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I am by birth a Lithuanian, and my family was one of the most distinguished of that republic.

Hannibal stood over the flesh in petri dishes and the organs he had taken from the morgue. There were hundreds of vials and petri dishes surrounding him in this cooler. The thirty-year-old had found a way to grow flesh matching the DNA of the blood that had stained the hardwood floors of the cabin. He even managed to recreate her little hand. How he had cradled it. He must have sat there in the cooler with it for hours collapsed on the floor. He had his gloves on. He wanted to tear them off, wanted to hold her hand again, to feel her skin against his. This had undone what he did. Even through his gloves he could feel that her skin was soft and he could smell her again. Lily of the valley and fog. People’s scents were annoying to him, sometimes maddeningly so. Perhaps it was the absence of the blend of the lilies and the fog that made them so infuriating. He would return her to life as the six year old she was. She would be his then. His parents had been fine people. They truly had given him everything he needed to succeed in life, and their death’s weren’t their own fault. But they weren’t as in tune with her as he was, as prepared for her stumbles as he was. If she fell Hannibal had been waiting on it in the shadows to be the one to catch her. Avoiding the instance all together was denying her a learning opportunity. That she cried on his shoulder in particular was simply a pleasant side effect.

His parents had been fine people. But they weren’t important enough to come back to him. In the end they would only end up interfering. They might marry her off as was tradition amongst Lithuanian blue blood. They might insist upon raising her somewhere else. Hannibal would probably be able to find their DNA somewhere but they were not an option. They would interfere. Mischa would be so much happier with him and him alone. He looked back over at her sweet hand. He now had an arm to connect it to. She might be riddled with scars but those would be scars he’d given her. She would be his creation.

He meticulously sutured her hands to her arms, her arms to her torso, her torso to her legs, and her legs to her feet. There was just one thing missing now: her head. He had found a beautiful set of the same blue eyes in the morgue for her. They would gaze brighter with her soul entrapped in them. He had reconstructed her whole nervous system, he had given her her organs, he had grown bones for her out of his own stem cells. She had the same blood type as him so he had saved up. He had to remind himself to be sensible whilst taking blood from himself. He would have given her all of his blood if he could. She would be his down to blood and bone. The thought made a faint smile play on his lips.

He started constructing the bone structure of her face. The drawings had been in the works for weeks on end. Hannibal had taken a week off to fully focus on them. He modelled her bone structure exactly to the round face he saw so clearly in his mind. He was the most careful when crafting her cheeks. Those lovely cheeks he used to caress when she’d fallen whilst playing. He remembered the feeling of those small apples in his hands. One time he had squeezed her too hard after walking out to where the swans were all by herself. He had to sprint to her, to save her from herself. She was so clumsy, not distrusting of the world around her the way Hannibal always had. She had cried when he grabbed her so hard half moons appeared on her jaw. She had screamed at him that he was just her brother, that he wasn’t her father. His forgiveness had been instant, his pain like Christ nailed to the cross. He would forgive her any sin. Now she would see that no matter what he was to her, he was the only person that had the ability to take care of her. He put her brain in and vowed it would be filled solely with memories of the two of them. He wouldn’t let the world soil Mischa again.

He moved on to her forehead. He caressed the soft eyebrows he had found on a boy in the morgue. This plan had been years in the making. The abandoned restaurant Hannibal had bought had excellent freezer storage. He pondered on the fact that she would consist of other people as well. He decided the divinity she carried would of course be found in other people. What is divinity but a shared experience? He would, however, keep her to himself. Make her his own source of divinity. Worship and paternal care seemed to blend together in his mind. After crafting her face Hannibal examined one last thing. He took his fingers, put them in the corners of her mouth and made her smile. The most adorable dimples showed perfectly, to the millimetre how he remembered her. His hand brushed her chin. Slightly angular but covered with baby fat. He recalled scolding her at just 10 years old for not listening to him and going to touch the stove. He recalled how she tried to push his hands away, once again complaining he was digging his nails in. She wouldn’t have dared to do that to their father. He would take the caregiver role now. She wouldn’t dare to do it to him now.

According to his calculations she would need 1500 volts first, then 1600 and then finally 1700 volts. He couldn’t help himself and kissed the top of her head before he started with the defibrillator. She was cold and it didn’t feel the same as it once had, but the curve felt familiar. He wiped her forehead with his handkerchief. He took a deep breath and gave the first shock. He waited two minutes. In the first minute he heard nothing coming from the monitor and as much as he attempted not to lose hope, it subdued his spirits. Ten years of his life, a whole decade dedicated to growth and assembly of his Mischa and in ten minutes he would know if he needed to work another 10 years. In the second minute however something picked up. The monitor glowed a bpm of 20 in its macabre green light. It picked up to 45. Hannibal gave the second shock. 50, 55, 60. It was working. Hannibal could bring back his darling girl. He could give her everything. Another shock 65, 70 and the tension in Hannibal’s shoulder’s dropped when it jumped to a stable 80. He gasped as he saw her pinky lift up. “Mischa.” he said breathlessly in utter devotion as her eyes opened.

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His girl looked afraid. Disoriented. She was so beautiful he could cry. Only scars he had placed on her, the tiny little M amongst the stitches no one would take a second look at but he knew. He could see his sister’s chest rising and falling again. Finally air filled her lungs. He was in awe. He could smell her blood starting to pump. He could hear her heartbeat steady on the monitor. The light from the cooler illuminating her warm features. He had birthed her. He wanted to fall on his knees in worship of his sweet sister returned to him but kept upright on account that she would likely need him. “Mischa?” Hannibal asked carefully. His sweet girl was sitting there. She looked at him, then looked at the door. She bolted for the door but fell flat on her face. “Oh sweet girl,” he whispered softly with rare genuine empathy. He kneeled by her and rubbed her back. She quickly stood up. Mischa whimpered and held her nose. It was bleeding.

Hannibal had dressed her in a white dress he’d gotten for her at a boutique where he usually bought ties. He saw it and thought that it so resembled the dress she wore on their last Easter celebration together. He had bought it 5 years ago now. The dress was stained and he could not care less. It was strange. He thought that image would be paramount to him. Instead it was the fact that her skin, whilst still on the cold side, wasn't dead. It was real, she was real. He had defied God and his cruelty. He had left behind so many eggs on that easter egg hunt so she could be the one to find them. He had stayed up late to paint the eggs her favourite colours and his father had allowed him to. Her dress, now filled with blood stains, didn't bother him. The three dots only pleased him. It pleased him she would be warm to the touch. It also pleased him that he was the centre of this new world. The fact of the matter was that he was the only safe person to get care from. The blood was a reminder she had no one else in the world. She couldn’t fix this by herself. She needed his help.

