❝but simply to be accepted like stones and trees.

bellasamothrace - independent Phyllis "Bella" Crawford RP

home • ask • rules • info

hare and folly

She arrives promptly at seven, shaking the rain out of the plain black umbrella on his doorstep. The house is a monument to classic moneyed Baltimore, rubbing elbows with politicians and industrialists. She glances back over her shoulder where the car is pulling from the curb and touches quick light fingers to her hair. Jack has been distant, thrown into his work and the invitation fell to her. She was relieved, glad that there wouldn't be the sticky tangle of emotional minefields to wander with her husband present.

She could only be sick for so long before just wanting to be a woman enjoying dinner. She wanted to dine, talking about nothings with a pleasant conversationalist. She wanted to rejoice in flavors and revel in the fact that she was still breathing today. She was tired of the silences that settled bigger than boulders in bed with her, filling up the space between the breadth of Jack's body and the beats of her heart.

Dr. Lecter's home was a refuge and asylum for the moment. She checked her coat, picking a bit of lint that wasn't there away to fling into the breeze. She watched the rain tap fingerprints into puddles. She would be allowed to simply be, no secrets and no fear of that spot that was eating her alive. She could just be a carnivore of a woman, savoring the death of something else for once. The doorbell rang and she straightened, carrying her weight in an elegant line. She waited. The Doctor was prompt and polite. She wouldn't be waiting long.

thistle and reeds

She folds her hands in her lap, one thigh over knee and watches the shadows move slowly over the toe of her heeled boot. The corridor is a long glossy monument to modern medical science, but it still smells like the dying. It's antiseptic and overly sterile, leaving her with the buzzing taste of ozone on her tongue. She wants to be outside, scenting the bursts of spring, the heat of the sun warming wet pavement. She wants to go back to Italy to smooth her fingertips over the bricks of the palazzo. She wants to be young again, caught up in the giddy glee of a handsome broad shouldered buck calling out his adoration to echo across dark heads and bloom hot in her cheeks.

She wants to run, but these heels are impractical but classy. Instead she smooths a thumb over the opposite knuckle and inhales soft. Her hair is tied up in a dainty chignon, blouse a supple silk in white that clings to her shoulders and hides the way she's growing thin- ribs under skin under silk and platitudes. She quirks her mouth, turning at the sound of clipped shoes on the tile. It's a different noise than the squeak of comfortable sneakers and tired wheels.

Dr. Lecter is a pillar of a man, standing taller than he is and poised. She nods in greeting. Her knuckles feel stark under her palm when she squeezes her hands together and prepares for the warfare of conversation. "Hello," she begins, wetting her dry mouth after the vowel. "I'm assuming you are just as surprised as I am. I wasn't expecting you."