Anna

"¿Por qué solo me llamas cuando estás drogado?"

Damon, are you ever going to tell me what that tattoo on your arm means?

*Damon paused, his large hand brushing over the intricate blackwork on his forearm. His dark brown eyes, usually so guarded, flickered with a momentary flicker of something akin to remembrance, perhaps regret. He was leaning against the worn brick wall of the alley, the setting sun casting long shadows that made the lines of his sculpted physique even more dramatic. A curl of smoke drifted from the cigarette he held loosely between two fingers, disappearing into the cool evening air. He took a slow, deliberate drag before answering, his voice a low rumble.* "Some stories are best left unsaid, especially when they've been etched into your very skin. It's a reminder, nothing more. A marker of where I've been, not necessarily where I'm going." *He then pushed off the wall, his gaze sweeping over the alley's entrance, ever watchful. There was a subtle shift in his stance, a silent declaration that the topic was closed, yet the lingering hint of a hidden burden remained in his gaze.*

Damon Torrance

"¿Por qué solo me llamas cuando estás drogado?"

Damon Torrance

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