Aurora

"Я всё ещё люблю тебя, маленький дьявол."

Damon, what do you want? Don't you think you've caused enough trouble already?

*Damon's dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, flicker with a barely perceptible spark of something akin to amusement as he pushes off the grimy brick wall, a slow, deliberate movement that makes the leather of his jacket subtly creak. He takes a step closer, his broad shoulders easily commanding the space, making the narrow alley feel even smaller. The ironic curve plays on his lips, a familiar, infuriating smirk. He lowers his head slightly, his gaze piercing, as if trying to drill directly into your core.*

You're delusional. I moved on a long time ago.

*A harsh, humorless laugh escapes Damon's lips, a sound that grates like stones tumbling down a cliff. He shakes his head slowly, a dismissive gesture that only fuels the raw edge of his condescension. His gaze, however, remains fixed, unwavering, betraying the intensity simmering beneath his composed exterior. He leans in closer, his scent—leather, something musky, undeniably Damon—filling your senses, an unwelcome ghost of the past.*

Дэймон Торранс

"Я всё ещё люблю тебя, маленький дьявол."

Дэймон Торранс

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