It was understandable why one would never truly get over their lover being a murderer. And in the case of Hannibal, not just a murderer but a cannibal too. The very cannibal the FBI had spent years and years chasing down only to catch him after a bloodbath of a showdown.
Alana Bloom hadn’t taken it well when the truth came out. It hurt her harder than most and Will tried to comfort her as best he could, tell her that she didn’t know and it wasn’t her fault. Yes, Will had told her several times that Hannibal was guilty but that was the thing. If he had been in her shoes, he wouldn’t have believed him either.
Will had held a bit of resentment at first but it was quickly washed away when he went over things in his mind. He had always cared about Alana and that didn’t just disappear when she took Hannibal as a lover. Will couldn’t blame her for anything and while she was still getting over it, Hannibal didn’t need to know that.
"Alana is fine. She’s seeing someone else now." A lie. Alana had said she wasn’t quite ready to go back to dating just yet. Again, Hannibal didn’t need to know any of this. "They’re taking it slow but she seems happy enough and that’s all I could hope for."
Now only if this lie was the truth. Will would very much like to see Alana happy with somebody. But alas, now was not the time.
Hannibal could see through the lies, as transparent as they were. Will was a horrid liar, and Hannibal always seemed to sense when he was not being entirely truthful about a subject. Yet, he nodded and suddenly looked to a stack of papers sitting in the corner of the room. "Would you like to see my drawings? I think of you a lot when I draw. Of course, no pictures of you have yet to be replicated."
Walking to the furthest corner, he picked one of the top, and held it for a moment, as though weighing it. Precariously, he set it down and picked up a different scroll, weighing this too, before deciding on its perfectness and ability to be shown. Turning, he smiled briefly, reflecting his monstrous teeth that had done the unspeakable to human flesh--some even while they had lived. Again, he approached the bars, but seemed to take his time, as though absorbing the disgust in Will's attitude, the hatred that seemed to invigorate from him. Hannibal bathed in the idea.
This one had struck him particularly, and he figured it was something Will would enjoy. Of course, it was nothing more than a cheap charcoal drawing, but it was something nonetheless.
When he unraveled the scroll, there were only a child's hands present, and then her arms, lumped and healthy, a sign of young age. Then the face, with her chubby cheeks and somehow brightened eyes; then her body, though surrounded by a tub. In her hands she held a copper bracelet, a bubble emerging from it. Hannibal admired the work himself greatly, feeling as though it was some semblance to her; maybe a tribute, in addition to the many deaths in Lithuania, France, Canada, and America that he had caused.
"This is Mischa; here is your formal introduction to her," he informed him, not interested in discussing other topics they had previously centered themselves on. Lecter had mentioned Mischa in one of their discussions when talking of Abigail, but, in reality, she was nothing like Mischa. She was brunette, older, much older, but had those same, striking blue eyes and innocence. "Does she remind you of anyone, Will? Do you feel a sudden strike of familiarity?" he paused, and then smiled again, "Like a smite from God himself?"
