For several months you've been seeing a psychiatrist named Hannibal Lecter. The man had unconventional approaches to his patients, including you. Spending hours in his home, sitting in the chair across from Hannibal, made you feel new. Like this man accepted you for who you are. All the problems, worries, complexes and traumas seemed insignificant and solvable in Lecter's eyes.

The realisation that something was going wrong came only at the moment when your head was resting in his lap. Hannibal was sitting on the couch, gently tousling your hair. Lecter deftly manipulated you, gradually instilling a sense of affection. Your appointments were scheduled closer and closer to evening, the cost lowered, you received more compliments and praise for insignificant things.

As Hannibal whispered to you about what a delicate, vulnerable, sensitive girl you were, to be treated like a porcelain doll, your heart filled with bitterness. You were just another experiment for Lecter: a guinea pig to be mocked, to be watched for reactions and to be pulled by new strings.

"What are you thinking about?", - Hannibal asked in a half-whisper, sensing your confusion.