An epilogue is a piece of writing at the end of a work of literature, usually used to bring closure to the work.

Two Months Later.

Hannibal opened the door, and his eyebrows rose, a smile on his mouth.

"Willow, I wasn't expecting you."

"Dr. Lecter." she smiled, lifted a bottle of Chianti and two Tupperware containers. "I brought you dinner. And cake. Hope you aren't busy." her bruises were all gone, the swelling died down, but her hand was in a firm cast. It was nearing warmer weather but she still had her thin body rugged up tightly, though she wore a woolen dress.

"On a sunday evening, at five thirty?" he quirked a smile at her. "Profiling me, Willow?"

"Ugh, what an ugly word. I simply understand your character." she gave him a pointed look he allowed to wash over him, to sink into his brain. "We have a little bit to discuss, you and I."

"Do we?" he swung aside to let her in.

"I should also probably mention I have somewhere to be in an hour. This is a timed social call." she stepped inside with a casual air. "And I don't think Will would hesitate to come over and make sure I haven't gotten drunk and passed out in the guest room."

"I have no desire to keep you from your date with good Will." he chided, taking her coat from her shoulders. "Ah, you're in navy. Lovely."

"You'll make me blush."

"I very much doubt it."

"Don't ever doubt it. You're a charmer, Lecter." she turned to face him, a teasing smile on her mouth. "It's in your character." she lifted the bottle and box between them and he accepted it with a smile.

"Beautiful beverage."

"Don't drink it on my account. I got you something fancy from that Italian restaurant down the road. I'll go soon so you can eat it while it's still warm."

"Any particular reason for such a short visit?" he inspected the delicious looking meal. "Or the dinner?"

"I did it because I'm trying to charm you." she flicked the bottle. "I'm a spirits girl, myself."

"So I've seen." he showed her through to the sitting room. "Will you indulge in a glass of brandy?"

"I do have to drive to Wolf Trap in a few minutes."

"I have freshly squeezed orange juice."

"That'll do me. Thank you."

He motioned to a seat and she took it, turning so that she could watch him pace to the kitchen and back out of it minus the box and bottle. She accepted the drink but put it on her knee. He watched her settle a firm hand over it, and noticed that her eyes, for once, were sharp.

"Sober?"

"It's been a month since I had my last alcoholic beverage. I've been working hard." she cocked a victorious grin. "Having that bottle in my car was a little bit like hell on Earth. I swear I could smell it through the glass."

"You probably could." he took the seat opposite her, his own orange juice in hand.

"My girlfriend - well, I mean, we're 'seeing each other', whatever that means, she told me to buy white wine with cake. But Google said it depended on the cake."

"Don't fret. I'm quite certain it won't be the end of the world if I don't have the correct wine." Well, not the end of his world. "Now. You said something about trying to charm me?"

"I was going to be subtle about it. But I am not the most subtle creature."

"No, I'd say not." he watched her watching him, interested, shiny gold eyes studying him, profiling him. "Why would you wish to charm me, Willow?"

"I know who killed Jacob and Timothy Bell." she said it so casually, like commenting on the weather. "I'm writing a new book. It's called Devour."

"These two things are related?" he asked, and may or may not have batted his lashes. Just a little.

Her response was a nasty grimace dressed up like a smile.

"The book you read of mine." she said dryly, wetting her lips. Her eyes flicked to his long fingered hands. "What was your favourite part?"

"I quite liked the entire thing, Willow. I hope this isn't to stroke your ego."

"I have other people to do that for me." she reclined in her chair, kicking one leg over the other in a nervous bop. Her face, however, betrayed no such anxiety. He had to applaud the control over her micro expressions. "See, I would've thought maybe you liked the death of Norman Jones. Maybe Jaques De Mort."

"I'm afraid you'll have to jog my memory." They were both playing the game. She had a good hand, but nothing to bet with. "I don't quite remember them like you do."

She licked her lips again, making his gaze flick to her mouth.

"Norman Jones," she said with a wide grin. "Was the younger brother of the twins earlier killed."

"How did he die?"

"Violently. All his organs were removed and burned. He was strung up by his feet and bled out in a slaughterhouse, like a cow." she blinked just once, and tipped her head to the other side. "He just wanted revenge on who outed his brother and sister. Never mind the fact they'd been murdered. Just that they'd been outed."

"A vigilante?"

"Mm." she lifted one hand from the glass on her knee and propped her head up with it. "Not a very good one, but his wrath knew no bounds. And Jaques De Mort... He was a lesser character, kind of just mentioned in passing. A previous case, the murderer. He was found out, drowned, revived, drowned, revived..."

"I hardly see how that applies."

Her smile widened.

"He had killed six people."

"How poetic." he said, and lifted his glass in a toast. He sipped his orange juice and although she lifted her glass in reply, she did not drink from it.

"I got a call from Jack not too long ago. About a month ago, actually." the muscle under her left eye twitched. "About Timothy Bell escaped from hospital, to be on my guard. But you know, the next morning he was found killed like Norman Jones, strung up to dry, organs all gone. Like someone had helped him escape just to kill him."

