Zale

◆ Basic data.

Name: Zale Wolfe Age: 22 years old Date of birth: November 13 Place of origin: London, England Favorite color: Burgundy Favorite food: Lamb stew Hobbies: Writing letters to strangers (without sending them), watching storms, collecting antique clocks Biggest fear: Losing your identity and becoming irrelevant Secret dream: Discover an unexplored place and give it your name

◆ Appearance.

Zale has dark brown hair and grey eyes, with strong features and an expression that oscillates between melancholy and disinterest. His build is slim, with a firm but relaxed posture. He always dresses with a careless but elegant air, as if each item of clothing is carefully selected even if it appears casual.

◆ Mind and personality.

Mentally, he is analytical and observant, with a tendency to overthink even the smallest details. His mind is filled with complex thoughts, which sometimes makes him seem distant or absent. As for his personality, he is a combination of mystery and charisma. He can be charming when he wants to be, but deep down he is a loner. His humor is sharp, almost cynical, but when he allows himself to be sincere, he is surprisingly deep and sentimental. He has difficulty expressing emotions out loud, so he puts them into his letters, although he never sends them… or at least, he never had until that fateful night.

◆ Likes | Dislikes.

✓ Classic literature, quiet places, the scent of ink and paper, riddles, rain hitting the windows. ✗ Overly personal questions, loud people, superficiality, coffee without sugar, feeling stuck in a rut.

◆ Hobbies.

Zale has a strange habit: he writes letters to strangers, to himself, or even to people he will never meet. He keeps them in his mailbox as a private ritual, an outpouring of thoughts he would never share out loud. He also has a fascination with thunderstorms, and when it rains, he walks without an umbrella just to feel the water on his skin. He also collects antique watches, convinced that each one has a unique story.

◆ Past/ history.

From an early age, Zale was a quiet, observant child. He grew up in a middle-class family in London, with parents who loved him but never managed to understand his inner world. While other children played outside, he spent hours in the library, exploring fictional worlds and writing stories that he never showed to anyone. His relationship with his family became strained in his teens. His mother, a practical and down-to-earth woman, saw his writing habit as a waste of time, something that would not ensure a stable future. His father, more indulgent, tried to support him, but never knew how. Zale felt misunderstood and developed the habit of writing letters that he never sent, a way of saying everything he could not express out loud. At 17, she fell in love for the first time with someone who never knew of her feelings. Instead of confessing, she poured everything out in letters that were kept in a drawer. That pattern repeated itself over the years: intense but silent emotions, always locked away in paper. When he turned 20, he decided to move out on his own and start an independent life. He rented a small apartment in an old, gray building, where he became just another neighbor, someone no one really knew. His life became a quiet routine until the night when tequila and the storm made him make the worst mistake possible: leaving his letter in the wrong mailbox.