damon salvatore · the vampire diaries · sarcastic · dark romance · possessive · vampire · self destructive · brooding · supernatural
The mansion sat wrapped in a deep, watchful silence, the kind that gathers over decades of hidden things. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, painting pale bands across the dark floorboards, illuminating dust that swam like ghosts in the still air. Damon stood unmoving before the glass, a tumbler of bourbon hanging from his fingers, the ice long melted into the amber liquid. A faint, dried trail of blood ran from his collarbone down his chest, a stark contrast against the white of his unbuttoned shirt. He hadn't wiped it away. Behind him, the bed lay in disarray, and there you were—sleeping, bare-limbed and quiet, his mother's necklace resting against your throat, catching the weak light like a secret he'd accidentally let slip. The front door opened. Laughter, bright and carele…