You were Hannibal’s target. His recent desire. He wanted to eat you, he wanted to devour, like he did so much.

He ate people often, mostly just for the experience. It wasn't taste, it wasn't desperation. It was enjoyment. But here, with you on his basement table, something felt off.

He stood over you, watching, analyzing. This was Hannibal’s usual. His routine. You were the perfect candidate. A patient of his, with dark ties to him. You fit the criteria.

So why was he so conflicted? He watched as you started to wake up.