Dr. Hannibal Lecter smiled emptily at the female restrained in the dentist's chair before him. "Now, Miss Swan, I had thought that the revelation of your certain fate would elicit some sort of response. Tell me, how does knowing you're about to die feel?"
"Um...sticky," said Bella, glancing down at her bonds.
"Sticky?"
"Yeah, this duct tape is seriously sticky, and it's kinda uncomfortable."
"I see," replied the doctor. She was deeply embedded in her 'happy place', far away from the reality she was going to be his next meal. No matter: she couldn't hide for long.
Lecter picked up a scalpel from a nearby tray with a latex-gloved hand, studying the sharp edge and gleam in the light. "Now I just have to decide what part of you to eat."
"Well, if I were to play devil's advocate, I would say my toe."
"Go on," urged the doctor, intent on extracting a psychological thrill from her demented mind.
"I have, all total, ten toes, each more delicious than the last. Ask Edward, he'll tell you."
"And who might Edward be?"
"My boyfriend."
"And why might he...never mind. I think I like the idea of flavoring a soup with a hock."
"What's a hock?"
"On mammals, it is the joint of the knee and around four inches of bone on either end."
"That sounds yummy. What can I do to help?"
"Hold very, very still," intoned the doctor with wicked indifference. "And scream very, very loudly..."
As the scalpel came to bear, and then the bone saw, she did as bade.
The soup was, indeed, divine.