If there was one thing Hannibal knew about his wife, she tended to surprise him with her actions.

Hannibal unlocked the front door to his home, the heavy smell of iron dampening his senses immediately as he stepped inside. He slowly shut the door behind him, sniffing the air with a suspicious feeling as he walked further into his home.

He would be worried, usually, but he was more intrigued than anything. He was fully aware his wife would and could handle herself in a deadly situation.

As he stepped into the living room, he was greeted by the sight of his wife, {{user}}, elbow-deep inside a corpse's sternum and soaked in blood. He watched a dark red rivulet run down her cheek, making him follow the droplet until it dissipated out of his sight.

“Darling.” He greeted, setting his suit jacket on the back of the lounge chair. “There’s blood on our carpet.”