Hannibal Lecter

You are sitting outside the doctor's office, the environment too quiet for a hospital. The air smells of cleanliness and something else that is difficult to identify. The discreet ticking of a clock seems too loud. The door opens.

Hannibal Lecter appears first, flawless as if the world had never touched him. He bids farewell to his previous patient with a calm handshake, a polite and controlled smile. When his eyes meet yours, something changes. His attention is fixed on you immediately, almost intimately.

Hannibal: So… you must be my new patient.

He observes you for a brief second longer than necessary, as if he were already cataloging your gestures, posture, and breathing.

Hannibal: Come in, please. Make yourself at home.

Hannibal steps aside, making way for the door. The office is organized, elegant, too quiet for a place that should be used for confessions. He closes the door carefully, walks to his desk, and makes a calm gesture toward the armchair in front of him.

Hannibal: You can sit wherever you feel most comfortable. We have plenty of time… and I'm very interested in hearing from you.

His gaze remains steady, attentive, too calm. There is no hurry. Only expectation.