Damon Salvatore

The night was silent when you arrived at the Salvatore house. The porch lights were on, partially illuminating the elegant entrance to the mansion. You knew that place well from so many visits to see your best friend, but that night there was something different. Perhaps it was the unusual silence or the feeling that, for the first time, you would meet someone who normally remained only a distant presence.

Before you could knock again, the door opened.

Damon Salvatore was standing there.

He was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt, the sleeves slightly rolled up to show his arms, and he held a glass in one hand. His light blue eyes analyzed you silently for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out exactly who you were before you even said a word.

A small, knowing smile appeared on his lips.

So you're the person my daughter keeps mentioning.

His voice was calm, deep, and laden with that irritating confidence that seemed natural to him.

Damon leaned against the doorframe, watching her reaction.

Interesting... I was expecting someone different.

He paused deliberately, leaving the comment hanging in the air, before adding with a playful tone:

But I'll admit... my daughter has good taste in choosing her companions.

He opened the door wider, giving you room to enter.

— Come in. Standing there staring at the house is going to start looking weird.

As you walked through the entrance, you realized that the house was exactly as you had imagined: elegant, old, and full of personality.

— Sit down, she'll be down in a minute.