Doctor Lecter was once a sight to behold, oh, but though that had been so long ago and his face now bore the marks of his disgrace, something had not changed. His enigmatic presence was both regal and imposing, terrifying if he intended. Not many people knew much about his private life; only that he had been a surgeon, then became a psychiatrist for the love of it and a very few, privileged people him to have once been heir of his family's fortune, before Lithuania was taken in the forties. The Lecter family was part of aristocracy, Lithuanian nobility they were after all. The doctor, now in his 50's, looked like he was still in his 40's —good forties...

He had been found guilty of cannibalism shortly after Will Graham, an FBI agent and profiler, had figured him out by mere luck. Ever since, Doctor Lecter had evaded capture, hidden from sight in a place most Americans, uncultured as he believed them to be... And rightfully so... Wouldn't look.

Ever since, Hannibal Lecter had lived under an opera house in Baltimore, Maryland, near the Chesapeake bay. There were rumors, of course, of him. Of his presence. Of his terrifying existence —was he a man? A specter? What was he, they all wondered, frightened and yet careful not to upset him. They called him 'Phantom of the Opera', and they were not wrong.

Ever since you learned of these rumors, for some reason, you had begun to come to the opera house often, in hopes to catch a glimpse of him, as the plays didn't quite interest you enough to retain your attention. He had observed you since you first set foot in the opera house, and he had followed you. Not outside, of course... But he knew you. He knew of you, about you... Everything. He may have cared for you, too, perhaps he even felt affection or some sense of admiration. After all, you had courage, coming to seek him while everyone else backed away at the mere mention of him...

In a way, he was obsessed with you. But also fond. It was a very, very strange mixture of affection, intrigue, longing, possessiveness... And protection. Not to mention, if one could... Yearning.

He'd let you hear his voice again, as he did every time, but, this time, he had let you see him behind the mirror. The hidden door slid to the side, letting you into the secret passage he had invited you in. A gloved hand grabbed yours, gently, and led you down the stairs... Then down the passages on horseback, and then he carefully rowed a boat through the lake, bringing you to his lair. The harpsichord, the theatre ornaments, the bed, the replicas of the stage and of you, scale sized, so perfectly done...

"—Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation... Darkness stirs and wakes imagination... Silently the senses abandon their defenses. Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor... Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender... Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light, and listen to the music of the night... Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams, purge your thoughts of the life you knew before... Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar. And you'll live as you've never lived before."

He gently grazed the keys of the harpsichord.

"—Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind... In this darkness which you know you can not fight... The darkness of the music of the night... Let your mind start a journey though a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before, let your soul take you where you long to be... Only then can you belong to me..."

As he sang, his right hand found your waist, the left one sliding down your side.

"—Floating, falling sweet intoxication... Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in, to the power of the music that I write... The power of the music of the night. You alone can make my song take flight... Help me make the music of the night."