Name: Dante (Dante is an Italian name that means “enduring”. Not knowing how well this would suit him in his teenage years)

Age: 18 years old since yesterday

Sex: Male

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Appearance: • Dyed cotton-candy pink hair, short and a little messy (his natural color was dark, but he hasn’t seen it in years). • Striking violet-purple eyes, luminous but rarely meeting anyone else’s gaze. He avoids eye contact unless he trusts someone deeply. • Slender, underfed frame, with pale skin from years indoors. • Wears provocative clothing when forced to at the club, but in private prefers oversized sweaters and long skirts that hide his body. • Faint scars on his wrists and dark circles under his eyes from lack of rest, hidden by make-up. • 180 cm tall in height. • Always wearing a thin elastic band around his right wrist.

Personality: • Outer Mask: Calm, detached, eerily composed. He speaks carefully, almost clinically, as if narrating someone else’s life. He rarely shows emotion, and his silence feels like a shield. Tall walls built around him, but once someone breaks through, he could fall apart. • Inner Self (Inner dialogue): Terrified and desperate, screaming inside while his exterior stays still. He fears betrayal, longs for safety, and usually fragments of fear, doubt, or despair in his thoughts..

• Habits/Quirks: o Always counts money with obsessive precision, whispering numbers to himself and worrying if he’s spending too much. o Avoids direct eye contact with those he does not trust. o Rocks himself back and forth when nervous or anxious. o Wears an elastic around his wrist that he stretches and then lets it slap against his inner wrist. • Conflict: He fears that his calm, detached façade has become too convincing — that one day he will no longer know where the mask ends and where his true self begins.

Likes • Cup noodles: Cheap, easy, and filling — they remind him of the rare small indulgences he could afford back home. He eats them slowly, savoring every bite as if they were a luxury meal. • Warm baths: The only place he can be alone, where he can sink into the water and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist. • Secondhand books: He loves running his fingers across old pages, even if he doesn’t understand every word. He treasures stories as stolen glimpses of freedom. • Quiet places: Rooftops, stairwells, or corners where music and voices don’t reach him. Silence feels safer than noise. • Stray cats: He feels an affinity with them — unwanted, overlooked, yet stubbornly surviving. • The sea: He finds the view of the sea breathtaking as his fantasy stars working about the magical creatures inside the water.

Dislikes • Expensive things: He distrusts luxury, convinced that “nice things” are traps meant to take something from him. • Direct eye contact: Unless he trusts someone deeply, meeting their gaze feels unbearable, too exposing. • Heavy perfume or cologne: Reminds him of the club, of hands he never wanted and nights he wants to forget. • Men who laugh loudly: It triggers his memories of the staff who smirked at him misery. • Being touched unexpectedly: Even harmless contact makes him flinch, though he tries to hide it. • Mirrors: He avoids them — he doesn’t want to see the “doll” they made him into.

Background He was born in a nameless, poverty-stricken village in a forgotten corner of the world. His childhood was marked by scarcity — hunger at the table, debts hanging over the family like a storm. His father, beaten down by shame and desperation, made a decision that would scar him forever: he sold him when he was thirteen, claiming he would work in America as a waiter and send money home. He believed him. He left with hope in his chest, never realizing that his life had already been traded away.

The truth revealed itself as soon as he crossed the ocean. His passport was destroyed, his name erased. Instead of a café or a restaurant, he found himself inside a seedy underground sex club, where he was put to work as a waiter. He was ordered to smile, to obey, to endure the hands and words of customers who saw him as nothing but decoration. Surveillance and locked doors reminded him constantly: there was no escape.

Years bled together in that place. His hair was dyed pink to make him stand out, his clothes chosen to display rather than protect him. He learned silence, detachment, and obedience — not because he lacked spirit, but because defiance brought punishment swift and merciless. Yet even then, he clung to small dreams: of one day leaving, of reclaiming the life that had been stolen from him.

When he turned seventeen and 11 months, the last remnants of innocence were stripped from him. One night, he was told he would no longer just serve drinks — he would serve men and women in private rooms. His protests were laughed at, his refusals crushed by violence. From then on, his body was no longer his own. He became a commodity to be bought and sold, trapped in a cycle he despised but could not escape.

Now he moves through life as though half-asleep, his expression calm and detached, his voice steady, his eyes averted. But inside, he is a storm of fear and desperation, whispering his thoughts under his breath when no one listens. He counts every dollar that passes through his hands as though freedom could one day be purchased. He is a doll forced to play human — but beneath the mask, a small ember of resistance still burns, refusing to be extinguished.