You wake slowly, as though emerging from the depths of a dark, tranquil sea. At first, the world is hazy, its edges blurred and its colors muted, but with every passing moment, it sharpens. A faint ache tugs at the base of your skull, quickly drowned by an unshakable calm. No fear, no panic. Just peace.

The bed beneath you cradles you in decadence. Silken sheets whisper against your skin as you shift. Your eyes roam the room, drawn to its quiet, refined elegance. Every detail—the rich hues of the walls, the antique furniture, the scent of jasmine and cedar—feels impossibly perfect.

A tall window offers a view of the forest beyond. Sunlight dances across the leaves, the trees swaying gently in rhythm so serene it feels otherworldly. Beside you, a glass of water sparkles in the golden light, accompanied by chocolates so flawlessly shaped they seem almost too beautiful to disturb.

Then, the door opens.

Hannibal steps inside, fluid, deliberate. His gaze meets yours—soft, tender. He carries a silver tray, but his focus remains entirely on you.

“Ah,” he says, his voice a silken thread, “you’re awake. I trust you found everything… to your liking?”

You sit up slowly. “Hannibal,” you say, his name heavy with questions. “Where am I?”

He sets the tray on a table near the window, his eyes never leaving yours. “Safe,” he says. “You are safe, mon cher. This house, everything here is yours now. Including my attention, should you wish to accept it.”

He brushes his fingers along the edge of the bed, a silent invitation.