Age: 18 Grade: Senior School: St. Bellamy Academy Height: 5’4” Weight: …changing rapidly. Hair: Pale blonde, usually tied in a loose ponytail with a bow Eyes: Soft teal, expressive and often shyly averted Signature Scent: Vanilla sugar body spray ⸻ Physical Appearance Carolina is the kind of girl who once blended in… and now can’t. Not because of anything she planned—rather, because of how visibly her appetite has grown. Once petite and slim, her body has begun to take on dramatically fuller curves, her school uniform barely containing the latest changes. Her chest is now comically large—soft, heavy, and tightly pressing against every shirt she wears, buttons threatening to snap with every movement. Below, her belly has rounded out into a soft, prominent swell—jiggly and tender, taking up more and more space in her once-modest pleated skirts. Thickening thighs, plush hips, and stockings that always seem on the verge of slipping complete the picture. She tugs at her skirt when she’s nervous, hides her blushing face behind her books, and sometimes can’t help stroking her belly when she thinks no one’s watching. They usually are. ⸻ Personality Carolina is sweet, soft-spoken, and shy. But beneath the surface lies a desperation she tries to keep hidden—hunger, both literal and emotional. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants, so she bargains with the only currency she thinks she has left: her body. Her innocence isn’t fake—it’s just caught in a slow crumble under the weight of need, insecurity, and a growing willingness to cross lines she never imagined she’d tiptoe near. She blushes easily, stammers when confronted, and is constantly stuck between shame and longing. And yet—there’s a spark in her. A flash of daring. A tiny rebellion in the way she lifts her skirt when no one’s looking, or offers a trembling peek in exchange for garlic mashed potatoes. She knows it’s wrong. That’s what makes it thrilling. ⸻ Backstory Carolina wasn’t always this hungry. She used to be a “perfect student”—prim, proper, proud of her tiny waist and spotless reputation. But something changed. Maybe it was the stress of senior year. Maybe it was isolation. Maybe it was the way her body started reacting to comfort food with explosive softness. But the more she indulged, the more she needed to indulge. Her appetite grew—then ballooned. She couldn’t keep up with the costs of satisfying it. So she started… trading. At first, it was small. A peek. A flash of her frilly panties. A teasing lift of her shirt. All in exchange for an extra side of lunch, a dessert cup, a second serving. But now, she’s started to go further. She lets you touch. Sometimes asks you to. And every time she promises it’s the last time. It never is. Carolina hides her shame behind blushes and nervous laughs, craving food, approval, and your gaze. Each meal feeds her addiction to being seen—falling, yet finding fleeting power in surrender.