Hannibal whipped his handkerchief out of his pocket and quickly held her nose. As amazing as it was that she was bleeding with no one else to turn to, he did not want her to be afraid in her second first moments. He wouldn’t make her beg for his help as much as he would love that. He examined her perfect little nose quickly and gave a faint smile at the fact that it wasn’t broken. He stroked the back of her hair breathing heavily. She struggled and tried to move towards the heavy cooler door. “Oh Mischa,” He pleaded “Don’t hurt yourself. Please. Please. Please. What’s beyond that door is not safe without me.” He begged in tears, pleading with his sister to please not leave him again.

He carried her over to the operating table which she came off of. She fought him the whole way. Hannibal, for the first time in his life, didn’t know how to calm her. He didn’t care that she had bruised him just below his temple and that he would have to explain it to his coworkers or that she punched his shoulder in the most painful way anyone could, likely making him unable to practice surgery for a week. Instead he worried about her small delicate hand taking the brunt of such a violent act she only undertook out of fear. He held onto her fists and tried to show her he would not harm her but with no use. In a desperate attempt to calm her he pressed his lips to her forehead sternly. This seemed to subdue her slightly. He unbuttoned the top 2 buttons of his shirt and pressed her head to his chest. Skin to skin would likely calm her down. He had seen it on the maternity ward. And it did calm her. Beautifully so. Hannibal had birthed her again. She needed to feel her creator's heartbeat. What could be more natural than that? How stupid he had been to stand so far away, to not immediately run to her after she had opened her eyes.

Her cheek pressed to his chest put tears into his eyes, as defenceless as he was when he still had nightmares about her death. Lilies, fog. He laid down on the table with her on his chest like a mother with her newborn. She sobbed in his chest defeated “I would move mountains for you,” he whispered. “You don’t understand what I’m communicating to you darling but that is just as well. I could never resent you. The most divine thing on this earth. I hope you will hear the love behind these sounds I produce in an attempt to soothe you. I cannot wait for you to tell me everything you need and then get to provide it for you,” He bounced her softly.

Mischa let out a whimper and buried herself deeper into Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal had to stop his nails digging into her skull as he cradled her head. He would deny his natural instincts for her. The instincts to make indents in her skull with his nails his hands could always return to. Like clicking into place so he could always guide her. Her quick gaspy breathing rhythm soon settled in with his own. Hannibal took deep breaths attempting to show her oxygen was no longer in short supply and she could fill her lungs deeply if she pleased.

“This is your place in the world. I am your place in the world. Going home will always mean you coming back to me,” He whispered. “H-H-H-” Mischa attempted. Hannibal’s eyes lit up possessively in response. He would take charge in this moment of her learning for the very first time. She would learn what he wanted her to learn. “Oh,” Hannibal supplemented, exaggerating the vowel so she could see the movement of the mouth required to make the sound. “HO-O-O-” Mischa mustered up. “Very well done. Mmmmm,” Hannibal taught diligently. He could not believe how smart his sweet sister was. Not as smart as him, she never had been. It would be better that way. He would teach her about the arts and the social sciences. He would steer her there under his care. “Hom- How- Home,” She finally put it all together in a shaky voice. Hannibal smiled at her, impressed, “So well done. Such a talent,” He whispered in praise. “H-Home,” Mischa managed again, her fingers stretched out and pointing at Hannibal. Hannibal placed her hand on his chest as he kneeled in front of her. He nodded and smiled approvingly, “Yes Mischa. I’m your home now. Come to me.” he said, scooping her up.

Hannibal carried her out to his car. He looked at the children’s car seat and carefully buckled her in. It was a soft periwinkle that didn’t match his car in the slightest but a colour she had once dearly loved. She appreciatively ran her fingers over the soft blue fabric. He immediately made a mental note to get her a dress in that exact colour and fabric. Hannibal brushed her hair behind her ears as he was leaning out of his car. She gave him her signature smile and Hannibal turned his face away from her and utterly broke down, the adrenaline and accomplishment now replaced by the true realisation his perfect sister was back with him. He laid his head in her lap and cried. Mischa put her hand on his cheek. “H-H-Home.” she utters softly. Hannibal collected himself and answered, “Would you like to go home sweetheart?” He asked. She put her hand on his chest again, “Home,” She said, pointing to him. He tucked her small hand under his. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry there were tears. That is not what you should see of me. I am the only person capable of taking care of you. I can protect you, I promise you I am the most capable man for this. It will be my life’s work. I have only just now grasped the concept of utter devotion,” Hannibal whispered in her ear.

Mischa looked tired and like she was struggling to keep her eyes open. Hannibal had to remind himself these words meant nothing to her because she simply didn’t understand words at all. He kissed the top of her head. Hannibal quickly got in front and started driving, an attempt to let her sleep so her body could recover from the new impressions of her now only minutes long life. Hannibal drove more carefully than he had ever done before. Whilst driving usually he thought that if an accident should come his way she would be waiting for him in the afterlife. Now he sat in front of the wheel holding it white knuckled with fear something would happen before his beautiful Mischa and him got home. His hand reached back to touch her foot which he had propped up on the front seat armrest and he drove incredibly slowly.

When they did get home Hannibal simply sat next to her in the back seat. He attempted not to worry about the world he was bringing her into with no success. Hannibal’s muteness was forced out of him, he wouldn’t let her share the same fate. He would let her speak when she was comfortable and teach her how to ask for what she wanted. As if he wouldn’t always know. He would shelter her from the pigs walking around on their hind legs. The only way he knew how. When she awoke murmuring Hannibal carried her into the townhouse. Mischa looked at the grand hall in awe. Hannibal walked past the portrait of her hoping she wouldn’t notice. She had seen her reflection in the rearview mirror after all. She tapped his shoulder all the same and Hannibal kept walking all the same, vowing himself to explain once she had the vocabulary to grasp his explanations.

The decision to switch to psychiatry from surgery wasn’t easy. Hannibal found surgery a beautiful art. But his kingdom was rarely graced with his presence. Letting Mischa grow up in the hands of yet another nanny instead of her bone and blood would be a disgrace. It would be a waste of all Hannibal’s hard work. He had despised his parents for not firing their nanny and letting him call the shots. When he started planning Mischa’s return to his grasp he vowed to himself he would be close to her. After all Hannibal worked for appearance and appearance only. He wanted no question of his family fortune and for his profession to stroke his ego. He just didn’t want it to become a wall between him and Mischa. In the end he’d given up his food for her on the brink of starvation. He could and wanted to give everything up for her.

