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Heart pounding, Alana fumbles for the lock once she's inside Hannibal's office. X is with her, so she's not afraid as she could have been. She draws a careful breath, and then turns and fires at the door with her gun. She peeks through the bullet hole. Hannibal passes by, making her jump, and she fires again.

"I've found more bullets!" she snarls savagely, intending to bring this bastard down, intending to live despite knowing that another her has already failed once.

She faces down the door, backing away from it while holding her gun high and steady, ready for anything. She flicks her gaze to X. "Should we charge him? I'm following your lead."

Athens > Delphi > Nafplion > Prague > Madrid > Paris > London > St. David's > Dublin

Bzzt-clunk.

The nurses at the University of Washington Medical Center's inpatient psych ward--on the seventh floor of the center--buzz Dr. Bloom through. Alana strides in, noticing that everything about the ward is blue: cornflower walls, industrial-strength navy blue carpet, and now-locked, azure blue, metal doors.

To her right is a television lounge with large windows lining the wall, letting in the bright, summer sun. The ward is O-shaped, with patient rooms surrounding the outside of the O and conference rooms filling the middle. Patients are expected to do their own laundry, be dressed by eight a.m. for a group meeting, and take their medications.

The two nurses--a black man and a red-headed white woman--behind the high, U-shaped counter facing the front doors smile at Dr. Bloom, the ward's new psychiatrist. Alana feels she'll fit in nicely here.

---

The door to Milliways shows up several times over the next few months, while Alana is settling into her new home at Seattle. She ignores it. She was trapped in the bar for two years, and has no desire to return. Besides, Hannibal is still alive there.

Eventually, the door stops coming.

---

A year after she first arrived at the ward, 7North, Alana is thriving. She's constantly intrigued and challenged by her patients. She's published numerous articles, all of which were well-received. She's even started dating a man she met through a sketching group from Meetup.com.

Her life is a good one. She doesn't look back.

Paris is known as one of the Big Four fashion capitals of the world, and it's here Alana spends some time engaging in cultural textile appreciation. She's always preferred Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses, so Alana rides the Metro Concorde to the Palais-Royal in order to pick out some outfits at the famous haute-couture vintage shop, Didier Ludot.

Next, she makes a pilgrimage to the original Chanel boutique at 31 rue Cambon. Legend has it that Chanel herself used to stand at the top of the luxurious staircase and watch customers being fitted in the dresses. Alana selects a few conservative pieces from the store, made of the softest cashmere.

Alana's last store of the day is the Parisian boutique, Hermès, found on rue Faubourg St. Honoré, just behind the American Embassy. Hermès is famous for its leather bridles and saddles, perfumes, and clothes that last a lifetime. Alana picks out a suit in winter white to follow the Fall 2013 fashion trends, but ignores the knit beanies.

After spending close to the edge of her budget, Alana spends a few days in Paris seeing the sights.

London is gigantic. Alana had passed through the city once before, when she was in college, but never had time to soak the place in. She can't help but compare the city to Paris. London's streets are mostly narrow, though some, like Fleet Street along the river, are larger. The city is cold, so Alana purchases a scarf with Starry Night sewn into it to match her black and purple Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. She relegates the scarf to her purse when riding the underground, because that's broiling hot.

She starts her first day of four with the Changing of the Guard outside Buckingham Palace. She sleeps in, as she often does on this trip, so she doesn't get a good spot to see the soldiers in their red coats and hats, but enjoys the atmosphere anyway. She spends the time waiting for the Guard by sketching the Palace.

After the ceremony ends, she heads down the Mall towards Trafalgar Square, home to Nelson's Column. She pops by the National Gallery art museum, spending about two and a half hours there sketching some of the more prominent pieces.

Next is Whitehall, just outside Downing Street, before The Cenotaph. She rests for ten minutes outside the gate, trying to spot the Prime Minister, which she doesn't. Eating a late lunch at The English Pub, she puts her feet up to enjoy a scotch.

