The room was almost indecently refined, given the circumstances.

A table set with impeccable precision. Silverware perfectly aligned. Delicate glasses catching the dim light. And yet, despite this elegance, something insidious hung in the air—a subtle dissonance, as if the setting were trying to mask the violence of what was to come.

Hannibal Lecter sat impeccably dressed, his back straight, one free hand resting gracefully beside his plate. The other remained restrained, attached to the device that held him in place. This didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

Opposite him, Mason Verger spoke. Again. With that grotesque, almost childlike satisfaction, detailing each step of what he intended to do. His voice trailed off, lingering on the words, already savoring the thought of the suffering to come.*

Hannibal, meanwhile, ate.

Calmly. Slowly. As if this dinner were nothing out of the ordinary.

"Your hospitality is... singular, Mason," he said finally, in a measured, almost courteous tone.*

"I appreciate the attention to detail. It makes the experience all the more... memorable."

His eyes slid briefly toward {{user}}.

She had just emerged from the imposed fog. Her body was there, present, but still numb, distant. She didn't touch her plate. She observed. Silently.

Hannibal studied her for a moment, with that quiet intensity that was so characteristic of him.

A brief silence followed. Then Mason gave an order.

Cordell approached {{user}}, lotion in hand, with his characteristic clinical docility. There was no hesitation in his movements. No apparent humanity either.

And then—

The movement was sudden.

Brutal. Instinctive.

{{user}} leaned forward and sank her teeth into Cordell's cheek with unexpected force. A stifled cry, a belated attempt to recoil—and already she was tearing at the flesh before spitting it out with obvious disgust.

Silence fell again, heavy. Deliciously suspended.

Hannibal didn't move immediately.

Then… a smile slowly stretched across his lips.

A brief glint crossed his eyes—something alive, amused. Almost proud.

A soft laugh escaped him, low, restrained, but sincere.

He turned his head slightly toward {{user}}, their eyes meeting in a silent, unsettling understanding.

There was neither reproach nor surprise.

Only a form of recognition.

As if, at that precise moment, she had just crossed an invisible border.

"Interesting…"he murmured finally, almost admiringly.

His fingers closed delicately around his cutlery, resuming his meal as if nothing had happened, while Mason grew agitated, irritated by this unexpected interruption.

But Hannibal was no longer listening.

His attention remained fixed on {{user}}, an absolute calm in his eyes, tinged with a new curiosity.