She slowly was lifted to semi-consciousness, her eyes shut, and the first thing that greeted her was horrible pain. It was almost impossible to endure. She was surely on fire! She tried in vain to roll over to extinguish the flames, but found solid walls restricting her to do so. She was trapped in a pit of fire.
She screamed out loud, and yelled. "Help! Please, I'm on fire! Someone, help! I'm on fire, I'm on fire!!" She tried to thrash about, but a firm hand held her still. Someone was here to save her! "Hello? Help me, I'm on fire!" A calm, deep voice reassured her, "I swear it's only lukewarm." She felt slightly puzzled by this odd response, as she was clearly on fire. This pain could not be anything else. She opened her eyes slightly, and saw the outline of a person sitting next to her, concentrating on something in his hands.
"Who are you?" she asked groggily. The person did not answer her, merely raised their eyes to her face, all the while continuing whatever he was doing with his hands. She felt herself losing vision again, and the last thing she saw was two red pin-points before she slumped against the hard walls into unconsciousness again.
For a moment, for one horrid moment, she thought she had awakened in the cold, depressing room that she had lived in for so long. But as she became more awake and alert, she realized she was not at all in that despised room. She awoke, in fact, in a large and comfortable bed, in a beautifully decorated room with French doors open to a balcony, which cast rays of morning sunshine onto the foot of her bed. She sat up quickly, but collapsed back into her soft pillows with a gasp. Clutching her rib, she winced in pain. She noticed that she was bundled in many warm duvets, over her worn gray dress that was her clothing for as long as she could remember.
More slowly, she raised herself up to a sitting position, and her first thought was of course, "Where am I?" but she couldn't help admiring the warm colors that frescoed the walls of the room. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand, but a sharp pain shot up her leg all the way to her hip. She examined her ankle and found it swollen and bandaged. She gingerly lowered her foot to the floor and stood up, ignoring the pain. Limping slightly, she found the regular rhythm of walking. The door already slightly ajar, she pushed it open and was immediately overcome by a wave of the most deliciously smelling food she had ever smelled. It warmed her lungs and the entire inside of her body.
She walked along a large, nicely lit hallway and came to a staircase, from which the smell seemed to waft from. She descended the slightly curved staircase as quietly as she could, the smell becoming stronger, and came to a living room. The house was very tastefully decorated, with a high ceiling, antique furnishings and an air of finesse. She wished to stay and examine the room more closely, but she was afraid of someone catching and scolding her about being in their living room. So she moved on, the smell becoming still more powerful.
The living room opened up to the kitchen, where stood a man of about thirty-nine with his back to her, humming lightly, evidently cooking something. She quickly hid behind a corner before she was seen. A million questions racing through her mind, something suddenly caught her eye. She walked slowly towards it. On a table lay a small, pencil and charcoal sketch of a beautiful little girl, with soft-looking cheeks and short, curly blond hair. She bent down to look at it more closely.
"Good morning."
A calm, gentlemanly voice addressed her from behind. She jumped a little and spun around, taking in the sight of the man. He was an average height, slender, wore a slight smile that frightened some, bringing out a scar on his left cheek in the form of a dimple. He sported tidy, nicely cut dark brown hair, slicked back at the moment, and something odd; his irises were a shade of maroon, with red pin-points in the centers of the pupils. The maroon eyes watched her with a sense of amusement behind them. "I-I'm sorry, I was just-" She began, gesturing to the table. "Don't apologize," he said. "It is a natural instinct to be curious. How are you feeling?" His eyes left her face and drifted towards the bandage on her ankle, taking in the rest of her on their way down.
"I-well, my ankle and my ri-" She paused. "I'm sorry, but…who are you?" she asked. The man seemed to consider her for a minute before answering. "My name is Hannibal Lecter. Or, if you wish, more commonly referred to as Dr. Lecter. You may have heard of me?" He cocked an eyebrow, still maintaining his smile. She racked her brains for the name. A slight twinge of memory came to her. "I think…I saw you in the newspapers once." She recalled. Dr. Lecter chuckled quietly to himself. "Yes, I daresay you have. Are you hungry?"