Full summary: This expression is a reminder that the minutiae or specifics of something — be it a plan, situation, document, or design — may seem minor and insignificant, but can cause major problems if they're overlooked. It would be wise of them to carefully examine the details. Fortunately for Nikola Onassis, it seems that Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter keep a surprisingly open mind to the things that lurk in the dark.

Unfortunately for Will, no one but the Chesapeake Ripper believes.

So I binged Hannibal and this happened. I'm halfway through season 2 and my hyper realistic dreams said "what if there was a vampire lol"

Yes, the main character is a vampire. No, I have no clue where this is going. Is it going to hurt? Yes, absolutely. It's going to be consensual, just not safe or sane.

If you've seen the series, you obviously know the horrors that are coming. A lot of manipulation, mind games, graphic violence and murder, desecration of corpses, gaslighting and a lot of other stuff that would automatically send you straight to jail so don't copy anything from this fic, thanks.

There is absolutely no need to know anything about The Vampire Diaries, I just based some of the characteristics of my original character off Niklaus from the novels— as in unhinged, insanely powerful and manipulative Niklaus from the BOOKS, not the series. Look him up if you want a heads up on what's coming.

Uhhh Will Graham needs help, but not the kind of help he's going to get here.

CHAPTER ONE:

THE OPENING ACT

There was very little in the world that she didn't know about.

She knew everything about everyone. Every dirty little secret, every dark desire that lurked in the depths of their mind— she knew it all. So, when one of her latest pets called her so desperately to show her a gift, Nikola took her time. She got herself all nice and pretty, donning soft colors that would make her seem submissive and approachable. Leaving her hair down to hide behind it like a curtain would make her seem sheepish and shy. It was funny how the little things could trick people into perceiving her as someone who needed protection— someone defenseless.

Lord knows she was anything but.

Nikola hummed to herself as she walked up the steps of her playthings' home, ringing the doorbell and smoothing out her skirt. She licked her lips at the smell of freshly spilt blood, a familiar hunger stirring in her stomach, and smiled. The door was pulled open by a wild eyed woman, her curly hair weighed down by the same crimson that stained her fair skin. Genevieve's face lit up at the sight of Nikola, an almost deranged grin of delight spreading across her lips. She opened the door wider, and Nikola spotted the red footsteps leading to the doorway.

"Nikola." Genevieve whispered breathlessly in something like reverence.

"Good day, Genevieve." Nikola greeted, her eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Please, come in." The curly haired woman stepped aside, and Nikola stepped into the home with the leisureness of a predator stalking its prey. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors, and the smell of blood thickened with every step.

"Where is this," She waved her hands through the air, "gift you've so desperately told me about?" Oh, she knew exactly where the bloody gift was, but Nikola was always one for theatrics. A little drama always made everything more exciting.

Genevieve took a step back on the tip of her toes, her bare and bloody feet poised like those of a graceful ballerina. "Right this way, beloved." She smiled, coaxing Nikola to follow as she danced her way to the dining room.

Nikola saw him right away, strung up like an offering but poised like blasphemy. It almost made her laugh, poor James Harmon laying on the table like a feast with his arms spread in a vague imitation of the messiah. His throat had been slit, most likely the cause of his death, as well as his wrists. There were two containers on the floor that would catch the blood that dripped from his body, and his mouth had been stuffed full of white roses that were tainted with the red of his blood. His eyes were open and unseeing, staring up at the ceiling, and a plate along with silverware were thoughtfully placed on the table.

A glass of wine that was full of the fluid that once inhabited his veins was offered to her, and Nikola put her fingers against her lips in an effort to smother her laughter. Genevieve looked so proud of herself, but her smile faltered when Nikola did not take the offering. Nikola circled the table, not touching anything and simply admiring the effort. She caught a drop of crimson before it could drip into the container and brought it to her lips, letting the flavor coat the roof of her mouth. Nikola sighed in disappointment at having to say goodbye to such a good pet.

"Do you like my gift, my lady?" Genevieve asked shyly, her fingers fiddling with the wineglass.

"Actually," Nikola turned slowly on her heels, fixing her green gaze on the curly haired woman. "I do not."

Genevieve's breath hitched in her throat, and Nikola could almost hear her break. "Y-You don't?"

"No, pet. I do not like your gift." She mockingly emphasized the word and gave James' body a brief glance. "In fact, I am disappointed by it." Genevieve pulled out one of the chairs and collapsed on it like the whole world was falling apart around her. Her lower lip wobbled, and her eyes filled with tears. Instead of being amused by the sight, Nikola stared at her in disgust.

"I thought you'd love it." Genevieve whispered, shuddering with heartbreak. "I thought you'd love me."

