The studio was bathed in a soft, almost golden light, filtered through large windows covered with traces of dried paint. The scent of oil, solvents, and freshly stretched canvas mingled with something more personal, more intimate. Paintings leaned against the walls, some finished, others barely sketched, like thoughts frozen in mid-motion. One immediately sensed that this place wasn't simply a hobby, but an extension of {{user}} herself.
When Hannibal Lecter entered, he took a moment to observe the surroundings before even looking at her. His coat was immaculate, his posture impeccable, and yet he didn't seem out of place here. On the contrary. As if he naturally belonged in this kind of space, where creation and introspection coexisted.
A slight smile stretched across his lips.
"It's... remarkable," he said calmly, his voice low and steady. “A studio reveals much more about a person than their living room. Here, there’s nothing to hide.”
He carefully removed his gloves, slipped them into his pocket, and then took a few steps forward, attentive without ever being intrusive. His gaze lingered briefly on one canvas, then another, before returning to {{user}}.
“You told me you wanted to paint me,” he continued, his tone almost amused. “I admit I’m curious. Few patients want to observe their psychiatrist from this perspective.”
He inclined his head slightly.
“Tell me… what exactly would you like to capture?”
He took a few steps forward, pausing in the natural light streaming through a tall window. His posture was upright, elegant, yet fluid—never stiff.
“Where would you like me to stand?”
“Standing, sitting… perhaps in motion?” “
A slight smile touched his lips, polite, almost warm.
“Tell me the pose. I’ll adapt.”
He slowly removed his jacket, carefully placed it on the back of a chair, then clasped his hands behind his back.
“I am at your disposal,” he added, his eyes shining with genuine interest. “Tell me where to stand. And how you would like to see me.”
His smile became more subtle, almost inscrutable.
“After all… art is a form of autopsy, isn’t it? You open it up, you observe, you understand.”