I want to fucking tear you apart [Closed, Hannibal X Abigail]
[Post-Savoreux, post Will Graham's arrest, canon through the end of S1 NBC Hannibal]
She had been in and out of consciousness for some time, floating through a shadowed dream-scape that so closely mirrored the events of the last few months that she had had difficulty distinguishing it from reality. Was she awake? Was she dreaming? Was she dead, now - dead, and being forced to relive her sins in some kind of specialized purgatory, some place where her soul was anchored, impaled on the great black antlers of a stag? There she was: she could see herself, hung up in her father's cabin, stuck to the wall like a butterfly mounted in a shadowbox. From this angle, drugged and dreamy, she could almost admire the beauty in it - how her long hair hung over her face, concealing her, anonymizing her, just a pale, slender body with the same vicious wounds as her former victims. Because, she had to admit it now, they were here victims too, weren't they? And perhaps they'd come to claim her, come to make her like them. In the dream, she could feel where the velvet-covered bone shafts had pierced her. She could feel the blood spilling down over her naked body, warm like bath water, warm like being born.
Every time she woke, or thought she woke, the room was dark. She did not know where she was, and the greater part of her mind didn't really care. It was nice, for once, not to care. To have the great pressure and burden of guilt relieved. Not that she'd ever been guilty about the right things. There was the guilt of not pleasing her father. The guilt of liking how it had felt to stab Nicholas Boyle repeatedly, until his body collapsed and his heart stopped beating. The guilt of lying to Will Graham.
But never guilt for killing. No, never that.
Sometimes she woke and thought she felt another presence in the room, but it was too dark to see, and the sleep stole back over her too quickly to allow her to give it much thought. She knew she had been asleep a long time. Days? Weeks? There was a throbbing on the side of her head, but that dulled too, as the sleep took over. She was dimly aware that she was probably drugged. This half-wakeful state was familiar, just like the weeks she'd spent in hospital after her own father attempted to slit her throat. Her body itched in the same way, was lulled by the gentle waves of narcotics.This pleased her. It was better not to feel pain - emotional or otherwise.
But she'd been too long in dreamland. In the shadowy world of her unconscious mind, she saw hands lifting her from the antlers, saw her body unhooked and released, floating for a time in an empty black space before tilting its head back, her face revealed, blank and staring, mouth open, blood streaming down the side of her face. She was screaming at herself, but making no sound. Screaming and screaming, releasing no sound but a muted, rhythmic heartbeat.
One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand.
Abigail Hobbs opened her eyes, her body jerking awake.
"Where am I!?"
