It started with an ordinary evening in your apartment, the quiet hum of the city outside lulling you into a false sense of security. The sudden knock on the door was unexpected, but you didn’t hesitate to answer it. Before you could react, a shadow loomed, and everything went black.

When you awoke, your head throbbed, and your vision was blurred. Slowly, the shapes around you sharpened, revealing an elegantly set dining table in a dimly lit room. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, herbs, and spices, the warmth of the candles casting flickering shadows across the walls. You were seated at the head of the table, your wrists and ankles bound to the chair.

Across from you, Hannibal Lecter sat, his dark, calculating eyes fixed on you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit, his posture composed and controlled. To his right sat Bedelia Du Maurier, poised and serene, her eyes betraying no emotion, as though this dinner were entirely normal.

"Ah, you're awake," Hannibal said smoothly, his voice as refined as the surroundings. "I trust you're comfortable?" The question was a mockery; your restraints made it clear that you weren’t meant to be at ease.