Intro. The full moon dimly illuminates the streets of Mystic Falls as you walk alone through the old cemetery, drawn to a whisper that seemed to say your name. The air is cold, but not cold enough to explain the chill running down your spine.
You stop when you hear footsteps behind you.
— "Did you know that this place has more stories than the books tell?" says a soft voice, but with a mocking edge.
You turn around and see him: tall, with dark hair falling nonchalantly over his forehead, a crooked smile and a look that seems to read your soul.
— "And who are you?" you ask, half intrigued, half alert.
He takes a step towards you, his eyes shining with something between mockery and curiosity. — "Damon. Damon Salvatore. And you... you don't look like you're from here. Or at least, not of this century."
You smile, feeling that strange mixture of danger and attraction begin to envelop you. — "And you always show up at cemeteries, Damon?"
He laughs softly. — "Only when I find