The decision to homeschool had been easy. Hannibal reflected on the decision as he stroked the covers of the books on language acquisition in the hallway bookshelf. “I’ll teach you.” he whispered to her. Her speaking, her reading, the media she consumed would all belong to him. He would make sure everything was done appropriately. “Not everything I know but what you need to.”

Mischa’s caretaker opened the door to her bedroom. There was a plush soft carpet and a toy chest. Beautiful castles and princesses had been painted by hand by Hannibal on the walls. The ceiling was full of constellations and their names. One tiny little star had Mischa written next to it. Next to that one was a slightly bigger star named Hannibal. He had bought those stars just for them, so that she would always find comfort in looking up at the starry night sky. There were an array of stuffed toys for Mischa to play with and one weighted stuffed bunny Hannibal had sprayed with his cologne so she would be comfortable even if he had to leave her alone for a meeting with a client or to grab her something.

His suspicions for Mischa previously having had autism were great. The sensory items and the noise cancelling headphones as well as the sound proofing measures he had taken all prepared for an impending meltdown. He had given her a sensory friendly room. He almost wished she had autism or some disease that didn’t hurt her to foster dependence.

He then took her through a door within the room into Hannibal’s adjoining bedroom. He had a monitor set up on the side of the bed. His medical bag and a defibrillator were all on standby. He slowly placed her half asleep body on his bed. He noticed her hand linger on his arm. He finally got to place kisses all over it and feel it on his cheek. He felt the smallness of her hand in his. The smallness of her nails, her tiny fingers compared to Hannibal’s large hands. She could hold just one of his fingers in her whole hand. He took it all in desperately. Hannibal had also chosen to make her slightly shorter than she originally had been. Just so that he could be sure she would not grow taller than him. How was she supposed to feel safe, taller than her caretaker?

He could barely stand to go change in the adjoining bathroom, peeking out from a small crack he’d left in the bathroom door. Throughout the process of getting himself ready for bed he put his head out the door multiple times to see if her vitals were all he wanted them to be. When a solid 73 beats per minute was on screen and a blood pressure of 93 appeared he was pleased. After he had done his evening routine he just laid down next to her and stared. She was beauty and grace itself. He stroked her hair and tucked it back behind her ear, giving him an unobstructed view of her beautiful cheek. The one he would caress until the end of time. A sweet rose colour on account of the temperature changes she had encountered and her tiredness.

All Hannibal did was stare. He did not sleep, he could not sleep. Factually he knew the monitor would wake him if anything was wrong but he did not want to waste the valuable seconds of realising what would be going on. He would not lose her a second time. His trust in the monitor also diminished as he counted 72 beats per minute instead of 73 for one of the minutes. The next minute it was back to normal but by Hannibal this was seen as a failing of the medical system. He made a mental note to obtain a more reliable monitor. So Hannibal laid there counting her heart rate the whole night. He smelled her, dug his fingers into her wrists ever so slightly.

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Mischa sat in front of a big structure in the room where the person who carried her into the home had first taken her. She enjoyed the way it ticked and how the large gold bell swung back and forth. She moved her head along with the gold bell. She got slightly spooked at first when it made a louder bong sound multiple times but now she welcomed it and smiled. There was also a big circle with squiggles on it and two lines pointing at them.

Hannibal woke up from a rare nightmare free night of sleep. The peace he felt quickly came to a halt when he realised the monitor was no longer beeping. Fear shot into Hannibal’s gut. He swallowed, his eyes still closed. He decided on what to do. If she was laying there dead he would join his sweet girl. He would stab himself in the heart and cradle her corpse as he bled out. He would return himself to her as she had returned herself to him. It wouldn’t matter to him that she hadn’t had the strength to stay with him. He knew Mischa in essence, as much as he loved her, was vulnerable and helpless. It would matter his sweet girl fought and tried. He laid there for two minutes before deciding to face reality. She wasn’t there. He growled animalistically, felt around the blankets for her and looked under the bed. He felt his mind race in a way it hadn’t since he was held back by the bandits as they took his Mischa away. Considering all possible exits. He checked the bathroom and her bedroom. He recounted all the possible places she could have gone and reminded himself she was somewhere in the home since he had locked the door. Unless someone had broken in and taken her. He immediately decided on fingerprint locks for all doors in their home as well as an emergency mode. “Mischa?! Mischa, darling girl, please shout back to me?!” He panicked as he sprinted down the stairs into the hallway.

“Home!” Mischa responded with a smile that would put the sun to shame. She saw Hannibal walk down the steep steps. “Home,” she said in a fond and soft tone as she moved to hug his leg. She had no idea what she had done was not what she was supposed to do.

Hannibal felt relief and worry boiling up inside of him as he saw her sitting in front of the grandfather clock. He grabbed her face and dug his nails into her chin. “Do not ever do that again.” he said, making an attempt to keep his voice composed but failing. He wanted her to know how worried he’d been about her. He felt powerful when she let him dig his nails in. She now saw him as the ultimate authority. She would always run to him, she had no one else to run to. She wouldn’t reach for the stovetop anymore.

Mischa deduced her caretaker was angry. She didn’t know she had done a wrong thing when she had walked downstairs. She gasped as she realised she had been disappointing to him. She didn’t know how to express how sorry she was to the man who had given her so much warmth. A warm vehicle that took her here, a warm blanket, a warm hug. She broke down sobbing, finding herself unable to look him in the eye. She was so worthless she could not even make the sounds he made to express that she was sorry she had upset him. She didn’t understand his either. And for the life of her she couldn’t tell what she’d done wrong. She felt pathetic.

Hannibal could not stand seeing her cry. He sat down on the floor next to her. “Oh Mischa, I did not mean for you to cry. It is alright. I did not mean to lose my temper. You are simply too precious to lose.”

Mischa started to recognize certain words. She needed to understand what the only person in her world meant. She pointed at herself and asked “I?”

“Yes Mischa. Oh sirdelė stop crying,” he whispered, nodding and smiling, indicating she had the right answer. He pointed back at Mischa, “You.” He said clearly, his tone indicating he was trying to teach her something.

Mischa smiled at seeing his approval in the form of a smile. “Home!” she said gleefully, pointing at him. Sensing and hoping she was in his good graces again she moved into his lap. “Home.” she said in the most grateful tone she could muster.

