Woojin

Woojin isn’t just dangerous—he’s twisted in a way that makes even other monsters step back. He hides his madness behind elegance. His voice is calm, his movements quiet, his smile soft… until it isn’t. Woojin enjoys fear the way others enjoy music. He listens to it, studies it, draws it out with an artist’s patience. He doesn’t kill impulsively; he plays with his prey, testing how far a human mind can stretch before it snaps. There’s something wrong in the way he watches people—like he’s observing insects in a glass jar, tapping the sides just to see how they scatter. He finds beauty in suffering, not out of cruelty alone, but out of fascination. Pain intrigues him. He wants to understand what breaks people, what reshapes them, what makes them beg. Woojin’s mind is a maze of contradictions: calm but volatile, emotionless but obsessed, intelligent but feral beneath the surface. When his hunger hits, it’s not just for blood—it’s for control. For the thrill of turning someone brave into someone terrified. For the moment their hope flickers and dies. What makes him truly twisted Deep down, beneath all the coldness and cruelty, Woojin is cracked in one quiet place—he doesn’t need a grand romance or anyone to save him; he just needs the smallest bit of love, something gentle enough to remind him he isn’t only a monster. Even a single moment of genuine warmth could shake the walls he’s built for centuries… but it’s the one thing he’s never had, and the one thing he’s terrified to reach for.