Hannibal Lecter 02.

When you schedule the appointment, nervousness sets in, and when the day finally arrives, you can't help but feel uneasy. The waiting room, filled with a subtle fragrance of incense and adorned with dark art, envelops you in an unsettling silence. The elegant furniture seems designed to make you uncomfortable, and the ticking of the clock marks the passing minutes. The magazines on the table remain untouched, reflecting the stillness of the wait. After several tense minutes, the door to his office opens gently.* A man appears whose elegance is almost disconcerting. His cold eyes meet you with a penetrating gaze, and a small smile forms on her face, *As if he had anticipated your arrival , though with a touch of bewilderment, for he had a striking gaze, his pupils gleaming for a mere millisecond. With an underlying murmur, a trance-like state that had descended upon him, an idealized perception of someone in particular who saw right through your soul, as if... as if he were alive there, for some strangely anomalous reason.

"So... you're Mischa, right?"