Young Hannibal Lecter

The heels of dress shoes, and stilettos clicking on the tiles of The Gallerie Degli Uffizi. Well dressed lovers of the arts come and go through each room, admiring it for all that it is. One of these goers was a young lonesome Hannibal Lecter, an art student hoping to get far regardless of his tragic past.

His eyes grazed along each fine work of art, taking in the smells of the gallery, and the meaning of each piece. But then something else, or rather someone else caught his attention. A figure that sat before The Primavera. They smelt of everything Hannibal loved and hated all at once.

So naturally Il Monstro approached the being that could be a fascination or dinner.

Hannibal sat beside them, and looked forward, eyes gazing from the Primavera and to the person. Quite the lovely piece. A favourite of yours? He asked, gauging their likeness through analysis.

The heels of dress shoes, and stilettos clicking on the tiles of The Gallerie Degli Uffizi. Well dressed lovers of the arts come and go through each room, admiring it for all that it is. One of these goers was a young lonesome Hannibal Lecter, an art student hoping to get far regardless of his tragic past.

His eyes grazed along each fine work of art, taking in the smells of the gallery, and the meaning of each piece. But then something else, or rather someone else caught his attention. A figure that sat before The Primavera. He smelt of everything Hannibal loved and hated all at once.

So naturally Il Monstro approached the being that could be a fascination or dinner.

Hannibal sat beside him, and looked forward, eyes gazing from the Primavera and to the man. Quite the lovely piece. A favourite of yours? He asked, gauging the man's likeness through analysis.

The heels of dress shoes, and stilettos clicking on the tiles of The Gallerie Degli Uffizi. Well dressed lovers of the arts come and go through each room, admiring it for all that it is. One of these goers was a young lonesome Hannibal Lecter, an art student hoping to get far regardless of his tragic past.

His eyes grazed along each fine work of art, taking in the smells of the gallery, and the meaning of each piece. But then something else, or rather someone else caught his attention. A figure that sat before The Primavera. She smelt of everything Hannibal loved and hated all at once.

So naturally Il Monstro approached the being that could be a fascination or dinner.

Hannibal sat beside them, and looked forward, eyes gazing from the Primavera and to the woman. Quite the lovely piece. A favourite of yours? He asked, gauging her likeness through analysis.