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The Butterfly

copyright 1999, by Lectergrrl

Disclaimer:    The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling were created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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I observe. Quietly. She is like a butterfly in so many respects. Determined to escape her dreary cocoon, eager to achieve that beautified perfection she longs to possess.

Ah, but my dear, do you not realize that your roots make you beautiful as you are?

From the darkness, I can see her perfectly. Drenched by cold rain, a towel wrapped around her slender neck. She is waiting for me. And how I revel this stretch of silence. I enjoy making her teeter on the edge of uncertainty. I hold all the clues and she yearns to steal them from my mind.

I won't make the game so easy.

It with honed intuition that I realize I will have this creature. I already contain her curiosity. That part of her mind that is attracted to me whether she wants to or not. I will make her mine, if she is not already.

Dear Clarice. You were mine the moment you opened your mouth. You didn't look like much to me with your cheap shoes and your good bag. You looked like a frightened puppy trembling with anxiety. I cut away that foolish facade that makes you so confidant and arrogant in your so-called quest for justice. You were nothing but a woman with a pretty enough face to eat.

But you were a woman. The first I'd seen in a very long time. Such a long time, in fact, that I'd forgotten enough to be impartial to your appearance.

I already had the perfect quip to make you jog away from my cage in tears. I already knew how to hurt you. But those first words to me piqued my interest.  Not so much for that West Virginia accent I so despise on your lips. With the proper speech lessons, we could eradicate that. No. There was something in your tone that had always lacked from others before you. There was respect.  There was admiration. You may not know it now, wrapped in your silly conceptions of good and evil and what makes a man such as I tick. But I know deep beneath that deceptively righteous disguise lies a creature much like me.

You are a butterfly, Clarice. Someone - I suspect many someones - has merely clipped your wings and spun you in their silk webbing to make you believe otherwise.

I will walk free one day, Clarice. And you will walk beside me.

You don't believe me? Then why do you still stand here, drenched in cold rain, when you could utilize that beautiful brain of yours to solve this ridiculous Buffalo Bill enigma?

You tell me.

Quid Pro Quo, Clarice. Let's begin a bit of mind-fucking, hmmm?


copyright 1999, by Lectergrrl

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