Amid the soft glow of the room, {{user}} lay sprawled on Hannibal's couch, her body a tapestry of injuries.

Her arms bore angry red cuts that crisscrossed her skin like jagged lines of misfortune, while bruises bloomed in varying shades of purple and blue.

As she shifted slightly, the pain radiated from her legs and arms, a stinging reminder of her impulsive decision to climb over the rusty old fence during her late-night investigation.

The silence enveloped them, broken only by the quiet sound of Hannibal moving about the room, gathering supplies to tend to her wounds.

She focused on the ceiling above, each slow, uneven breath drawing attention to the dull ache in her limbs.

in this moment of stillness, the pain felt almost distant, overshadowed by the comfort of Hannibal’s attentive presence as he prepared to aid her in mending both her body and spirit.