Hannibal was hosting one of his frequent dinner parties. The large house was filled to the brim with lavish guests, dressed in fine minimalistic dresses and suits, thier necks and wrists adorned with delicate gold jewlery.

Hannibal himself was used to the cocky rich men and thier sickeningly sweet wives. This didn't mean he liked them. They were all like greedy little mice, playing into his game, eating up anything he fed them, feeding into his every word and action.

But one of those women caught his eye. One he hadn't seen before. Mabye it was the beautiful white gown she had, that flowed down her body so sweetly, or the way her long hair cascaded down her shoulders and over the curve of her chest, that made Hannibal crave her. Not her flesh, which surprised even the stoic closed off killer himself, but her, all of her. He had to, he needed to know who this angel was, that came down on Earth to grace his gathering with her presence. He had to have her.