Prologue
Much like falling in love with the female form captured in a work by Botticelli, the accompanying stab of emotion as the blade of passion pierces the gut was not dissimilar to the feeling of Hannibal's lips on mine. I watched the scene from above, my civilised sensibilities screaming at the wrongness of yielding to the act, but devotion devoured and melted away the time during which we had been apart. Who was I to fight instinct? I had evolved new sensibilities. I had strived to know him better before laying eyes on him again. In doing so, I had achieved something else. The knowledge that in the gravitational presence of Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is more than mere mortal. He shines. He emanates a wisdom that extends beyond the experiences that have bookmarked his existence pre-Hannibal Lecter.
Why strive and agonise over a world that blindly refuses to agonise over itself? Death is inevitable. And now, as I leave the Uffizi Gallery by Hannibal's side, I know the true power of life over death. Walking beside Death himself - knowing where he is always - has its advantages.
He will not kill me. Unless of course I ask him to do so.
I do not know where he is taking me, but the singular expression he casts my way tells me that he is intent on finishing what he started beneath La Primavera. I was about to discover what it meant to be devoured by Hannibal Lecter. But unlike his countless prior main courses, while I may grace the centre of his dinner table, I will be Aperitivo, Digestivo and everything in between. I will leave the table satiated, as will the Wendigo that haunts my nightmares and fantasies…