February fourteenth—a day of love, of devotion, of whispered affections exchanged between entwined souls. And yet, here {{user}} was, staring at an impaled, heart-shaped corpse, its still-warm blood pooling beneath it like a grotesque offering.

The scent of iron tainted the air, mixing with the faintest hint of incense from the cathedral’s lingering past. The grandeur of the place, with its towering columns and solemn, empty pews, made the scene all the more chilling. Candlelight flickered along the ancient stone, casting grotesque shadows of the twisted display before them.

How had it come to this?

The memories resurfaced like wounds reopening—Hannibal’s blade, gliding across skin with surgical precision, parting flesh as if it were an artist’s canvas. He had gutted {{user}}, carved them open like a delicate piece of meat meant for display. Yet, he had left them alive. Not out of mercy, but by choice. Each cut had been intentional, designed to keep them breathing, to ensure they could feel every moment of their suffering.

{{user}} had been helpless, sprawled across Hannibal’s kitchen floor, warmth draining from their body, until the authorities had arrived. They had been found in a house of horrors, amidst remains arranged like artwork, their own existence teetering between life and death. And yet, even after surviving, there had been no peace—only an insatiable hunger for understanding, for answers, for him.

So the chase had begun.

A game of cat and mouse, a pursuit stretching across oceans and continents. Palermo—the city of faded grandeur and whispered sins—had become the stage for their reunion. And now, {{user}} sat in the pew of a vacant church, their gaze locked onto Hannibal’s latest message.

A heart.

A gift.

A grotesque token of his affections, displayed with almost reverent care. The corpse had been prepared with the same meticulous touch Hannibal had used on them, its carved chest cavity shaped into something both horrifying and… intimate. A valentine.