A laugh burst from her lips, and Nikola shook her head. "Love? Oh pet, something like me can't feel those fickle emotions that drive humanity." She said, and tears spilled down Genevieve's cheeks. "If anything, I liked you enough to keep you alive for an extended period of time. You gave me a sense of amusement, as well as occasional nourishment." Nikola continued explaining and came to stand next to Genevieve.

"Do you still like me?" The woman questioned between quiet gasps of air, her body shaking with the effort of smothering the sobs that fought to be heard.

Nikola smiled, not unlike a shark, "I liked your husband more."

A heartbroken wail finally left Genevieve's mouth, more tears dripping from her face like endless rivers of saltwater. She raised her hands to her face, smearing her husband's blood on her cheeks and mixing it with her tears. A bit poetic, and a bit pathetic. Nikola watched as Genevieve scrambled for the knife she'd left with the plate and promptly plunged it deep into her throat, dragging it across in a swift movement. The warm spray soaked a section of her clothes, and Nikola's lip curled at both the waste and the stain that it would leave.

Genevieve gurgled, drowning in the liquid of life that would lead her to death. Nikola continued to watch as the light left her eyes and stepped away when Genevieve reached for her. She died heartbroken, betrayed, and without comfort. A fitting end for a misbehaving pet, Nikola supposed. She stood there, waiting for the blood to form a puddle under the chair, and rubbed her hands against the gaping wound before taking her phone from her pocket after a minute.

It rang once, then, "911, what's your emergency?"

"Please," Nikola cried, the sound emerging so naturally that it sounded genuine. "They're dead! They're both dead!"

"Are you sure, ma'am?"

Nikola rolled her eyes and let out a sob into the speaker, "Yes! There's blood everywhere! Please!"

"Alright, ma'am, deep breaths. I need you to tell me the address, can you do that for me?"

She told her the address between dramatic sniffles and gasps of air. Nikola hung up, allowing tears with no meaning to mar and smear the droplets of blood that had reached her face. She gave the scene a last look of disappointment and blew a kiss at James' still face, then walked out of the house to wait for the authorities. She looked down at her stained heels and tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat.

They arrived within six minutes, making it seven minutes since Genevieve Harmon died. Maybe fifteen since James Harmon died, Nikola hadn't bothered to check. A black man in his late forties approached her, brandishing a badge as the police entered the house. "Special Agent Jack Crawford," He introduced himself, and an agent beside him had a small notebook with him. Jack Crawford's scent wasn't the most entrancing, but Nikola was sure he would make a decent wine, something to drink while reading.

Nikola gave a wobbly smile, "Nikola Onassis. I would shake your hand, Mr. Crawford, but I'm afraid my hands are a bit filthy." She said quietly and took her stained hands from her pockets, making them tremble under his gaze and the guise of shock. She made more tears slide down her face.

Crawford nodded his head and pursed his lips at the sight, putting away his badge. "Could you tell me when you got here, Miss Onassis?" He asked.

"Five minutes ago, maybe. I'm not sure." Nikola whispered, looking down at the blood on her heels. They were Saint Laurent— once expensive, now ruined. "She called me."

"Who called you?"

"Genevieve Harmon." Nikola swallowed thickly and curled into herself. "She invited me for brunch. She said…" She clutched her coat with trembling hands, "she said she had a gift for me. She sounded excited over the phone, so I thought she'd made something special, maybe baked goods or a bouquet. Not this— never this..."

Crawford's expression softened, so easily swayed by the 'honest' tears of a stricken woman shivering in shock and hurt. "How are you feeling, Miss Onassis?" He asked in a quieter voice, something like sympathy in his tone.

"Honestly?" She looked at him through a curtain of hair, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards in a seemingly forced smile. "Numb. Like none of this is real and I will wake up in my bed at any moment."

The special agent stared at her for a moment before speaking once more. "Do you think you can answer a few more questions inside?" Crawford asked, and Nikola nodded her head. He turned to the agent writing everything down, "Is Graham here?"

"He's already inside." The agent stated awkwardly. "Doing, uh, his thing."

Oh?

Crawford gestured at the house, "Please, follow me." Nikola did so without protest, curious as to this thing that Mr. Graham was doing. She found the dining room empty save for two men, the rest of the investigators hanging back and simply observing. One of the men had brown curls that fell messily over his forehead and a pair of glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose, and the other was dressed in an expensive suit while his hair was elegantly slicked away from his face. They couldn't be more different from each other, but they both smelled divine in their own ways.

"Will, Doctor Lecter, this is Nikola Onassis, the witness." Crawford introduced her to the men. "Miss Onassis, these are Agent Will Graham, criminal profiler for the FBI, and Doctor Hannibal Lecter, psychiatrist."

