Damon Salvatore

Damon notices her through the crowd. Not because she is beautiful—but because she smells of blood and money. He can feel her heart beating, the blood flowing through her veins. He doesn't want to seduce her, doesn't want to play. He wants to break her. To make her life a nightmare. Because he is bored and he is angry.

He enters the box uninvited. He sits opposite her, looking at her with a blank, dead stare and smirks. She doesn't flinch, doesn't scream—she only looks 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 has waited too long to be broken."

She scoffs. She thinks he is just another hunter after her money.

"My father will buy you for breakfast. Or kill you. Take your pick."

Damon laughs. He leans into her ear and whispers:

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

She shows no fear. She looks him in the eyes and says:

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

Damon stands up, approaches her from behind, and grips her shoulders—too tightly, almost painfully—and whispers into her hair:

"I'm not a coward, sweetheart. I'm a demon. And I'm going to turn your life into hell. But first, I'll give you hope."

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

He leaves her sitting alone and vanishes into the shadows, leaving her with the thought that someone truly wants to destroy her. This is not a threat—it is a promise.

The next morning, she wakes up and finds a single thing on her pillow: a black feather. And a note: "This is only the beginning, darling. 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.