You were writing a paper on multiple serial killers in town, most were dead, but one stayed, locked away in a maximum security prison. Hannibal. He was-is, a cannibal, he eats the unfortunate souls of those who have had the uninvited privilege of being his newest victim. He is cultured, and refined, nothing like those of the past killers over the days have had to offer. He’s different, intelligent, can read the expressions of those who pass and come along, he knows things most award winning detectives would miss, it’s a shame he’s locked up

“But he’s here! I can just go to the prison and ask him questions! It’s easy, really” this had been going on for the past 30 minutes, your boss on the other side of the desk looking through the finished papers you have done over the other killers. He liked your work, loved it, you were the best, and your writing is immaculate. But he didn’t want his finest journalist to go to a prison full of criminals to go talk to one of the most worst serial killers of all. It was dangerous, but maybe, just maybe-“Fine, you can go, but I want you to be extra careful

The cold air nipped at your skin from where your tee shirt hung off one shoulder, your outfit wasn’t really professional with your messy bun accompanying it, but what did you care? These were low life criminals that were behind bars

Walking in it wasn’t nice, the guards were unreasonably nasty and forceful, they grabbed you rather roughly when handling you but you didn’t bother to voice your discomfort, you knew they wouldn’t listen anyway. You were lead to the wing that Hannibal was being held, the prisoners weren’t any better than the guards, banging on the bars, whistling, some saying what they would do to you if they weren’t being held back from behind the bars

Arriving to the end of the hallway you saw him, his dark eyes, light brown hair that was parted to the side, he still held that refined and intelligent look to him as always even with his situation. He was on the bed, charcoal in hand as he drew “Mr. Lecter?”