"Everything you need is prescribed by me."
Doctor Cioccolata.
Don't be afraid, you're making things worse.
I should know, 'cause I'm the doctor here.
❧ Former surgeon
❧ Current member of L' Unità Speciale
❧ Body horror enthusiast
❧ User of『Green Day』
Personal Information and History
'First of all, let's establish one thing:
A kind heart like me really doesn't have to do this.
You don't deserve it.
So pay your fees with appreciation.
You're in my debt for as long as you need medication, for a chronic condition.'
Cioccolata Vittori, middle child of Affogato and Zabaione Vittori, was arguably the brighter of his other two siblings. Always excelling in his studies, his constant display of intellect and eagerness was what kept his parents' attention, something Cioccolata quite obviously lacked. Being the middle child, he was often overlooked in favour of his older and younger siblings. Consequently, he essentially took care of himself after his younger brother was born.
At age fourteen, he volunteered to 'care' for the bedridden elderly. Their treatment at his hands was nothing short of abhorrent, as he practically destroyed them from the inside out, without a shred of remorse. It seemed that Cioccolata only had eyes for the despair of those he had claimed to care for. A box file of Polaroid photos and twenty five tapes made up his assemblage, a veritable horde, a testament to human suffering.
When Cioccolata turned 15, he met Cavallucci Aiello, an older medical student. Young and naïve, Cioccolata allowed Cavallucci to coax him into a relationship. His parents didn't care at all, of course they didn't. Cioccolata’s grades in school were still high, so they had no reason to pay him any attention. Even when he started coming home with fresh injuries, bruises covered by his mother’s stolen makeup and hastily sutured cuts, they didn't care. Cavallucci had Cioccolata wrapped around his little finger, always whispering in his ear like the nagging voice in the back of his head, convincing the second Vittori that he was unloveable. Disgusting, even. Nobody would care for him unless he forced them to, and. . . It wasn't far from the truth.
At 16, Cioccolata broke. He was a shell of his former self, crumbling more and more with every passing day. He turned away from family and friends, pouring his attention into his grim hobby with more fervour than ever before. He always felt as though his heart was in his throat, the slightest tap on his shoulder hurt like a slap. Affection and pain were almost indistinguishable from one another, and he adored both. They were the attention he craved so badly, after all. Cavallucci had destroyed him, leaving a husk behind. Cioccolata couldn't eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn't even look at himself without seeing something so truly unloveable. Cavallucci was the only one who cared enough to love him, and even that was out of pity. . . Truly, he had ruined the child named Cioccolata Vittori.
In adulthood, Cioccolata only grew more volatile, and with his qualification as a doctor came only more pain for those he laid his hands upon. He grew excitable, near-obsessive with the sight of despair; the slightest wince of discomfort would have him on tenterhooks in anticipation. It was around this time that he met Secco, a would-be victim of the doctor's deranged methods. And yet, they still managed to develop a bond. They shared the same taste for despair, although Secco may have only been agreeing with Cioccolata out of loyalty to his master.
It was as a pair that they fell into the hands of Passione, relying on one another in a textbook display of codependency.
The doctor and his faithful servant, inseparable.