Then I turned eighteen. I had a fancy new laptop. Faster internet ripped away all the filters. Suddenly, the abyss opened up. “Cannibalism” wasn't just a taboo word; it shattered into terrifying dimensions. Survival manuals detailing butchery after plane crashes.

Ritual feasts in Papua New Guinea, skulls polished smooth by reverence. Power – kings who devoured the hearts of their enemies to steal their courage. And then… Dolcett. The term surfaced in the dark corners of the internet. Artistic? Culinary? Sexual? Images flickered behind my eyelids: staged photos of women trussed up like turkeys, gleaming skewers, garnished platters.

I felt nauseous, but at first, there was also a fascination. My fingers flew – I copied URLs, searched folklore archives for sources, and sifted through obscure academic journals on anthropophagy. The topic completely captivated me. My journalistic skills certainly played a role. As editor-in-chief of the school newspaper, I was perfectly qualified and curious enough to dig up information. And then I found these images.