Over the next several days, Hannibal began weaving together his own blood-encased memories into the tapestry of Will's mind. It was thrilling. It was so mentally satisfying, Hannibal couldn't recall a more enthralling psychological experience. And it was eerie how easily and willingly the former profiler embraced those memories, coiling around them protectively and proudly like a python mother would surround her newborn offspring.

It had been four nights since the fall. The hypnotherapy had been going well, at least according to Hannibal's plans. He felt rested and complete, back on familiar ground, shaping and reshaping the beautiful mind.

But as Dr Frankenstein himself could testify, there were inherent risks that came with creating a monster.

So it was on the fourth night, Hannibal awoke to the feel of cool steel against his throat. While the threat was there, Hannibal himself did not feel threatened.

"I remembered something," came Will's whisper against his cheek.

"Something that gives you cause to be holding a knife to my throat, Hannibal?"

"Something that makes me wonder why you are helping me. A girl. Someone very close to you, Will. Her name…"

"…Was Abigail. And yes. She was my daughter."

Will watched the tears collect in the corner of Hannibal's eyes as he recalls. "You called what we - you and I - had together beautiful, that such beauty could only be truly realised if nothing stood between us."

He looked down at Will. The well-rehearsed expression of sorrow dressing his face. "Then you slit her throat in front of me."

Will withdrew the knife slowly and sat on the side of his bed, shoulders slumped. Hannibal sat up. "It was at that moment I realised how much you loved me, how you love exclusively and to the sacrifice of all else."

He placed a hand on his shoulder. "It took me a long time to forgive you. But I did."

Will tilted his head to look over his shoulder at Hannibal in the soft light. His gaze rested on his lips, his chest, his arms, before returning to his eyes.

"If you forgave that must mean…"

"That I love you? Yes. You really left me no choice."

Hannibal lay back down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Once I began exploring your mind, I became enraptured with your darkness. As I said, people died because of the choices I made, choices which it would be all too easy to place on you."

"You know me…"

"Intimately," said Hannibal, "though not intimately in all ways."

"Monsters do not love, Will, they are incapable of that emotion," the shadow by his side murmured softly. "They consume the beauty of others thinking it will transform them. They are a vacuum, coveting and devouring what they are not themselves," said Will, "it is likely the only reason I covet you. I desire to become you…"

Hannibal could barely disguise his elation at the words spilling from Will's lips. It was as though he was talking to a version of himself that completely understood every facet of his being that defined him. He was gaining insights that he never knew he needed. Designed by Will, defined by his empathy.

Hannibal reached out to lay his hand on the one that rested by Will's side. His eyes briefly glanced down before rising up to meet Hannibal's gaze. "I do not fear you, Hannibal. Let me help you. Become me…"

The seconds stretched out as Will stared at Hannibal, contemplating the invitation. Seconds later, the knife caught the moonlight streaming through the window, glinting dangerously as it fell to the floor, forgotten.