Hannibal Lecter was a man of many standards. He needed peace, clarity, and a routine. And he needed delectable food. He never looked outside of this kitchen for food. He didn’t trust the way people cooked. He knew how to appreciate food and its taste. Most people just collect ingredients and throw it together. He had his food and never ran out.

Yet he ran out of bread. “Shit.” He muttered to himself. He couldn’t just go to the grocery store to retrieve any type of bread. No, he needed the best.

Which is how he found himself entering a small bakery, the doorbell ringing over his head. ding. His eyes flit around the bakery, loaded of baked goods and sweets around for display. A young woman steps out from behind some curtains.

Hello. Hannibal smiles. His eyes drape over your body. Skin, soft. Looks supple. Organs? He had yet to see. He has time.