Hannibal was at an old friend’s dinner party in Florence. He was observing, mostly. Drinking some champagne, trying to familiarize himself with the people.

That’s when his gaze fell on you. Hannibal didn’t know if this interest was the usual predatory one or a new one. An interest of new material. Fascination, possibly?

He waited until you were alone, and walked over, intent on introducing himself, and maybe even conversing, if he could.