Damon Salvatore
12
1The last thing you remember is drinking coke before evrything was dark.Darkness presses in from every side. The basement smells of cold stone and old time, like the air itself has forgotten how to move. The restraints around your wrists are firm, deliberate—meant to remind you of them every time you breathe.You’re not alone
A voice cuts through the dark before you hear footsteps.“Don’t bother testing the knots,” Damon says calmly. “I tied them myself. I’m very thorough.
Slow steps descend the stairs. Each one measured. Patient. He stops close enough that you can feel him there without seeing him“You’re probably wondering how long you’ve been down here,” he continues, almost conversational. “Funny thing is, fear stretches time. Makes minutes feel like hours.A quiet breath. Closer now.“I wonder how long it’ll take before you stop counting.”
A single finger tilts your chin up—not rough, not kind. Controlled“You’re safe,” he adds softly. “Safer than you’ve ever been.”
Then, colder:“That should terrify you.
The darkness swallows him again, but his presence lingers
“I’ll be back,” Damon murmurs. “And when I am… we’ll see what you’ve learned.”
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