, taken aback by a request that sounded like an order. This little woman had more authority than a sergent ! If the lady wasn't one to be bullied, she found body relaxing as she enjoyed the taste of sencha tea on her tongue.
"Let me share stories of Hannibal's youth with you."
"Gladly. Come, we'll be better settled in the living room."
Murasaki bowed slightly; Frances was a graceful hostess. Too bad she would never get the occasion to display her skills at leading a house, for the Lecter Castle was now nothing more than ruins.
Two hours later
It took just a whiff of her coat for Hannibal to know that Lady Murasaki had decided to pay a visit. She had neither called ahead, and purposefully rang at his door during the day, maximising his chances to be at work. Meaning she wanted to talk to his wife without his interference. The wife she'd written about in a letter he had yet to respond to…
The psychiatrist froze, torn between the excitement of seeing the lady that had taught him so much – and still held a piece of his heart – and the anger at her ploy. He had killed his first man for his aunt, let her initiate him at sword play, and in bed. Memories flooded him from the smell alone; was it so wrong ? His memory palace was so vivid, so full of her fragrances, sounds, sensations that he nearly felt unfaithful to his wife.
He had not seen her in more than thirty years; she was a woman of nearly sixty, now. Yet, he didn't expect to see her crumpled. No. Lady Murasaki always had such poise ! She'd been his muse, for so many years. And he had to admit that his wife's noble posture had sometimes reminded him of her… his first love. Poor Frances, she could never reach Murasaki's ankle in his psyché, if only because his aunt had shaped him at a moment of his life when he was young and impressionable. Forged him, leaving her marks in his soul, like Mischa and his parents had.
Did she know, his little wife, how much he had lived before she came into his life ? Yes. Sometimes, it showed in her eyes. Despite her age, she didn't lack wisdom. It was good thing she wasn't so impressionable.
Feminine voices came from the living room; Murasaki was explaining what her name meant – violet. But Frances was silent. So, shoes clanging across the corridor wooden floor, he covered the distance to the living room in a few strides.
The first pair of eyes that caught him were his wife's. Her warm chocolate tried to convey that things were all right from her perspective. Her relaxed posture, her smile, even the way she bent over the coffee table talked of proximity.
His gaze travelled to their guest; his heartrate picked up. Lady Murasaki rose, breathtakingly beautiful for a woman of sixty. Her dark eyes, delicately shaped, took him in with longing and regret. Longing, for the lover she once had. Regret, for the man he had become. It should have hurt, but Hannibal only felt free; he had shaped himself.
A little hand sliding into his interrupted their starting contest, breaking the reminiscence of times past and buried. Hannibal and Murasaki had parted ways thirty years ago, when he had shown his hand. And he had to give it to Frances; she was there, by his side, despite the heavy burden she carried. And so, in gratitude to his little fairy as much as spit for his aunt, he slid his hand around her waist and kissed her lips. Then, he turned to his guest, and played the first pawn on the chessboard. In French.
"I received your letter, I had yet to respond to it."
His aunt lifted an eyebrow at his perfect accent; she knew he would find hers horrible since she had not spoken French for a while. Little did she know that he practised every day. Funny, how those two foreigners had bonded in his uncle's domain, so long ago. It almost felt like another lifetime…
"You mean you had yet to talk to your wife about it", she replied.
Touché. He had not anticipated her move, and knew he would get an earful this very evening. But Frances would forgive him, she always did. For the moment, they needed to stand up to this fearful lady that was his aunt. And Hannibal, never one to mince upon his words, attacked first.
"If you came here to chase her away, you'll be sorry you set foot in my house."
Murasaki's dark eyes widened; she had not expected such anger. And neither did he… he was surprised by the strength of his wrath at the idea she might sway Frances away from him. But the young woman set a warm hand upon his sleeve, giving him a mock glare.
"Hannibal ! You know better than to greet your aunt with such words ! She has been nothing but courteous to me."
And while Murasaki digested the news that Frances had understood their whole conversation, the psychiatrist gave his wife a long look. She grazed his cheek slightly, begging him to read in between the lines. All was well, and she wasn't going anywhere.
"Your French is more impeccable than ours, it seems. You are full of surprises."
His aunt's words caused him to smirk. If only she knew… But from the tightening of her features, she had already guessed that Frances wasn't your standard airheaded beautiful woman. They both shared subtlety and intelligence.
"I'm French, that's probably why", his wife deadpanned.
Murasaki smiled at her, the corner of her mouth still tense.
"Well, this explain that", she said, her piercing gaze returning to him. "I was worried, Hannibal. You got married, and I had no idea. I wanted to meet that new member of my family and make sure everyone was allright."
Frances rushed to explain, hoping to diffuse the tension between them.
"It was a very small wedding, and decided on a whim."
Her ploy partially worked, for his aunt turned to her with a reassuring expression.
"I am not angry, Frances. But I will not overstay my welcome. Nephew, I am glad you found someone to spend your days with, your certainly make a beautiful couple."
"Yes. I've found my match."
And both women bristled at that; none of them ignored that Frances was replacing the ghost of Murasaki now. Neither she nor Hannibal could ignore than thirty years apart had only drawn them further. There wasn't much of the youth she'd known, she was picking at scraps of his former self. A process painful for both of them.
So when she stood, two hours later, wishing Frances a fond farewell, they all knew it would be the first and last time the ladies met. Frances, because of her foresight. Hannibal and Murasaki because they couldn't stand to revive the ghosts of the past. His little wife chose to busy herself with the tea plate, dragging the tray to the kitchen to do the washing up to give him a few minutes alone with her.
To allow him to bid his own farewell.
Beside the Samuraï's complete armor, Murasaki reverted to her mother tongue.
"Be careful, Hannibal", she warned in Japanese. "I don't want to hear she died."
It had been some time since he used that language, and Hannibal fumbled to find the right words. It would be nothing eloquent, but the glare he levelled at the woman he had once loved was enough to have her recoil.
"Don't threaten me. Even my love for you could be not enough."
His aunt sighed.
"I take it you won't visit."
"You suppose well, Murasaki-sama."
The title acknowledged her a his former master, but held nothing of the affection that used to transpire between them. He belonged to another, now.
"Sayonara, Oi-chan."
Little nephew. So be it, he would be the little nephew forever. And Frances would not visit Japan in this life… Murasaki bowed to him, and he bowed in response. But not lower, as the tradition would want it. No. He was now free of her, and she wasn't his superior anymore.
He watched her as she left, her gait assured, her long black hair tied in a tight bun he knew well. Watched the empty street when she disappeared, his eyes lost in the beauty of spring flowers and new leaves. It would be Sakura soon in Japan; in her country where poetry strived, cherry blossoms properly covered the ground already.
Frances' head suddenly landed on his upper arm, and he lifted it to drag her to his side. His little wife. He gave her a minute before she demanded to know what that Japanese conversation had been about… she didn't last ten seconds.
"So, another ghost of the past curious to see your young and naïve wife."
"Yes."
"I take it she was disappointed."
Hannibal shifted to meet Frances' mischievious gaze.
"No. She's afraid for you."
The young woman shrugged.
"Smart woman. But that's our life. Come, I need to undress you before I even think of dinner."
Hannibal smiled, then closed the door to drag his wife inside.