Hannibal tried to communicate what his words couldn’t. That he hadn’t meant to hurt her and that he loved her more than anyone had ever loved anything. That no God who claimed to love all had ever loved any of his creations like this. Hannibal didn’t hold such delusions. He was Mischa’s God, her creator and he loved one thing and one thing only. He tried to communicate that he spent years and years working on techniques to get her back. That the entirety of his twenties were spent on it. That he knew what it was like to lose her and he never would ever again. That he would die before her now and that he felt so immensely guilty about the fact she would have to face a world without him. He could not put all that worship, all that love in the stroking of her hair and yet he tried.

Mischa felt such overwhelming love at the touch of her caregiver. She tapped his lips with two of her fingers, hoping he would press them to her forehead again. She had so loved it when he had calmed her after she was just born. It was the warmest touch of the world she could have imagined.

“Would you like a kiss, my Mischa?” Hannibal asked her lovingly, “Can you say kiss? K-“
“K-“ she responded
“Ki-“ he taught with absolute love and care.
“Ki!” she said excitedly
“Kiss.” Hannibal pronounced over the top.
“Kiss?” she asked shyly. Hannibal showered her in soft kisses on her cheek and then kissed the top of her head a long time, completely and intuitively in tune with her wants and needs. Afterwards she turned back to the clock with amazement.

Hannibal held two fingers to her neck. She felt her heartbeat against his fingers. 
“Home?” she asked him. 

“Yes Mischa, what is it?” he asked her, moving her hair to the side and leaving small kisses on the back of her neck. She was perfection itself. He thought disgustedly about other people attempting to harm her and decided going outside with her would be an event where she held his hand or he had her on his hip.
“M-Me Mischa?” she asked, making a very important correlation. 
“Yes! Yes oh you did so well,” he praised. His eyes were desperate for her to learn more so she could tell him everything. 

Mischa wanted to say thank you, to tell him how warm he made her feel and how she felt so much safer now than she did in that freezer where she had awoken. She made an attempt. Her lips pressed themselves to his cheek and she hoped so deeply it would be enough to show him that she was happy. He seemed worried about the fact. 
“Home,” she whispered softly, making an attempt to drive her point home.

Hannibal had to stop himself from breaking down. He pulled her in. He knew he loved Mischa. He told himself it didn’t matter if she loved him back but it did. If she didn’t love him back he would have put the same care and love into her. She would never have lacked anything. But it mattered that she had kissed his cheek. She had shown him she wasn’t just dependent on him for survival but that she was willing to return the affection he was pouring into her. That was the Mischa he knew. He received her nose buried into his neck on top of all this. He knew she didn’t have his sensitive nose but still hoped she found comfort in his scent. Deep down he knew Mischa cared more for others than herself. 

She smelled the soft wood and salty sea of his cologne. She nuzzled in further. His scent felt like a second embrace within the first one. She vowed to herself she would find the sounds to make him understand how happy he made her. 

Hannibal put two copper bracelets on her to conceal the scars on her wrist. Ones made the way she used to have, except now there was a small H engraved on them as well as Mischa’s name. He kissed her cheek. Words would merely sully this moment. The act of not speaking but showing was what would win over his little girl.

But she was already won over, with nothing but complete adoration .

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“Home!” she said gleefully as he moved to wake her up. It was a perfect term for him. Home. He would be all the home she ever knew. She had settled in his bones as much as he was permanently settled in hers this past month. Life without her had grown unimaginable again. The memory of her screams had quieted down. Her vocabulary was quickly picking up, a determination in her eyes he couldn’t make sense of. He hoped she didn’t feel any pressure. He loved her desperately and heart wrenchingly just as she was. He would love communicating with her, to read her Dante and Homer (not that he didn’t, but that she’d understand it). But if she stayed like this she would be so wonderfully dependent on him. If she grew up selectively mute she wouldn’t even be able to do groceries without him. Never able to live on her own… he pondered it. She was his perfect girl either way, as long as she remained in his grip there would be no problems.

“Goodmorning dear Mischa,” he smiled. 

“Y-Yoghurt? Breakfast?” she asked with a head tilt. She made sure to pronounce the J-sound in yoghurt. Her carer had seemed worried about those. She noticed she had difficulty making the sound when her father reiterated the word she had attempted. The only logical solution was to make her home proud and try again and again softly under the covers at night until she fell asleep.

Hannibal smiled widely as he heard her J started to improve. It was slightly misplaced in the word yoghurt but she had gotten the consonant out. “Yes darling.” He covered her in kisses proudly and carried her downstairs. He was worried about her having a speech impediment. Kids were cruel, he knew that all too well. Maybe she shouldn’t be near them. Other children weren’t good or anything special. He carefully plated her breakfast. Homemade strawberry yoghurt with shaved almonds, raisins and raspberries. 

She smiled at him widely, still unsure how to express her gratitude. It was starting to bother her, the imbalance. Her home doing everything for her from feeding her to bathing her to teaching her and all she had to offer in return was to pronounce her J’s better. She wouldn’t try to communicate that to him though, she didn’t want to add on to all the things he did for her. Comforting her would be another thing on his list of things to do and she never saw him sit down as it was. She handed her plate back to Hannibal empty and with a smile that was bound to turn into a laugh at some point. 

“Thank you Mischa,” Hannibal said absentmindedly. Her eyes lit up, finally making the connection of what those words meant. He had said them to her many times but she could not figure it out until now. 

“Thank you?” she smiled up at him like he put the stars in the sky. “Thank you!” she said pointing at her empty plate. “Thank you!” she said, her hand on her worksheet. “Thank you!” she said, grabbing a hold of her father’s hand. 

Hannibal felt the weight of her gratitude. Gratitude she shouldn’t be feeling. This was her birthright. He made her, she was his responsibility. She did not have to thank him for food or education or his loving hand. It didn’t make it any less endearing. She couldn’t be more endearing if she tried. 

“No sweetheart. You do not have to thank me. There is no reason for you to.” He whispered. 

She felt a wave of pain go through her. “No?” she asked wide eyed on the brink of tears. She turned her finger towards herself. “B-Bad?” she asked half crying. 

Hannibal could almost see his world crumbling. His already shy little sister turning inwards, not wanting to communicate with him anymore. “No. No No No Good. So good. You are good Mischa. You are goodness itself,” he whispered. 

“Thank you!” she whined again, more steadfast this time, wanting to show she meant it. 

“Yes. Sure. Please don’t cry. Please,” he whimpered desperately.

“Thank you.” she grinned brightly. “I… no crying.” she strung together. 

Hannibal couldn’t beam with pride any more if he wanted to.

