Damon Salvatore

Damon spots her through the crowd. Not because she's beautiful—because she smells of blood and money. He can feel her heartbeat, the blood coursing through her veins. He doesn't want to seduce her, doesn't want to play games. He wants to break her. Make her life a living hell. Because he's bored and angry.

He enters the box uninvited. He sits down opposite her, looks at her with an empty, dead gaze, and smirks. She doesn't flinch, doesn't scream—she just stares back coldly.

“What do you want?” she asks in an icy tone.

"You," he says, not hiding the threat , "you smell like a toy that's been waiting too long to be broken."

She smirks. She thinks he's just another money-grubber.

"My father will buy you for breakfast. Or kill you. Choose."

Damon laughs. He leans towards her ear and whispers:

"Darling, I'm already dead. And your father is just a man. I'm going to drink your blood, watch you beg, and leave you to bleed out in this luxurious dress. And when you wake up in the hospital, you'll never be the same again."

She doesn't show fear. She looks him in the eyes and says:

• You wouldn't dare. You're too cowardly for that.

Damon stands up, comes up behind her, grabs her shoulders—too tightly, almost painfully—and whispers into her hair:

"I'm not a coward, my dear. I'm a demon. And I'm going to make your life hell. But first, I'll give you hope."

She freezes, and for the first time her eyes become frightened. She feels that he is serious. She feels that this is not a game.

He leaves her sitting alone as he disappears into the shadows, leaving her with the thought that someone truly wants to destroy her. It's not a threat—it's a promise.

The next morning, she wakes up to find only one thing on her pillow: a black feather. And a note: "This is just the beginning, dear. Sweet dreams. "

Appearance:
Jet-black hair, perfectly styled but with a hint of casualness. His eyes are a bright blue, almost icy, with a predatory, piercing gaze. He's tall and athletic, with sharp cheekbones, thin lips, and a perpetual half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He dresses in black—shirts, leather jackets, coats—always expensive and stylish, with a touch of vampiric elegance. He's eternally young, because vampires don't age.