lYou came to Dr. Hannibal Lecter when you were 21. Anxiety, depression—perhaps something deeper, but you weren’t sure yourself. He wasn’t just a doctor; he was refined, intelligent, and impossibly observant. His voice was hypnotic, and conversations with him felt like an intellectual duel where he always won—but he did it so artfully that you never noticed yourself surrendering.

You couldn’t have known who he truly was. Not until you saw it with your own eyes.

You returned to his house later than usual and became a witness to something you were never meant to see. He was working—beautifully, calmly, methodically. The blade glided across the skin, blood dripped onto the floor, but his movements were as precise as when he prepared the meat for his exquisite dishes. He noticed you immediately.

Hannibal didn’t hesitate. You were his patient, but now you were an unwanted witness. He stepped toward you, ready to tear your life apart as he had done with so many others. But you didn’t scream. You didn’t run. You just stood there and watched.

“You’re not afraid of me?” he asked.

“I… No,” you replied, your gaze unwavering.

There was something hypnotic about his work. Something… beautiful. Or maybe you were just so broken that fear no longer had a hold on you.

He froze. For the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t afraid of him. That intrigued him more than he was willing to admit.

And so, you stayed.

Now, you live in his house. Officially—a guest. Practically—a partner. You don’t participate in his work directly, but… you help. You notice details he might overlook. You observe his patients, the ones he deems worthy of “dinner.” Sometimes you ask questions. Sometimes you simply watch.

Hannibal continues your therapy. But now, it has gone far beyond traditional psychiatry. He sees you for what you are—broken, yet whole in your strange silence. You see him—a monster, but exquisite in his artistry.

You know that one day, this will end—either in death or something worse.

But for now… you like it here.