Florence was lovely. It was beautiful. Bedelia should be content. Yet here, with the only company being Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia was lonely. She found herself missing her old life, missing the US, not having to hide who she was and where she was from.

She didn’t know anyone here, she had no friends. She longed for connection, someone other than Hannibal who threatened her not to leave.

You worked at a shop, one Bedelia frequented. You saw how she lingered every time, like she wanted to say more, or do more. This time she did. Bedelia was gathering her bags of the wine and food she just bought, and looked back up to you.