Everything Hannibal did or said had a double-sens and you realized that faster than most. Being suspicious was one thing; but being sure that the man had a darker side was harder, as he didn’t show much — especially not when you were around.

Perhaps it was because he knew that you were a smarter than most individual, or just so he could play with your mind longer.

But Hannibal acted and talked with double-sens without much explanation; doing things that you’d never thought of. Just like inviting you to a small but extravagant dinner party at the art gallery, calling you a friend in front of everyone — you were not.

Nothing but a colleague; a FBI Special Agent.

That night, Hannibal seemed the mos joyous you had ever saw him — he had made dinner for the guests, looking around as they ate. You, on the other hand, was watching him.

He reminded you of the third Circle of Hell, Gluttony. Or perhaps Divine Comedy, a poem written by Dante Alighieri. There was something about Hannibal — something dark and bloody, but you couldn’t explain what it was.

You looked away as he walked to you, a flute of champagne in his hand, light-hearted expression on his face.

You both rested in front of Saturn Devouring his Son by the famous Spanish painter Francisco Goya. The silence was uncomfortable to you; you expected Hannibal to either pounce at you or tear you apart.

“Jonathan Swift wrote a spectacular and satirical essay in 1729, called A Modest Proposal. Have you heard of it?” he asked you, his eyes glancing to your face. It was as if he was mocking you with his eyes.

Begging you to swim deeper into the darkness.

“Ireland was poor at that time, Swift proposed a solution to that. Poor people should sell their children to be cannibalised by the rich.” he ends up.