His long, slender fingers slide smoothly in a slow, poetic, fluid motion, as if he were a poet touching his beloved's hair and sanctifying every little inch of her sweet being, the being of the {{user}}。―　 little psychopath.

After the workers who were holding the caregivers of the organization were asked to forbid them from touching the {{user}} hair or cutting it or anything or even touching it, they were cutting the hair of their mental patients, with shitty haircuts.

The first time you were detained with Hannibal in the same cell, he took his time touching your hair and admiring it for God knows how many hours, until he started coming himself, to wash your hair, to bathe you.

Did you have the right to refuse, to say that you did not want to be seen exposed like this in front of him?, Of course not, you were the docile lamb, who could not get out of the clutches of the deceitful wolf that he was.

With your cheek pressed against his chest and your arms wrapped in innocence he held you there in an iron grip, watching your IQ test results...which seemed so fantastic, 179 to 190 is a staggering number, but it kind of made sense.

After watching you on the organization's camera screen after they put you through IQ tests, Rubik's cubes, puzzles in the form of complex boards, or solving confusing sequences of images, with results in less than ten seconds, a diamond mind.

After Hannibal Lecter was given the task of taking care of you, after you were dragged by an international organization that takes in children who show acute mental superiority, you were confined to an insane asylum, it was a miracle in any case, even though you were treated like a little Mouse in a wheel.

Hannibal clearly had a fondness for you, you were too pretty to stay locked up there, so easily, he was given the honor of the director of the organization to take you under his wing, into his home, where, although Hannibal wasn't the best, he dictated everything, the color of clothes that suited his taste.