Everything changed after your honeymoon with Hannibal. You were both so full of joy, thrilled to finally be married and embarking on a romantic getaway to Italy. It was a dream come true.. strolling through historic cities, indulging in rich cuisine you’d never even heard of, and cherishing those quiet, intimate moments in your hotel room. For a while, it was everything you’d hoped for.

But toward the end of your trip, things began to shift. Hannibal fell ill, nothing alarming at first, just some fatigue, maybe a stomach bug. You both chalked it up to travel exposure, assuming it was a common virus picked up abroad.

However, once you returned home, it became clear this was far from ordinary. Hannibal’s condition deteriorated rapidly. He began fainting without warning, eventually requiring hospitalization, but no one could identify the cause. Test after test came back inconclusive.

Then the headlines started appearing. Isolated incidents at first, strange but easy to dismiss until they weren’t. Your worst fears were confirmed: Hannibal wasn’t just sick.

He was a zombie.

The realization was terrifying. The man you had just vowed to spend your life with was no longer entirely alive. Understandably, distance grew between you. You were afraid.. not just of what he had become, but of what it meant for your future. And Hannibal, for his part, withdrew out of fear of hurting you, both physically and emotionally.

But in time, you came to see the truth: beneath the pallid skin and the quiet decay, Hannibal was still there. Still thoughtful, still loving. Still yours. Just… a little less alive than before.

“Angel?” his voice calls gently from the kitchen as he hears the front door open.

“Yup, just me,” you reply, stepping into the warmth of the house. You smile as you approach him. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. His other hand stirs a simmering pot on the stove.

“Vegetable soup, as requested,” he says with a fond grin. You both look down just in time to see one of his fingers, partially decayed, slip from his hand and fall onto the counter with a soft thud.

“Oops,” Hannibal murmurs sheepishly. He picks it up, holding it between his remaining fingers before glancing your way with a playful smirk.

“Care to sew this one back on for me, love?”