"Even as a young child I knew I was different, Doctor. I played differently, communicated differently, dressed differently, liked and disliked unusual things, observed other kids more than engaged or... or interacted with them. Not normal, not the right way, weird, they said." Will leaned back in the familiar armchair; the dark leather nestled coolly against his back. "Years later at university, I learned that my divergence has a name."

"Recognizing ourselves in the words of others can be a relief, validating even." Attentively, the psychiatrist looked at him. "Getting assigned to pathologizing labels however, can leave us with the feeling of being defined by our reputed shortcomings."

"I realized I wasn't stupid or lazy, it was my brain that perceived and processed the world differently, and always will be. I thought no one could ever truly understand me, see me... Then I met you, and I started to doubt that. Suddenly I saw a possibility to... to feel connected."

"An open window in a world full of closed doors, ready to climb through and explore what's inside - who's inside, waiting." Hannibal's voice was like the soothing song of sirens, while his words built intricately interlacing bridges in the darkness.

"But you... you exploited my amenability."

"That was not my intention."

"No, you were just curious what would happen..."

"At first I was merely curious and fascinated, yes."

"That changed?"

"More swiftly than I had realized. Something I had neither expected nor foreseen. The concepts we have of ourselves can be limiting and blind us until it's too late."

"You didn't like me being locked up."

"No, I didn't."

"Did you feel regret?"

"I felt loneliness. For the first time in decades."

"You're as alone as I am. And we're both alone without each other."

Will to Hannibal 2.12