something something cycles of abuse repeat when its all we know. abigail knew her father wanted to kill her. she had been forced into a situation where she had to help him kill girls who looked like her to survive. she had been taught to gut a splitting image of herself the way one would gut a deer. she had been taught about fear, death, cherishment, love and honour. she spent every day of her life desperately trying to make it to the next, hoping if she hunted well enough that maybe she could live another day, only to end up bleeding out on her fathers kitchen floor. and even after that, she resented will for killing her father. she constantly spoke of her father but rarely ever brought up her mother. she mourned her fathers death because even though his love had led to her pain, it was what she had known. he had been such a primary part of her life. and then there was hannibal. she knew he was the man on the phone. the man who had left the call that led to her mothers death, that had nearly led to her death. and yet she ran to him when she was scared. she seeked comfort in him. she would sneak out of the hospital to spend time with him. and she said herself "i dont know if its wise to trust you," but she did. because she knew he was a killer, she knew he was like her father. and she missed her father. so what else could she do other than trust a man just like him? to run into his arms and sob, to smile at the dinner table with him, to hunt his victims, to realize that the last time she hunted with her father it had led to her bleeding out on a kitchen floor. and so when hannibal reaches a hand out and gently calls her over, she knows the cycle repeated. abigail knows its just like last time. and wouldnt you rather have a choice in how you died? wouldnt you rather walk into deaths arms with acceptance, than struggle to avoid the inevitable? abigail had never been given a choice before. and the one time she was, she chose to willingly walk into the arms of a man she knew was going to kill her. because it was the only choice she had ever been given. she didnt try to pry his arm away, she didnt beg him to let her live. she accepted her death. she chose her death, just so she could have a choice. destined to die on the kitchen floor at the hands of someone she trusted, someone who claimed to love her. but at least she chose it this time. at least she had a choice.
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
origamiaround
gummygunk
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
tangentwithtanner
dededos
snowghoul
