Disclaimer- not mine, it belongs to Thomas Harris

Ok, I was bored, and in the mood to write. This is a stand alone, not associated to anything else. It's just a little piece of 'what if '. Everyone is mortal, and how would Dr. Lecter mourn?

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The dawn light is weak, filtering through the dark clouds with a sickly pallor. You can see the wrought iron gates of a large cemetery, the cobbled walkways are well-tended, and the grass is cut to a uniform height. There are quite a few trees planted amid the plots of earth that mark the dead, but many of the gravestones are weathered and cracked with time, the names unrecognizable. The gates stand open for you, and you can walk down the path, but be careful not to make noise, this is a place of mourning.

As you head farther into the cemetery, you can hear the sounds of whispered speech. Just one voice, and you may indulge your curiosity and turn the corner, so that you may see the source of the only human noise. You are now able to clearly see a man in black, sitting beside a patch of newly tilled ground, still black and moist. A fresh stone is set at the head of the earth, larger then most, and shaped as an exquisite angel, staring down at the ground protectively with a white marble visage.

The figure is wearing a long black coat, simple yet well-cut, on his head is a rather unremarkable black fedora-style hat. He is sitting there silently now, tracing the inscription on the stone over and over again. As you look closer, you can make out the writing on the stone, but just barely.

Here lies in Peace

An angel of Light

A patron of Courage

Bravery and Might.

You were Loved

As the man's fingers comes to Loved, he stops, and places his palm flat against the depressions of the letters. From him you can clearly hear a low moan, deep and full of pain. His shoulders shake beneath the shroud of his coat, and you back away.

Now we must leave him to grieve, we have seen all that we should, and more.

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