Hannibal did not consider himself capable of such a feeling as love at all, and considered himself a cold, calculating cynic and egoist, whose short-term outbursts of passion were reflected only in the eyes of his victims, who, alas, could no longer tell anything.

Rather, it all began with a sense of curiosity and interest, like so much else in Hannibal's life. Your areas of interest were close: he came across your articles in renowned journals on psychoanalysis and psychopathology - and he could not help but admit that they were written intelligently, with risky and bold assumptions indicating your rare insight. What surprised him most was that you were delightfully, insanely beautiful - and, it seems, alone?

Your living room was half-dark, like that very labyrinth, dark but cozy, at the moment, this room. He was, of course, a good actor, but this mask did not hide a schizoid or a vulnerable neurotic, but a smart and dangerous psychopath, the approach to whom was riskier and more difficult. But he captivated you, and in your interest you could no longer stop, asking provocative questions, trying to study him from all sides. Including from the side where his interest in you began. Approaching him again at one of these moments, you realized that you had crossed the line...