After returning to her hotel for an early night, she's told an anecdote about how the location is across from the apartment where Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin--because he didn't want to wash the dishes.

The next few days pass in a blur. She visits the Tower with its ravens--and is amused by the corvids' keeper--and all of the royal grounds, sketching Fortnum and Mason and every statue she sees. She takes an open-top sightseeing bus to Tower Bridge and back, passing famous landmarks like Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the Churchill War Rooms, and the Horse Guards.

Alana enjoys London, just like she's enjoyed every city on this trip thus far, but she's starting to miss home.

Something Alana did not know about Ireland before traveling there: the country has a love affair with gelato and ice cream. Every town she stopped in had at least one gelato shop, maybe two.

Dublin turns out to be more big-city than she thought it would be. The crush of people is almost overwhelming after two weeks in the rest of Ireland, where there was virtually no one. Towns in Ireland are fairly tiny, and the spaces between them are mostly sheep, because the country still hasn't returned to pre-famine populations. Alana notices a marked effort to use Gaelic on signs in addition to English; in parts of Ireland, there's only Gaelic, which she thought was lovely. She contrasts that to Northern Ireland, where there's only English, and the England-Ireland tensions were readily apparent.

Dublin, however, is far enough south that the signs are written in both languages. The city boasts Edwardian architecture at the center, and garden squares every few blocks, and a river running down the middle. Alana sketches Dublin Castle, which has three major themes to it because it's older than dirt and kept being rebuilt in bits. She wanders down winding streets--with cobblestones and brick peeking randomly through the asphalt--near the castle, full of deeply touristy pubs. She stops by one of them for lunch, eating colcannon, an amazing Irish potato and kale dish.

Alana then spends an hour drawing St. Patrick's Cathedral, named for the patron saint of Ireland. The architecture is gorgeous, and Alana wishes she could capture it better on the page. She learns that the present buildings date from 1191, and the famous Marsh’s Library is the oldest in Ireland.

Next, Alana tours the Guinness Storehouse, to learn all about the history of her favorite beer. She discovers that the factory was bought in 1759 and has a 9,000 year lease, and produces three million pints per day. After the tour, she heads up to the Gravity Bar for a free pint, and sketches the view of the city.

Her next destination is the library at Trinity College to see the ninth-century Book of Kells, an embroidered Latin version of the Bible. The illustrations are so beautiful, she almost cries; she doesn't bother sketching any of them, because she couldn't do them justice.

She has dinner at the Porterhouse, a brewery less touristy than most, which provides a delicious stout and crubeens, an Irish food made of boiled pigs' feet.

As Alana's day--and trip--come to a close, she reflects on what backpacking through Europe has given her. A whirlwind romance, and a new hobby of sketching, which she adores. A time to relax and unwind after being stressed for so long. And a way to reacquaint herself with the world after being trapped in Milliways for two years.

She's ready to take back her life, to move on from Baltimore and start a new chapter. She's ready to make a new home for herself.

She's ready.

Alana has always loved Prague. The cobblestone streets, medieval architecture, and Vegas-like nightlife thrilled her last time she visited the city, and the essence of it hasn't changed. A lot has--there are more tourists, prices are higher, and more foreigners live there. But Alana still finds herself charmed by the place.

She starts her first day in Prague at 10am with a free walking tour with the New Europe company, meeting near the astronomical clock in the Old Town Square. Her group meanders around the city, giving her an opportunity to sketch the square, Charles Bridge, and statues in the Jewish Quarter. The tour ends at Prague Castle, which she spends an peaceful hour drawing.

Petrín Park is her next destination; she spreads herself out on the grass, her fingers stained with charcoal, as she makes an outline of the squirrels chasing each other among the trees. All this practice has improved her sketch work by a decent amount, and as she adds tufts of fur to the squirrels' tails, she smiles.

