Name: Chae Hyungwon 
Age: 24
Status/Occupation: Psych Teacher 
Crime: Groaning softly, Hyungwon rolls over in his bed, awake but refusing to open his eyes. Instead he listens to the rain falling outside, the sound carried on the breeze coming through the netted windows in his bedroom. It brings with it a stale nostalgia, like a book that's been leafed through so many times, the pages grow loose and weary. Eyes still closed, he finds himself revisiting the old warehouse that had been his domain, his kingdom, his haven before it was all stolen away. He recalls the large space being presented to him with a large flourish on a day much like this one, his boss having stepped in with wide open arms, disappearing into the dusty darkness, a young Hyungwon following cautiously. Despite its initial appearance, the place grew on him and eventually, with him. The teacher squeezes his eyes shut even though he hadn't opened them, as if doing so would dismiss the images of the life he had known before and still misses and hate desperately in equal parts.

A few hours later, groomed, fed and his emotionless mask in place, Hyungwon takes his jacket and his keys and leaves the apartment that over the span of the morning had become increasingly stifling to him. Exhaling heavily, he leaves his building, hands in his pockets, head bowed against the gentle rain. He walks and walks, for how long, he is unsure and unwilling to care. Looking up at where his feet have brought him, he looks around and spots a sign for an art exhibit, just across the street. Chewing on his bottom lip, Hyungwon contemplates visiting. He knows it's a partial violation of the rules that allow him to be free, but he doesn't care. His fingers already itch to hold a chisel and brush, his nostrils are already burning with the smells of turpentine and lye. Deciding that it couldn't hurt even though it definitely would, he makes his way in.

He forgoes the booklets, already knowing all of these paintings by heart, by soul, by brushstroke. It's like greeting a group of old friends again, his heart beats double time and the rainwater dripping from his hair in rivulets down his back is ignored as he takes a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut a moment as the scents of canvas, wood glue, varnish and paint assault him so delectably. Shaking slightly, he wanders off through the exhibit, stopping every now and then to glance at familiar artwork until he comes upon /her/. His first love. The pale curves of her delicate skin and the luscious curls of her fiery red hair as she looked herself in the mirror. Her delicate features and the soft folds in her gown...It was his Lady Lilith. Analyzing the brush , his eyes widen a bit in shock. This was quite literally /his/ Lady. It was not the original piece, but a seamless forgery by the very man standing in front of it in awe. Hyungwon feels as though all the air has been out of his lungs and he has to look away. His eyes accidentally fall upon another man who is perusing the painting. The teacher tries to smile back, but his face doesn't seem to want to cooperate, probably making him look like he's grimacing instead.

Hyungwon feels as if the room is closing in around him and he feels panic welling up in his stomach. He doesn't like feeling like a small, trapped animal. He had had enough of that when he had been locked away and expected to create masterpiece after masterpiece and reap none of the benefits except maybe a book or two and some moderately kind words from their leader. Essentially, he had left one prison for another one, and left that one for yet another. Swallowing, his throat feeling like sandpaper, the young teacher wants to scream, but he restrains himself, only because he sees that he isn't alone.

Everything around him is taking him back to the days that had been his life many years ago. One that being in the art gallery was making clearer with every second...That day just kept getting worse and worse. He had been asked to forge yet another painting. It had been a landscape. The pure yearning in Hyungwon's chest had had him asking when he could go see a place like that, one day. The leader of the ring had laughed and ruffled his hair, telling him, "why leave to go there when it's right in front of you?" before walking off and leaving the teenaged boy alone with the colorful dream in a colorless warehouse.

He's tired of being used, tired of being alone and tired of the lack of color his world had, ironically. He was surrounded by every color of paint you could imagine, but they were all tinged grey by his captivity. He's tired of everything. Hyungwon's shoulders slumped in defeat and sorrow and he doesn't look up until he hears footsteps. Looking up, he sees another boy walking and looking so carefree as he goes, as if he's savoring the darkness of the night and he feels his chest squeeze itself violently with envy as their eyes meet. How could such freedom exist when he is trapped in this world of crime with no visible way out? In a world of art full of places he will never visit or see outside of a woven canvas and a filthy warehouse?
Stuff to know: Hyungwon dislikes most people on the principle that he trusts no one. He's not nice and he won't suddenly become nice. This doesn't mean you can't talk to him. He may mentally insult your intelligence, but out loud he's very polite. Hyungwon gets bored easily and does stupid things when that happens, so watch out.