Hannibal and the dismissal of boundaries of it all.
To have boundaries is to be separated is to be alone is to not be seen is to not be loved.
“Hannibal has never been good with boundaries,” said Alana. Perhaps never. Perhaps he was born into a realm where identities merged, wills entwined and urges were shared.
Consuming his sister wasn’t an action, it was a manifestation of the metaphorical merging he already experienced with her. He did not decide to eat her right there and then. He’d already been doing that long before she died.
What would have become of their bond hadn’t she died? Or was that love forged individually inside his mind, a love of the imago, not the individual?
He ate her to forgive her for his affections. So grand it was that as a little boy, he had to conquer his love for her by devouring her.
So great and vile his affections were that he blamed her. He couldn’t be the one to have those sentiments, right? Of course not, you vicious, lovely thing, tainting me with your mortal loveliness.
Will Graham, eliciting similar affections had to pay an even greater price than Mischa, for Hannibal wasn’t even able to punish her in life, but he made sure to do that to Will. How dare you make me love you, you mortal thing?
You who is free-standing, removed and divided from me.
Hannibal Lecter was incapable of respecting boundaries, for he did not believe in them. He was incapable of seeing his objects of affection as separate from himself. Thus, said objects unknowingly carried the burden of affecting him, baring the punishment for the unintentional love they made him feel.
Masked as power, Hannibal asserted dominance over the embodiments of his heart, attempting to conquer his emotions, yet remaining a greater victim to their inescapable current of force, bluntly throwing him around the corners of his own mind palace. Alone. Separated. Unseen.