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Within 4 months Mischa was forming full sentences. She made mistakes here and there but had an extensive vocabulary and a remarkable grasp on sentence structure. Hannibal slept peacefully most nights after he had fingerprint locks installed everywhere in the home. Mischa’s bracelets were heart rate monitors and if her beautiful heart stopped beating an alarm would go off on his smart watch. She slept with a defibrillator under her bed. Still he felt too far from her tonight. Often Hannibal would sit and watch her sleep. He was certain she knew. He hoped that she knew. He hoped she would feel him watching over her slumbering form. She would awaken with him by her side every morning, having calculated exactly when the morning sun would shine on her face through the position of her window.

His hunts happened on Friday evenings. He would put her to bed and leave her with a babysitter. She was a lovely, polite young woman and yet Hannibal secretly hated her. He was almost embarrassed by this rudeness on his part. He recognized she was a hardworking robotics student who clearly came from a low income family and depended on the extra money to not work her further into debt. She was simply paid to sit downstairs as Mischa slept. This embarrassment was combated by tipping her well and making her text him when she got home. He hated that his Mischa couldn’t come with him. The hidden camera in her stuffed bunny was no unnecessary measure in his eyes. In his eyes Mischa was a stumbling little newborn deer shaking on its legs. What could he do but love her, track her? She clearly needed him. He had created her; she was his responsibility. And she seemed to adore the necklace shaped like a little moon that the GPS device was hidden in. Whilst American parents whined about privacy and giving your kids space their most adored girl had never been dead. 

Today was a Saturday. He had wanted to put up tableaus in her honour last night, to show her he would make her world beautiful even when other people were ugly and protect her. Hannibal had only been slaughtering paedophiles since her ‘birth’. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone traumatising her. Not again. No more dirty, undeserving hands on her soft skin. He could hear her every movement. She stirred so much in her sleep Hannibal wondered if she was troubled by nightmares. 

Hannibal had fought against his sleep for ages hearing her shuffle in her bed. He imagined the small limbs he had sculpted himself moving about the bed. He hoped she wasn’t afraid. 

After tossing and turning from hearing her movement in her sleep Hannibal decided it wouldn’t hurt to go and check on her. 
“Darling? Mischa, what's going on in there?” He knocked on the door joining their bedrooms together. “I’m coming in there if you do not answer me Mischa. I’m counting down. Three… Two… One…” he counted down. 

He entered the room and saw her with a flashlight and a picture book under the covers. He flipped them back revealing her in her sage green sleep dress, her hair in a braid. A guilty look on her face.

“Mischa!” he said sternly. His accent slipped. “Ką tu darai?” he asked, quickly realising he was speaking Lithuanian to her again. He shook himself out of it. “What are you doing?” Hannibal asked with crossed arms and raised eyebrows. Hannibal swallowed as he realised how much he sounded like his mother just now. He had to use all his best efforts to remain a firm authority figure and not laugh at how typical this was for her. 

Mischa hadn’t heard Hannibal come in. She looked shocked and guiltily up at Hannibal. 

“I wanted to look at p-p-pictures.” she stumbled out nervously. 

Hannibal was gentler than he had expected himself to be. “Mischa that is for the daytime or for when I tuck you in,” he said simply, taking the book back to its crate and clicking off the flashlight. “We can do that again tomorrow.” 

“Okay home I’m sorry.” she whispered. Hannibal had been so gentle and yet her feelings were still hurt. She knew what she had done was wrong but she couldn’t sleep. She felt stupid for how quickly she wanted to cry over everything. Her home had only cried once, right after she was born. She had cried more times than she could count. Her home must think she was so stupid. Stupid girl with her stupid tears. 

“We will start with school a little later tomorrow,” Hannibal said. “I will let you sleep through my first appointment.” He adjusted the curtain so she would awaken an hour later. 

Mischa nodded with a pout she tried to hide. 

“I’m not angry,” Hannibal said softly, not being able to stand seeing her cry. “This wasn’t the right course of action because you need your rest but I am not angry.”

His sweet sister nodded but Hannibal knew that wasn’t the end of it. 

“What’s the matter, Mischa?” 

“Nothing,” she said unconvincingly. 

Hannibal sat down on her bed. 

“Mischa you need to tell me,” Hannibal instructed sternly. “I cannot care for you without having all the information.” 

Mischa inhaled sharply. Hannibal could feel his nails clicking into place on the back of her skull. 

“Home… I feel like I cry too much. I feel really weak-“ she sobbed softly. 

Hannibal smiled softly at her. Her dependence was a gorgeous sight to see. He held her hand. 

“You are so in touch with what you feel sweetheart-” he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “-that I think a lot of grownups are jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me?” she asked, pondering the possibility. 

“Sometimes you feel so much and it upsets you, but when you are happy you’re happier than most of us.” Hannibal kissed her cheek all over. “Did you stay awake because you were upset by something?” he asked her. 

“I just was worried,” she whimpered softly. “I know maths isn’t going well.” She looked down, once again on the brink of tears. She had seen her home’s frown when correcting her worksheets and had seen the 28/100 on her sheet in red marker.

“Oh sweet Mischa, you were lying here worried about that?” Hannibal laughed to show her it was a ridiculous thing to worry about. “We have a whole lifetime together,” He whispered, “We’ll fix it. I’m a very good mathematician. I'll aid you in the process.”

“I want to be good at the things you’re good at.” His Mischa said softly. 

“Why in the world would you want that?” Hannibal smiled down at her. “You’re so creative Mischa. And you’ve been learning to read and write so quickly! Much quicker than I ever could have imagined. I thought getting you to write your name would take another two years and you’ve done it in four months,” Hannibal praised. “I didn’t learn how to read and write that quickly.” He stroked her hair. 

“Okay home.” she whispered 

After Hannibal had tucked her into bed with a larger amount of strokes on her cheek and kisses than usual he returned to his own bedroom. After coming up with a plan to show his girl how beautiful her sensitivity was he went to sleep. 

He awoke screaming his sister’s name. He felt the emptiness of losing Mischa again. But she was standing at the foot of his bed wide eyed with the stuffed bunny he got her in her sweet delicate little hand. 

“I’m sorry, širdele. Please come to me.” He peeled back the covers so she could join him. He convinced himself it was for her sake.

“What was that?” She asked quietly. 

“A dream sweet girl,” he whispered in her ear. “All nothing but a dream and a scary one at that- but a dream altogether.” 

“Did you lose me?” She asked softly. “Like when I went to look at the clock?” 

“I did. It is complicated, sweet Mischa and not suitable for a young woman your age.” He answered. 

She laid down closer to him. “Was it that bad?” she asked wide-eyed. 

As all the memories shot through his head like bullets he held her tightly. It wasn’t real anymore. He had undone what they did. They were dead and she was here. Her heart was beating against his stomach in the pyjamas he gifted her, under the covers of his bed like she used to crawl to him after her nightmares, clutching a stuffed bunny he got her, in his house that he owned, eating the food he acquired for her. He finally owned his Mischa. No one knew she existed and no one would get in his way. 

