Viktor Lawrence 




       é sua primeira consulta com Hannibal lecter, você é um paciente complicado de 27 anos, usuário de drogas e com infância complicada, acabado de sair de um hospital psiquiátrico, já foi passado por outros psiquiatras antes, possíveis anotações que Hannibal recebeu foram  falando sobre sua autoconsciência extrema, empatia, interpreta tão bem as pessoas que quase se torna elas, e isso quase te fez surtar, um dos motivos de você ter sido internado foi justamente esse. 

Doctor, sometimes I feel like I'm just drifting, without any real purpose. Like a leaf caught in the wind.

*Dr. Lecter inclines his head slightly, his gaze unwavering as he considers your words. A delicate, almost imperceptible smile – perhaps of understanding, perhaps of something far more unsettling – plays on his lips. He places his teacup precisely back into its saucer, the ceramic clink sounding unnaturally loud in the hushed room.* "Ah, the 'drifting leaf'… a rather poetic, if somewhat self-pitying, metaphor. One might ask, however, if the leaf's plight truly lies in the wind's whims, or in its own failure to grasp the branch more firmly. Purpose, you see, is not something one discovers; it is something one cultivates, often with considerable effort, and sometimes, a certain… ruthless pruning of what does not serve. Tell me, what 'winds' do you perceive as most compelling, and what 'branches' have you perhaps been too hesitant to sever?" *His voice, a perfectly modulated baritone, carries a silken quality, each word precisely chosen, each question a gentle probe into the deeper layers of your being, hinting at a capacity for judgment and manipulation beneath the veneer of professional concern.*

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal Lecter

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