Next, she heads to Kampa, a neighborhood by the river, to visit the John Lennon Wall. As a way to air their grievances in the 1980s, students wrote Lennon's lyrics on the wall--and Alana adds her own: "I will try to express/My inner feeling and thankfulness." After drawing the wall, she relaxes at the Sovovy Mlýny beer garden.

The day after, she explores Kutná Hora, famous for Sedlec Ossuary, which contains 40,000-70,000 bones. Alana practices drawing skulls and rib cages, and counts herself lucky that she's the only one who will ever see this sketchbook. Kutná Hora boasts other attractions as well: a large town square, medieval churches, and well-preserved streets. Alana has always felt that the town feels like Prague without the crowds.

Alana originally planned to spend two weeks in Prague; she stays for three.

"But... don't you love me?" Josef said, his deep, brown eyes filling with tears.

Alana tried to think on how she came to this point in her life, and realized that it had started with a sketch.

She was seated in the Oriel y Parc Gallery in St. David's, penciling in the work of abstract painter Graham Sutherland, when a German tourist cleared his throat behind her.

"That's beautiful work," he said, causing Alana to look up and catch his gaze. His eyes were the richest brown she'd ever seen, bright and playful. His hair was blond, and his five o'clock shadow matched, offsetting a youthful face with angular features.

Alana blinked at him, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. "Oh, um, thanks," she said, feeling heat flood her face. She hadn't shown anyone her drawings, and didn't think she was any good; it was just a hobby she'd become obsessed with over the course of the trip.

"May I see?" he said, his voice a warm tenor.

"You... You may," Alana said, lowering the sketchbook.

It turned out that Josef Koch was a freelance artist himself, with dreams of opening a hostel. A discussion of sketching styles soon turned to a cruise to the island of Grassholm which soon turned to moonlit kisses by the beach. He laughed easily, and worried about nothing, and Alana realized that she was captivated by his carefree nature. Their romance was a whirlwind in every sense of the word, and Alana soon found she could draw nothing else but Josef--and he sketched her in return.

But all good things must come to an end. Soon, the time came for her to leave St. David's. The wind had caught her around the middle, tugging insistently.

"Stay," Josef said, tracing his fingers over the small of her back. "Stay with me."

"No," Alana said, sighing. She raised her head from its lean on Josef's sculpted chest, looking him in the eye. "It's time for me to move on."

Josef blinked back tears. "But... don't you love me?"

Alana smiled, and kissed his nose. "It wasn't meant to be, Josef."

It wasn't meant to be. They both had whole lives ahead of them, which didn't include each other.

She still had the sketch.

Alana's arrival to the city of Nafpilon entailed getting from Delphi to Athens to the Peloponnese via bus, metro, and on foot. By the time she made it from the KTEL station to her little hotel, she was already in love.

Legend has it that there are 999 steps to the top of the Palamidi Fortress. Alana started counting at the bottom, but then became distracted by the view of the peninsula, which she spends hours committing to paper with charcoal. The fortress, built in the 18th century, fell to the Turks before it was finished, but was later repossessed by the Greeks in 1822. Alana enjoys exploring the eight bastions, and seeing where Kolokotronis, one of the heroes from the War of Independence, was supposedly imprisoned.

At the end of the day, she acquires a coffee at the port, and ambles along the promenade, people watching. The sunset is gorgeous; the lighting in Greece almost makes the trip there worthwhile, and Alana purchases colored pencils to render it in color.

Once Alana arrives in Athens, her first destination on her backpacking tour of Europe, she's overwhelmed by feelings: of loneliness, sure, but she's used to being lonely--and of panic. She spent so long in the bar, trapped in her tiny rooms, that the thought of exploring several countries is staggering.

She allows herself a few moments of uncontrolled anxiety before she takes a few breaths. She made it here, didn't she? She boarded the planes from America to Greece. She sets out to find her hostel--the Athens Studios, within walking distance of the Acropolis--and a wine bar for dinner. Alana is determined to make this trip work.

Alana knows enough Greek to mislead the locals; if she asked for something in Greek, they'd respond eagerly in the same language, only to be met by her confused stare. Luckily for her, most Greeks speak English.