Doctor Lecter nodded in greeting, but Will Graham stayed silent. He was staring at James' corpse, curling his hands into fists before flexing his fingers. When he looked at Nikola, his eyes had a sort of lost look to them, something dark and deranged lurking in their depths. Like it only took a shove to finally push him over the edge. He looked her over, taking in the bloodstains on her person, and glanced at the corpse again.

"How long have they been dead?" Will asked.

"James Harmon has been dead for little over an hour, he's been drained of blood. Genevieve Harmon has been dead for about ten to fifteen minutes. She's still warm." One of the agents, a woman of Asian descent, answered.

Will Graham nodded his head at the information and looked at Nikola again, though he avoided eye contact. How peculiar. "She called you here, didn't she?"

"Yes." Nikola answered, a tad surprised.

"You arrived after Genevieve Harmon killed her husband, but you were here when she killed herself." Will stated rather than asked.

"I just don't understand why she would do such a thing." Nikola sniffled, looking away from the bodies and staring at Will's face. "They seemed like the perfect couple. They were happy." And boring, very boring.

"She was jealous." He said bluntly.

Nikola blinked away the tears, making her lips tremble. "Of me?" She asked softly.

Will stared at James' body again. "Of him."

Crawford turned to face her, a curious look on his face as he tilted his head. "Miss Onassis, what was your relationship with the Harmons?" He asked.

Nikola avoided his eyes, hiding behind her hair as she clutched at her arms. "We were involved. The three of us, equally. I thought everything was all right." She answered in a quiet voice, as if ashamed. Lies, lies, lies. She'd been nudging them towards the edge for weeks to see which one would break first. Nikola had hoped it would be James, he had the makings of a remarkable vampire, but it'd been his boring wife.

"This was a declaration of love." Will spoke up, staring at the flowers in James' mouth. "An offering." He gestured to the untouched plate. "She wanted you to eat him as she watched."

Of course she did.

"Oh god!" Nikola cried in feigned horror, and Doctor Lecter was quick to move to her side and offer her a handkerchief while placing a hand on her back to steady her. She took it with a teary look, dabbing at her filthy cheeks. Doctor Lecter kept his eyes on her face, something darkly curious in his stare. He smelled exquisite, his scent spicy with hints of well aged wine and blood. Interesting.

"Then why would she commit suicide? Why not force Miss Onassis to eat him before taking her?" Crawford asked, not looking at anyone but Will, who seemed to hold all the answers.

However, it was Hannibal who spoke. "Perhaps the rejection proved to be too much for Mrs. Harmon." He spoke smoothly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "She may have believed that the only punishment for causing Miss Onassis pain was death."

"She gave an offering to her god, and it was rejected. She chose death over disappointment." Will added to Hannibal's statement. "That was her design." As Nikola dried her tears, she glanced at the two men.

They were exquisite.

She wanted them.

Jack Crawford needed her down at the office, answering a few more questions and giving her contact information. Silent tears ran down her cold face, and Will Graham watched her with a sympathetic expression, as if her pain was his. He was like a mirror, that one. An empath. Hannibal Lecter hovered by, his gaze never wavering or looking away from her face. He seemed to be searching for something, but his brow furrowed in something like annoyance when he didn't find it. Nikola wanted to laugh.

He spoke up before she left. "I think it's best if Miss Onassis joins me for a few sessions." Hannibal said, taking what seemed to be a business card from his pocket. He wrote down a date and the hour on the back, his handwriting neat and elegant. "You are dealing with the loss of not one, but two lovers at once. Such a thing can be traumatizing. I hope to help you heal." Hannibal explained, handing her the card. To anyone else he may have sounded genuine, but she knew the game he played. This was the lure, dangling tantalizingly in her face to lead her into the gaping jaws of a predator.

Nikola took it, giving him a small smile. "Thank you, Doctor Lecter." She said, holding the piece of paper like it was something she treasured.

That evening found Nikola dressed in a silk robe, sitting in front of the fireplace with a glass of bloodwine in hand. She watched Will Graham toss and turn on his bed through the eyes of a crow perched on his window. His face was twisted in fear, sweat beading his forehead and soaking his brown curls. He looked so lost when he awoke, shaking uncontrollably like a child in the dark of his room. It was adorable. Nikola took a slow sip from her glass, swirling the crimson in her mouth to savor its rich flavor.

She twirled Hannibal's card between her slender fingers, and she smiled down at the date of her appointment. While Will still hesitated, Hannibal Lecter had thrown himself off the edge a long time ago, given into those primal instincts that humans often denied possessing. He carried the scent of blood and death like an expensive cologne and hid behind a professional persona. Will Graham buried the darkness that craved violence under a shy and nervous man, fighting to keep it from clawing its way out. They were both so different, yet the same.

Nikola idly wondered how good they would taste together.

Edward Cullen and Damon Salvatore who?

Put your seatbelts on because this is going to be a wild ride.