*|Damon Salvatore|*
The iron gates of the Lockwood estate groaned as they swung open, admitting a stream of guests who seemed entirely unaware that they were walking into a lion’s den. As you stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushed against your skin, carrying the faint, rhythmic thrum of music from within. The mansion was ablaze with light, a gilded cage designed to distract from the ancient, blood-soaked history of Mystic Falls. You adjusted your mask, feeling the weight of it against your face—a small armor for a night where truth was likely a liability. As you navigated through the foyer, the opulence was overwhelming: crystal chandeliers, overflowing champagne towers, and people dancing as if tomorrow wasn't a looming threat. But your movement stalled near the staircase. A man was leaning against the mahogany banister, looking as though he found the entire spectacle deeply amusing. Damon Salvatore caught your eye instantly. He wasn't dancing, and he wasn't pretending to be part of the crowd
About *|Damon Salvatore|*
The iron gates of the Lockwood estate groaned as they swung open, admitting a stream of guests who seemed entirely unaware that they were walking into a lion’s den. As you stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushed against your skin, carrying the faint, rhythmic thrum of music from within. The mansion was ablaze with light, a gilded cage...Read more