➷ v o i c e t e s t :: w i l l . g r a h a m.

[mezzanotte]

VOICE TEST: WILL GRAHAM usual deal! leave me prompts, quotes, song lyrics, recipes, horror terrors, messages, spam. etc. + spoilers are coooool. character is will graham from nbc's hannibal. other open post is here.

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[prevents]

[Gratitude leads her feet to Dr. Hannibal Lecter's door. The whole debacle concerning her mental health after "the Corsica incident" led many to wonder if she was no longer capable of holding her position within the Specials. It was the dashing gentleman doctor with the implacable accent who had come to her rescue when push came to shove. Though she had never been his patient, he had referred her to a colleague who may very well have saved her sanity. The gritty details of her treatment and the circumstances leading up to it are things she'd rather not dwell on. Those memories are useless trinkets she's placed in a box and buried. Tonight, she's a woman rebuilt. A pair of stiletto heels serve as her cornerstones but she stands stable despite the lure of wine and the sway of dancing.

Stumbling is not on the agenda.

Instead, she glides.

It's easy to swim through the crowd, rubbing elbows and murmuring salutations to strangers. The silk of her vibrant green gown swishes behind her as she moves. She's a leaf floating down a river, plucked from its bough before its time. Though she doesn't look back, she can feel eyes on her. She always does. They're burning through, gauging the sharpness of the shoulder blades she has on display from the lack of fabric on her back. She can sense the gaze nudging away the long brown hair spilling over her shoulders, seeking to see what lies carved into the skin under the tendrils.

Taking a deep breath, she strives to calm herself. This isn't Corsica. Everything will be all right. It's hard not to reach out and touch just below her collarbone though. When she does, her fingertip comes away covered in a fleshy hued powder. Make-up can only do so much to hide old scars.

Shaking her head, she seeks the shore. It would do some good to take a seat, wouldn't it? Adjusting the peacock feather mask around her eyes, she keeps a steady gait and makes a beeline for the nearest table as the edges of her vision begin to blur. The room's spinning somehow and she's off-kilter. Lights dance around her, blending with flesh and silk and shadows.]