"How absurd."

"Yeah. That's one word for it." she swished the orange juice in the glass. He noticed her eyes drawn to the bottom, where the heavier sedative had created a sedimentary layer from her swirling it. "The funny thing about writing murders is that you pick up the strangest tidbits of information. I once killed a drugged man with strategically placed chopsticks through the eye sockets. It was one of my earlier pieces - it never made the final cut."

"Interesting." he noted.

"Oh, I was telling you. About a week after his brother had escaped - and died - Jacob Bell was found washed up in a river, his lungs all traumatized from spardoric revival. Jack wanted to know if I'd had any correspondence, if I had any clue to who the killer was."

"What did you tell him?"

"I had no idea when he asked me initially. If he asked me now... My answer may have changed. But seeing as it's been so long between murders I just can't bring myself to believe that he'll come back. He said something about the lungs being professionally tampered with, the extent of the torture was... Like from a medical student. Or maybe even a doctor."

He said nothing. Just sipped his wine.

Her golden eyes fixed on his maroon ones, and she stared at him unblinkingly.

"I think you said... you practise therapy 'now days', when we first met." she seemed to become aware she was treading very thin ice. She shrugged. "I thought maybe you might like to know. I told Jack I voted murder and failed attempts at suicide. Jack thinks it was one of my four stalkers."

His hand relaxed on the stem of his glass.

"And Will?"

"Oh, Will has his own theories." she sets the glass down without drinking it, pointedly scooting it away from her hand like she was disgusted by it. It sloshed, but didn't spill. "Of which I'm actually off to discuss with him now. Gonna walk his dogs. It was so good to see you again."

"Was that all, Miss Hammond?"

"Unfortunately, Dr. Lecter. Did you miss me?"

"Of course. Please, do come back for dinner some time. I'd love to hear more about this new book you're writing."

"I'm sure." she practically strode to the door, though she allowed him to put her coat on her, one sleeve at a time.

His hands lingered on her shoulders, and he could smell nervous sweat on her. The back of her neck was damp, her hair in ringlets from the humidity. It amused him, however, that she managed to give him a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug goodbye, before skipping to her vehicle and carefully peeling away from his drive. He lifted a hand in a wave and she returned it, her face visibly relaxed.

He quite liked that girl.

Nearly six months later, he received a neatly wrapped package. He opened it, and found a black, leather bound book, trimmed in gold, with a curly script declaring it 'Devour', by Willow Hammond (E.M Hart). He opened to the first page to find a print in the top right corner, telling him it was one out of only three copies of it's kind. Written in neat ink on the cover page was this:

Dr. Lecter,

I hope you thoroughly enjoy the 'adventures' of Carina Hellbent.

Thank you for everything.

The strange thing, however, was that the book was not focused on the character of Carina Hellbent, but on the main character of a empathetic young FBI profiler Rile A. Owlish. It was a good read, it provided a psychological detail of the main character's spiral into insanity, as encouraged by the menial and unassuming supporting character.

It was subtle, but it was there, this untoward revelation that the friend was actually the foe. While Carina did not turn out to be the main villain or a cannibal, she did sit Mr. Owlish down and sneakily coerce him into some rather untoward revelations, and was the cause of most of his turmoil. He sat down with his own pen and paper to write a thank you for the impressive looking book, and had a thought.

He scrambled the letters of her name - Carina Hellbent, what name was that? Usually her names were so fitting - and thus, his own name stared back up at him. Carina Hellbent was Hannibal Lecter. An anagram, like she had written for Timothy Bell, turning him eternally into Tom Blithely.

He was rather inclined to make a certain fuss about this, but when the book was released a day later, the female character had been turned into a man, of the name Jack Crawford, who was not sneakily psychological at all, only abrupt, powerful and decisive. She had re-written the whole novel, complete with a very different ending.

The only mention of his name was Lecter Park, where a body was found in three pieces.

When Dr. Lecter next saw Jack, he seemed to be flattered by the ode to his name. Beverly Katz also got a special mention as a witness who gave over the information that got the gears turning in the Rile's head as to who the killer really was (as well as a signed copy with a lipstick kiss on the inside jacket.)

Will told him that Willow had only written that she treasured the time she had spent with him, and asked him to scramble the name Rile A. Owlish. He hadn't figured it out, but it took Beverly four tries to spell out: Will Is A Hero. He flushed and cracked a wide smile at the good natured goading that followed.

In private, he confessed that he hadn't seen Willow since the fiasco with the Encompassed murders - she hadn't been in contact with him at all, aside from sending him a copy of her novel. If he hadn't idly wondered aloud why she chose to change the character of Carina into that of Jack and thus the entire story, Hannibal might never have been inclined to visit madam Hammond for a bite to eat later that same week.

She had Chianti waiting.

The end.

Please review!

A lot of love, thought and time went into this... and some repressed aggression.

My 14 year oldbrother designed both Sloth and Greed, so kudos, brother.

Thanks for reading.

All my love,

Aude The Third.

xx