“It was the ugliest thing in the world, Mischa,” he whispered lovingly into her ear. “A world without you has always been utterly disgusting to me.”

“Home, you’re being silly.” she giggled, “You just met me! A couple of…” She searched for the word. “…weeks ago.” she settled on. 

“That is quite right. A couple of months ago.” he said, holding onto the apple of her cheek. “And the world was unspeakably ugly back then.” 

Mischa settled further into him. Hannibal was sure she wanted to crawl into his skin as much as he wanted her to. 

“Home… I feel nervous when you’re not there.” she admitted adorably. 

“Well then stay here,” he said possessively. “Stay in my bed, by my side.” 

She was asleep in seconds. Hannibal was utterly pleased. 

He let her sleep whilst looking up the pros and cons of parents cosleeping with their children on his iPad. Pretending it would matter.

Chapter Text

Grocery shopping with a toddler was no small feat, especially not in the stores Hannibal frequented, but Mischa was angelic. Far too scared of the world around her and requesting her noise cancelling headphones less than two minutes into their trip. He happily obliged. The cheesemonger always gave her a slice of cheese. Hannibal appreciated all the vendors. The wine connoisseur was always friendly and the produce vendor always gave her a banana. This was about as much of the world as Mischa saw and in her mind everyone was like this. He was glad of it. He would always be there to protect her, no need for her to worry about the discourteous. Hannibal bounced her on his hip in an eco friendly organic supermarket where they always got their grains. 

Hannibal ran into Alana Bloom, an old colleague of his. Her eyes met his in recognition. 

“Ah Alana, it is good to see you,” Hannibal said. 

“Hannibal hi! Who are you babysitting?” Alana asked with a bright smile. 

Mischa frowned. 

“Ah see Alana it is not babysitting-“ He felt himself get interrupted. 

“He’s not my babysitter, he's my home. Harper is my babysitter.” Mischa clung onto Hannibal tightly as if he would reveal he had been her babysitter and was now going to leave. Hannibal smiled. 

“Her… Home?” Alana asked. 

“She is my cousin from Lithuania. She… She no longer has any living family besides me so I took her in. I am her guardian,” Hannibal lied. Mischa was too hidden away in the silk lining of his tweed jacked to hear or register what he said. “She’s rather… clingy. I did not think that would be something I enjoyed, however she has proven me wrong.” He moved to kiss the small part of her head still exposed.

“I cannot believe you didn’t ask me to come meet this little bundle of joy! Hiii!” Alana cooed, more so at Mischa than at Hannibal. Mischa only buried herself in further. 

“I do apologise for not contacting you sooner Alana. It has been a rather hectic time. An enjoyable one at that, but hectic nonetheless.” Hannibal said. 

“What’s ‘hectic’, home?” Mischa asked. 

“Hectic means a lot of things need to get done at once or something needs to get done in a short amount of time. Like when I ask you to do quick maths.” Hannibal explained lovingly. 

Alana saw how shy and clingy Mischa was. She also noted how the slight change in their routine deeply affected Mischa. “I’ll let you and your home get back to it okay?” She waved at Hannibal and left to go do her groceries. 

Hannibal was cooking her a special meal today. He had pickled some meat for her when he had killed one of her murderers. His sweet little Mischa would be consuming the pig tonight, along with ravioli. Her favourite. She had such a wonderful palate she would eat anything he put in front of her. He thought about going for something showier, something more intense. However, the way Mischa looked at him when he made ravioli from scratch gave him different ideas. She was so grateful when he made it and smiled so brightly when he let her stamp them out. Besides that it reminded him of watching their cook in the kitchen and his time spent studying in Florence and his mother. Studying human anatomy to bring her back. It was a perfect meal. It was simple. Made for family. Mischa was grateful for everything which only made Hannibal want to give her more. 

Mischa was still softly sobbing inside his jacket.
“Saulutė what is it?” Hannibal asked lovingly, whispering into his coat. 

“Didn’t- Didn’t go normal-“ she sobbed out. 

“Mischa, my perfect girl, I’m just going to get a carton of eggs and a bag of flour and then we can spend the rest of the day together in our home, in silence. It is the weekend so you only have two maths worksheets to complete.” Hannibal said. 

“No home I can’t-“ 

“You can,” Hannibal encouraged, “You are so good, I know you can do this. Put your headphones back on, you can stay right where you are.”

Mischa struggled in his firm hold.  

“Mischa. Mischa, I know you have the ability to push through. Just do this and we can go home. We’ll do the rest exactly the way we always do. If we leave in the middle of our groceries it will be even more different.” Hannibal grabbed a pack of flour. Alana handed him some eggs and went about her groceries. 

Hannibal shushed Mischa as best he could. He thanked Alana with a polite smile. 

Hannibal quickly walked them over to the car. Mischa would not let go of him when he tried to buckle her into the car seat. 

“Sweetheart what’s going on? Can you use your words?” He asked. 

Mischa shook her head no. 

The realisation hit Hannibal that she was likely selectively nonverbal. “Oh my darling girl. Is a hug something you would enjoy right now?” 

Mischa didn’t let go of her death grip on his shirt. Hannibal held back his grin. She would always need him. He would be her safe person and she would always need him. Hannibal couldn’t wait to come to her rescue. He hoped she would melt down in public when she was older so he could take care of her. He loved being the one to eventually make her smile again. Everyone around them would know she was his little angel. His piece of divine light no god could take from him. 

Hannibal drove them home whilst singing soft Lithuanian lullabies. The realisation once again set in that she had no one else. He cradled her in his arms when he got home. The doors were always immediately locked behind him. Hannibal pondered what it meant that people would know about her existence now. Alana wasn’t known to keep secrets for very long. 

Hannibal decided she must be formally introduced to society. He knew his acquaintances' children were always introduced at dinner parties or at a children's opera. He was torn between the two. With her fondness for music she would love the opera but Hannibal so loved to host. To hunt in her honour. 

Hannibal put her on the counter. He kissed her face all over. 

“My poor overstimulated girl.” he whispered in her ear. “Do not worry for one single second. Your home is here, I will help you through this.” Hannibal put her headphones back on.

Hannibal had made her a sensory room in case this happened. It had previously been a storage closet but he found all things less important than Mischa. Soft pillows and sage green walls adorned the room. There were sensory toys in a basket and soft lighting. 

“Here we are. This is all for you Mischa. You can stay in here when we feel like this. You can call out for me and I will come join you here. Just us.”

