My full title is... Rosario Leone
But you can call me... Rosario. Don't even think about shortening my name to Rose.
I was locked up because... I like fire. It's pretty. Ok, maybe I have accidentally burnt down a few buildings. And maybe you can take the 'accidentally' out of that sentence. Fire is still absolutely gorgeous.
I'm the... Pyromaniac
I think I'm... Friendly, charismatic, cheerful, all sorts of things, really. I absolutely adore people, although for some reason, people don't seem to like talking to me all that much. I've been called insane, but, really, I think it's all just a matter of whose eyes you happen to be looking from. Pyromania may be considered a mental disorder - although it's technically considered an impulse-control disorder, whatever that means, or so my psychologist said - but, personally, I consider myself perfectly sane. I just happen to like fire, that's all. People try to call me a psychopath, but they're lying.

Fire is really an absolutely lovely thing, I must say. It can heal wounds, but it can also kill. It's what allowed mankind to evolve, but is also what hinders people. In a way, I'm a bit like fire. I can be friendly at times, but my temper is fiery - no pun intended - and I am quick to anger. The slightest wrong move can upset me, and it often takes a while for me to calm down, just like it takes a while for fire to burn out. I have been told I make rash decisions, and I suppose that's true. I'm never really the person to think things through before actually doing them. In fact, now that I think of it, that's probably what got be caught. Why is hindsight always 20/20, when looking into the future practically blinds you?

I don't do very well under stress, and generally prefer to take a more carefree approach. Deadlines are not my friends, and, often, I'll procrastinate purely so that I don't have to remember I have a deadline at all. Maybe that's not a good decision for keeping my stress levels low in the last few moments before I have to complete something, but, hey, it helps me be more relaxed in the time leading up to the deadline. Setting things on fire is my main way of dealing with stress, so it's fairly simple to tell if I'm stressed or not. You just need to look for the ashes.
Here's something about me... I was born in Italy, in a small town called Nova Levante, buried in the Dolomite Alps. Or, at least, I'm pretty sure that's where I was born. I'm not positive, though. I may have been born in Vienna, or perhaps in Munich. Maybe even in Paris. You see, my family liked to travel. We had the money, so we were always traveling. Always. One week we'd be in Rome, the next we'd be in Berlin. Because of this, I don't really know where I was born, my parents being too far gone to tell me where. Since I traveled so much throughout my entire life, I know quite a lot about cultures in other countries, at least in Europe, and I have learned quite a few languages.

My pyromania first appeared when I was around ten years old. Around this time, I had seen most of the larger cities in Europe, and a few in Asia as well, and I was beginning to get rather sick of traveling, and of the stress that came with it. I wanted to live like a normal kid, rather than be dragged around to the next big city every week. Of course, my parents would hear no word of it. Instead of trying to convince them to stop traveling, I turned to fire as a way of calming myself down and soothing my emotions.

At first, it was just small things. I would burn leaves and ants with magnifying glasses, or I would set candles alight and watch them burn. Maybe not normal behaviour for a teenage boy, but certainly nothing dangerous. Soon, the things began to get larger. I would burn small piles of leaves, then patches of gardens and parks. Eventually, I would set the leaves of trees alight, watching them burn into black ashes. I loved the ashes, the crisp smell of burning. I still do. Of course, the only clear path was that things I burned would become bigger, more noticeable. Soon, abandoned houses began to burn at my hands.

But that still wasn't enough. I had to burn bigger things, more noticeable things. I began to long for the scent of burning buildings, of burning flesh. One night, just before my sixteenth birthday, my family told me that we were going to travel again, and the plane flight would take place over the day of my birthday. I snapped. That night, I set fire to the apartment in which we had been staying while my parents were sleeping. The way the fire flickered across the wall was so mesmerizing, I couldn't help but stare. The sight was ruined though, ruined by the sound of sirens piercing through the night. The smoke alarm went off, alerting everyone in the complex.

Someone called the fire department, but it was too late. The apartment complex had more or less burned down to ashes. Obviously, I managed to get out before then, but my parents hadn't. Too bad for them. The fire squad found me sitting outside with burns all over my body. I was brought to the hospital, where my wounds were treated. At first, they were going to let me go, but then they discovered my lighter. Someone decided to put me in a psych ward, in a straight jacket. I'm still not quite sure why. I mean, it's not like I did anything bad. My parents deserved it, and nobody else was hurt, at least. Apparently, that wasn't good enough for them, and they began making me see a psychiatrist. Once again, it seemed they thought that wasn't good enough after a few months, so that's how I ended up here in the prison.
My special skill is... Setting things on fire. No, really. I can set fire to just about anything. Well, maybe not anything. I don't think I could if I were underwater. But, still, it's a useful skill to have. I can send smoke signals - although I'm not quite sure what the use of that is in this day and age -, make campfires, burn down buildings, all sorts of things! So, yeah, if you need a fire, I'm the guy to call.
Everything else you'd need to know about me... I can speak Italian and English fluently, German and French at a passable level, and enough Spanish to get around. I also know a few words of random other languages, but not nearly enough to have them be useful. I have scarring from burns all over my shoulders, back, and chest. They're not particularly noticeable, they're just fairly large patches of white and pink skin. It makes me look a bit like a tortoiseshell sphinx cat, in my opinion, if sphinx cats can even be tortoiseshell.