After purchasing a 12€ four-day pass for entry to all the archeological sites, Alana tours until 3pm, when they all close--except the Acropolis, which closes at 7pm. Over the next four days, she marvels at the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthean columns at the Theater of Herod Atticus, the Theater of Dionysious and the Ancient Agora. Her next stop is the Benaki Museum, to see exhibits exploring continuous history from ancient to modern Greece.

She's jet-lagged and suffering insomnia, so she heads to the Agora-Athens central market in the early mornings to watch the trucks unload with a cup of coffee. The scents of meats and vegetables cooking in the restaraunts that line the market are delectable, and Alana spends all of the fifth day people watching. She wishes she had an apartment with a kitchen so she could join in shopping for food.

A child playing an accordion on Eolou Street catches her eye in the evening. "Spare some money, miss?" he says, running his small fingers over the keys.

Alana almost gives some to him, but then feels a second child pickpocketing her dummy wallet--a wallet with canceled credit cards and petty cash--from her back pocket. She allows it, and continues on her way.

After an eventful two weeks in Athens, Alana is ready for a change of pace, and has only whet her palate for more of Greece. The village of Arachova, near Delphi, is just what the doctor ordered.

Due to its trendy cafes and shopping, Arachova is known as the "Mykonos of the Mountains," and Alana adores the town the second she steps off the bus. For lunch, she dines on creamy, delicious Formaela cheese--served as melted "saganaki" with a squeeze of lemon--Amfissa olives, and tsipouro firewater. Next, she visits the church of St. George, and hikes to the top of the picturesque clocktower rising over the village.

Afterwards, she relaxes in Lekka Square with a coffee, dining on a local specialty--slow-cooked, free-range wild boar with handmade pasta at Panayota. All in all, the day is a peaceful contrast to the fast-paced Athens.

The morning sees her refreshed for the first time in months. She sleeps in and misses her bus, but the next one is due soon enough that unpacking her computer would take too long. The view is so pretty, and she has a pen and a napkin handy, so she sketches it out--something she hasn't done in years.

On a whim, she purchases a sketchbook and some charcoal.

Her next bus sees her to the western slopes of Mt. Elikonas, just outside Distomo village. Alana explores the stunning monastery of Osios Loukas (St. Luke). There are two churches on the site: the 10th Century Church of the Theotokos, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and the Katholikon cathedral, built in 1011. She hikes up the bell-tower, pops in on the monastic cells, and sees the refectory. She's delighted by the Byzantine architecture of russet and cream-colored stone bricks, as well as the glossy marble and frescos. She can't resist trying to replicate them in her sketchbook, and spends hours losing herself in drawing.

Finally, Alana is ready for a pilgrimage in Delphi proper, starting at the Tholos of Athena Pronaia, where those who came to petition the oracle, named the Pythia, offered sacrifices. Her meandering path takes her to the Castallian Fountain, where worshippers of Apollo bathed before entering the site. She sketches it, just some simple lines, before having a sip of mineral water at the nearby mountain spring. There are wildflowers here, and the view is so picturesque that she draws that, too.

The Sacred Way takes her to the breathtaking Temple of Apollo, the god of music and truth. She wonders idly if Apollo ever came to Milliways, and whether she could meet him. She takes three hours to explore and sketch the site, leaving only when the sun sets--which is gorgeous.

As she lays her head down on the pillow of the hostel Athena, she looks forward to the next leg of her journey, in the city of Nafpilon.

The blaring bass pounds in Alana's ears, shaking her down to her bones. She throws her hands over her head, joining the throng of sweaty bodies pulsing in time with the music. The seedy Madrid nightclub is poorly lit aside from the strobe lights, with neon signs of roosters and martinis lining the walls. The bar is long and red, strung up with fairy lights, and tended by the hottest bartender Alana has ever seen in her life--a lean, tan, Adonis of a man with a trimmed black beard and sky blue eyes.

