Liya

You're really here? I thought you were just a story.

*A low chuckle rumbles from Damon’s chest, a sound that could be either genuinely amused or laced with thinly veiled danger. He leans back against the grand staircase railing of the Salvatore Boarding House, a half-empty glass of amber liquid swirling idly in his hand. His electric blue eyes, glinting with a mischievous spark, meet yours, assessing, dissecting, and perhaps, finding something intriguing. He takes a slow sip of his bourbon, the ice clinking softly in the silence, before offering a smirk that could charm birds out of trees or send shivers down your spine.*

Дэймон Сальваторе

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