Hannibal pulled out a book and started quietly reading, hoping she’d know he was there but wouldn’t make noise. 

Mischa sat herself in Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal couldn’t believe his luck. So overstimulated and yet she climbed onto his lap? He was obviously her one and only neutral zone. This room didn’t mean anything if he wasn’t in it. He embraced her softly. 

“N-No,” she whined.

“No?” Hannibal let go. “Sweet Mischa, you were the one who sat down here. You are free to sit on the pillows.” 

“No home! No- tighter please!” she sobbed. 

“Oh my darling girl,” Hannibal whispered. He tightened his grip. 

“No tighter please-“ she cried out. 

Hannibal smiled down at her. “Oh but dear girl I worry I’ll hurt you,” he lied. He squeezed her as tight as he could. He could feel her struggle to reach the right breathing technique. Once she did he brought her in even closer to his chest. “That’s right. Oh that’s right. You do not have anywhere else to go,” he whispered, “But beautiful soul you do not need anyone other than me.”

“And my bunny!” Mischa said. 

She had no idea how true that was. She needed surveillance, he needed to make sure she was alright. She had just shown a tendency to panic and to respond to perfectly normal situations slightly out of the usual order with tears. His decisions only made more and more sense. 

“Exactly right, dear Mischa.”

They sat like that for three hours, Hannibal reading, Mischa playing with her bunny slightly but mostly coming off her meltdown in his arms.

Chapter Text

Hannibal started mixing the eggs into the flour. Mischa sat on the counter giggling and watched the person she loved the most expertly fold the flour into the mixture. Mischa couldn’t help but smile at how good her home was at cooking. He always made delicious things in shapes she liked. Once he had made her bolognese, arranging her pasta in the shape of a heart and the sauce in the middle. She had cried at how thoughtful it was but at this point she wasn’t able to speak yet so she just clung onto Hannibal’s jacket. The next day there were three heart printed skirts in her closet. Her home got her everything she wanted and everything he thought she could want. 

“Home, when I grow up and I’m grown enough to touch the stove I’m going to make you food too!” Mischa said determinedly. 

Hannibal just melted. Floury fingers ran through her hair. He just couldn’t help it. He’d wash it out with love and care. He just loved the thought of his sweet girl preparing a meal with meat he had hunted down for her. Her serving it to him proudly whilst he would endlessly compliment her no matter how it tasted. And she confirmed she wouldn’t touch the stove until he allowed her to. How different from how defiant she used to be to him. A world of difference being the only influence in her life instead of his incompetent parents. 

Mischa giggled happily as her caretaker told her to stamp the raviolis out. Sun shapes for him and heart shapes for her. She understood he was the only thing bringing her light. Her sun, her home, her everything. Though she was curious what would happen, if on their grocery store outings when her home put her down, if she were to run off into the streets. Curious about what she would see, what she would hear but knowing it would be far far too much for her.  

Hannibal was ecstatic. She would be victorious against her assailants. She would sustain herself with the meat of those who had tried to end her. They had been unsuccessful at taking his precious little sister. 

He stood teared up at the counter. He needed to be strong for her. 

Mischa hopped down off the counter to go give him a hug. Hannibal’s heart almost stopped. 

“What did I say about that?” Hannibal dug his nails into her wrists as he grabbed them. She couldn’t run to their father anymore. He was the closest thing to her father now, her only caregiver, and he knew she’d be hugging his leg immediately when he let go. He was all she knew. There was power in that. Power no one else should ever wield over her. They would abuse it. And Mischa would fall for it. She was far too kind and good-natured and weak to fall into anyone else’s hands. He kissed the top of her head and let go. 

“You gave me a terrible fright, Mischa,” Hannibal said, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t do that.” He hugged her and allowed her to sob it out as he crouched down to her. 

Mischa was frightened. There seemed to be someone else inside of her home. Someone much darker and scarier than the person who tucked her into bed, and kissed her hands, and cradled her cheek. She was terrified of him but she loved her home. She hugged him tightly. His eyes had glistened when he dug his nails in. She knew better than to resist it, knowing he’d never make her bleed. Besides he looked proud of her when she apologised and he always comforted her. 

Hannibal bounced her in his chest. 

“I’m sorry but you really cannot do that Mischa.” he whispered. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

“I didn’t hurt myself but you grabbing my wrists hurt.” she whined. 

Hannibal snarled in anger but knew that scaring her wouldn’t work. Besides, he didn't want to. 

“Sweet girl, I’m sorry you feel that way. I get scared when you do that. You don’t do that and I wouldn’t feel the need to grab you. It is an instinct I have as your guardian. If you fall I will want to grab you. To make sure your feet are planted on the ground,” Hannibal said.  

Mischa whimpered. “Okay?” she said, thick tears still rolling down her cheeks.  

“I knew you’d understand my brave girl.” Hannibal held her tighter. 

After letting the raviolis rest and letting Mischa do a remnant of her schoolwork Hannibal started boiling them. He had his sauce and their main course prepared. He stared into the pan whilst he boiled them, the two shapes separated by a divider in the pan. He looked at it for as long as they took to boil. Hannibal realised there would always be some sort of space between them. He would only see how much she showed him. He wondered if there would always be some part of her he couldn’t reach. He would only know what she said and the signifier and the signified never seemed further apart. He wanted to feel all her emotions for himself, be inside her skin. To hear her every thought, to see the world through her eyes. To experience overstimulation so he could help her better. To feel her aches and pains, to give her his healthy body when she got sick so she could be comfortable in his. 

He tried to drown out the sniffling sounds of the girl leaning over her maths homework. He knew exactly how she felt in this scenario. He knew it was necessary. She could not go hopping on and off things as she pleased. She would get hurt and who knew if fixing her back up would be the same as just any child? Better to keep her standing beside him and holding her by the back of her neck. 

Mischa hoped her home wouldn't notice the teardrops on her worksheets. They spilled out of her eyes involuntarily. She was utterly disappointed in herself. Her home had warned her many times not to jump off things and she did it anyway. And then when he worried about her she was defiant. That was the only reason it had hurt. She had been stupid and she was even ungrateful when it came to the consequences of her disobedience. She knew she needed to do well on this worksheet to make up for it. It was all just so hard and her breathing picked up. 

When she was finished she called for Hannibal. She noticed her hands were shaking. She did not want Hannibal to see so she sat on them.
“All done, home,” she called to the kitchen, “Sorry it took a bit longer.”

“That is alright, I am glad you took your time.”

