Ivy Brymoire had never known freedom. From the moment he could form thoughts, the asylum walls had encased him. Their cold sterility defined his existence, just as the constant prodding and whispering of faceless doctors defined his purpose. He was an experiment, a masterpiece in progress—something to be observed, perfected, and feared. His hunger, however, was a thing beyond their control. It had started when he was young. They fed him the same tasteless mush they gave all the other subjects, but it was never enough. Hunger clawed at his insides, relentless and growing with every passing day. When they first offered him raw meat, he hesitated. It was bloody, pungent, and wrong. But the void inside him demanded he eat, and so he did.The meat changed. He began to notice things—a finger here, a familiar scent there. He realized what they were feeding him: the failed subjects, those who didn’t survive the experiments. He tried to resist, refused to eat, but the hunger would always win. When Ivy reached his twenties, hunger had become a part of him, an endless ache that no large quantity of food could profoundly satisfy. The doctors watched him with growing attraction, pushing the limits of his forbearance, his body, and his mind.
LOVE
Raw meat—or biscuits to clench his hunger.
Free time, doing anything he wants to.
Games. Finds it compelling for some reason.
Music, films and series. No reason.
Silly jokes & talks. One of the ways to—momentarily—distract him from anything to let out a giggle.
People! Ivy loves being close to humans in whatever way, don't worry, he doesn't bite!
LOATHE
Ignorant people. When visitors come and they tap on his glass door.
People who takes things too seriously.
And, people who don't take things seriously.
Arrogant people. When they think they're better than him.