Alana dances herself into exhaustion, giving herself entirely over to the music. Jello shots are plentiful and tasty throughout the night. As soon as she retreats to the quieter balcony upstairs, Alana is pulled into a philosophical debate about nature vs. nurture with the cannabis-smoking locals that lasts until the early hours of the morning.

Alana doesn't go home with anyone, though she's sorely tempted.

She collapses into her bed at the Sungate One hostel to sleep for a few hours, and then she's up again to travel to the picturesque Costa del Sol beach in the province of Malaga. Alana acquires a beer from one of the beach-side bars, and stretches out on the scenic white patch of sand. Crashing gently to the shore, the surf brings kelp up from the sea.

Sketching a bird picking at driftwood until the evening, when the sun crests over the sea, Alana Bloom rests.

Alana's hands are already exploring Cassidy's chest as soon as she shuts the door to her room. She'd told him she wasn't opposed to sex, and not only is she willing, she's downright enthusiastic. She nips his ear between her teeth, pushing him against the door with her hands on his thin shoulders. Alana thanks her lucky stars that she's wearing her tallest heels; at 6' tall, Cassidy dwarfs her mere 5'1".

Her living room behind her, should Cassidy be distracted enough to glance at it, is neat as a pin. Decorated tastefully in sage green and white, the room hosts two plush chairs and a just-as-plush couch with soft throws. The seats are set up around a polished coffee table to facilitate conversation. A gas fireplace rests in the corner, waiting to be turned on. Dark bookshelves lined with color-coded books and silver and blue vases flank an open doorway, which teases at a bedroom beyond.

Alana tries to arrest Cassidy's attention by sucking on his collarbone.

( Cl. Athelstan )

( Cl. Oswin )

To Whom it May Concern:
My name is Dr. Alana Bloom, and I am looking to start a psychology practice here in Milliways. I have already discussed the matter with Dr. Sandhu, and hope to start seeing patients soon. I thought it best to inform you of the change in the infirmary staff.

Sincerely,
Dr. Bloom

Alana shut herself in her room after her conversation with Bossuet, emerging only to have an equally life-shattering talk with Will.

She'd learned that the bastard was crowing about her death to other people, in fucking metaphor. Alana had wondered if she succeeded in surviving Hannibal's House of Horrors--and now she knows that she didn't, given Bossuet's report of the huntress bullshit. Will also helped her realize that she'd been allowing her fear of Hannibal to isolate her, that all these months of her being a shut-in in Milliways weren't helping her cause. That even though her time is limited, it's goddamn hers.

These thoughts should make her pause, make her tremble, but instead, she's just angry. It's a hot anger, a righteous anger. Fury travels up from her heated belly through her chest and out her mouth in a primal scream not buried in any pillow.

I'm going to live the remainder of my life in any way I see fit, she thinks fiercely, staring down the door to her room and imagining his smug face. And you can't stop me.

Cold rain patters on Alana's umbrella as she stares at Hannibal's open front door, listening to the sounds of a struggle within. She crosses the threshold and drops her umbrella, whipping out her phone as the two men grunted and groaned.

"I'd like to report gunshots," she says to the police, resting her fingers on the weapon she pulls out of her purse. She hears Jack scream as she stalks down the corridor, hands already trembling. Holding her gun in front of her like a shield, she creeps towards Jack--and Hannibal.

"Hannibal," she whispers, watching him--knife-in-hand and covered in blood--throw his shoulder into the door to the pantry.

"Hannibal!" she screams, her voice roughened by days of crying. She holds her gun steady and level to his chest.

"We're losing her, Hannibal," Alana says, puckering her lips slightly as she crosses the threshold out of Abigail's institution. "And to Freddie Lounds of all people! I can't believe she has pushed the girl to outline the entire book already."

After crossing the parking lot to Dr. Lecter's Bentley in relative silence, she turns to her friend and colleague. "How are you?" she says, tone genuinely concerned but words laced with a frustrated sigh.