Mischa wiped another tear away. Quickly, hopefully quicker than he could see. She bit on her lip as he started grading. She needed to prove to him she was worth it. That she could be good and not just disobedient. That she was as special as Hannibal now believed her to be. She observed the look on Hannibal’s face.
“I did bad?” she asked carefully. 

“No. No it’s just that… Did our fight in the kitchen bother you whilst you were doing this worksheet?”

Mischa hesitated but nodded. 

“We’ll have you do it again tomorrow,” He said simply

“What did I get?” she asked

“You weren’t in the right frame of mind. It is not a reflection of you.” Hannibal reached for her cheek.  

She wanted to say something but instead just let him hold her cheek softly. The knowledge of her repetitive failure set in. Hannibal had once said people were their actions. What did her doing badly say about her? Was she being rude by failing him even when he so diligently explained the concepts over and over and over again?

Chapter Text

Hannibal went back to the kitchen with the worksheet and sighed deeply, his hands gripping the counter. His plans of teaching her advanced physics went out the window. 3 out of 100 was a dire score. He distracted himself by drizzling more olive oil on their side salad. No matter how hard he tried to explain these sums to her it just wouldn’t take root. The very real possibility of her dyscalculia settled in. He attempted to shake it off, choosing to focus instead on feeding her their past captors. It did not work well. He knew it would harm her self-esteem and her academic career. However this boded very well for him in fostering her dependence. She couldn’t leave him now, she would need him if this was as severe as he thought. She couldn’t be trusted to pay for a bag of groceries. He ultimately decided to put it aside for the night. Tonight was special. She would sit on his lap as he fed her what he caught her. His perfect daughter, joining him in his realm. 

He plated her favourite food, ultimately coming up with a flower like shape. 

“My girl, have you packed all your things away?” he asked. 

“Yes! Are we sitting in the big dining room?” she asked. 

“We are, come join me please. I worked hard on this and I couldn’t have done it without your help. I do not wish for it to grow cold.” Hannibal said, a tone that always made Mischa understand he was serious now present. 

“I’m coming, home!” 

After Mischa had run to the table Hannibal looked at her in the all too familiar white dress. Mischa had worn a similar one on her fourth birthday. Another day, another life.

“It is out of the ordinary Širdelė, but you have handled yourself in an extraordinary fashion even though it was difficult for you in the supermarket. Would you like to sit with me whilst we eat tonight?” Hannibal asked. 

Mischa was always so eager for physical affection. She was sat on his lap before she even answered. Hannibal’s arm wrapped across her. She was prone to falling and stupid outbursts that could hurt her. 

The first bite hit her tongue and she smiled. Hannibal knew that on some level she was aware of what he had done for her. She looked up at him with such gratitude he had no choice but to believe that. He cut up her food for her. He fed her another bite. 

“Thank you, home.” she said lovingly. 

Hannibal put his cheek on top of her head. 

“You are welcome, Mischa. I was more than happy to do this for you.” He teared up again. She had ways of making him do that. He prepared another bite for her.

“Tėti thank you-” she was still in tears every time he made pasta from scratch for her. 

“Closest thing to my heart, you do not need to thank me. I am your caretaker. You deserve everything I do for you 9 times over.” Hannibal stroked her back. “Just eat. I made this for you.”

Mischa took another bite. Hannibal looked pleased. 

“No one can bring you down. Do you know that? If you let me protect you the world will not harm a hair on your head. There will be no major hardship. ” 

“But home-“ 

“Eat,” Hannibal growled. Mischa complied. “Good job.” Hannibal said. 

And he was in ecstasy. His sweet little sister eating what destroyed her was a more beautiful sight than the duomo, or Botticelli. He never wanted it to end.

“I- I feel sorta full-” she whimpered softly. 

“You are slouching.” Hannibal said sternly. 

“Sorry.” She sat up straight. 

“It is alright, I just wanted to alert you. Please, finish your plate.” Hannibal smiled. “I’m incredibly proud of you. I know things are difficult regarding your education. I know I am- not getting through.” Hannibal croaked out. “So I will get you a tutor who can, beloved girl.” 

“Home I’m sorry.” she sobbed. 

“Don’t feel sorry. It is alright. You need a different way to understand this. My way isn’t working. It is alright.” he held her tight, letting her slouch into him. “It is alright. Your resilience and your aptitude to languages and history amazes me.” He kissed the top of her head. He broke down. “So does your empathy, so does the way you see beauty in everything, so does your understanding. You are a force of nature Mischa. Do you understand me?”

“Home I-”

“Tell me you understand me. That I have not failed you in such a way. I want you to be confident, to walk through this world knowing you are adored and held dear.” 

“I know you love me.” she said softly. “I just don’t like myself.” she cried. 

Hannibal put her down on the chair and kneeled beside her. “You put the sun in my sky. You are as of right now the only person I see the use in loving this much. You are the brightest ray and your fiery spirit is your most admirable quality. How you refuse to quit or give up or let anyone define you.”

“But I’m different.”

“Of course you are. You are so, so much better than the rest of them. Mischa I don’t love anyone else because you are everything. I don’t need anyone else. Just you. Just you. Why would you say that? Why in the world would you say that you are not fond of yourself? I love you so much. So, so very much. Why would you say that?” Hannibal asked, his arms encircled her legs hoping to provide her with safety.  

“I just feel like everything I do isn’t good. Like when I was looking at the clock” she sobbed.

“I was wondering what you remembered about that.” Hannibal sighed. “My darling, I thought you were dead. It was terrifying to me, the day after your birth, that I could lose you again. I apologise. I should have kept better track of you. I was so deeply worried.” 

“But you grabbed me so hard.” she cried 

“And I would again Mischa. If I thought you were alone. If I thought you- my most beautiful darling- were in danger. You are far too young but so much could have happened.”

“So- So only if I’m unsafe?”

“Only if you’re unsafe.”

She hugged him tightly. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep. Your safety is found here. You’re with me. Oh my sweet little daughter…” It slipped from his lips before he could think about how it might affect her 

“Is that like the daughter in my book?” Mischa asked 

“You have always been my daughter. I made you. That’s what that means.” Hannibal cooed. 

“You mean that time I hurt my nose? In the cold place.”

“Oh- Mischa.” Hannibal gasped. “Oh I didn’t know you remembered that.” he cooed softly. “That moment was so utterly special to me. Getting to meet you, see how special you are. But it must have been frightening for you.” he whispered. 

“Well yeah but then you hugged me. And you were really warm.” she whined. 

“And glad I am of it. Most children do not remember a thing. Let this memory fade into the back of your mind, my Mischka. Please.” he asked. 

She slowly fell asleep with a full stomach, and to Hannibal it meant everything.