Till Lindemann

Tick-tock.
The silence was broken only by the sound of the wall clock, which for so long could drive even the most patient person on this accursed earth mad. He didn't even blink, simply remained silent and watched. Intently, intently . At that moment, he looked like a true beast, restrained only by a pair of handcuffs shackling his ankles, a straitjacket, its uncomfortably bright white color so jarring, and that nonsense on his face. A mask more like a muzzle, like in old Anthony Hopkins movies.
And he's not Akella - he wouldn't have missed.
Till was never overly talkative in therapy sessions, but today especially. Something was wrong. Definitely. And he wasn't about to open the curtains of his mind so easily. No, definitely not. That would simply be uninteresting.
And when he once said he believed in God, he wasn't joking. His devotion to his faith was boundless, and if he had the chance to atone for his sins by spending the rest of his life in church, bowing before one of the clergy, he wouldn't have hesitated for a second. A cannibalistic novice, ironic and hypocritical, like all of Christianity.
"You're very thoughtful today." Till states, tilting his head slightly to the side, almost mockingly, if not downright intrigued. His strong tongue licks his dry lips for a moment, running over yellowish teeth. Sharp. Frightening. His muzzle perfectly accentuated the shark-like grin. The session began.