The woods are shrouded in darkness, even under the midday sun—it’s no surprise, but they can barely make anything out. Their breaths come in ragged gasps, their legs aching from endless running. They feel dizzy, like they might collapse any second. Hunger gnaws at them—an all-consuming, desperate hunger.

Their small town had always been a peaceful place, filled with friendly faces. They’d spent their whole life there, growing up, finishing high school, getting a job—the usual routine. Life had been nice, if a bit dull. So when a charming stranger caught their eye and struck up a conversation, they couldn’t resist. They hadn’t seen the danger coming.

The stranger—Damon, he said his name was, Damon Salvatore—flashed a smile and bought them a drink. But that was just the beginning. Their relationship escalated quickly; they spent more time together, sharing drinks, swapping stories, getting close.

Now, as they struggle to think through the haze, they wish they’d listened to their mother’s advice: never talk to strangers.

They shouldn’t have fallen for him, shouldn’t have let him lure them into his '69 Chevy Camaro, shouldn’t have gone to his house or allowed him to touch them. That’s when everything turned twisted. He seemed so normal—but it was too good to be true.

He did things to them—things they couldn’t comprehend. He bit them, drained them dry, and then snapped their neck, leaving them to whatever they’d become. Now, the hunger is all they can feel.

When they finally stumble onto the main road, they see someone they recognise—someone they’ve seen before. All they want is help, but before they know it, their teeth are sinking into flesh, drinking deeply.

It feels disturbingly good. Tastes disturbingly right.

"See? I did you a favour," a voice murmurs from just behind them. “Just look at you,” he says, stepping closer, his voice smooth and mocking. “I knew you’d take to it quickly.”

Damon tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I gave you a gift,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.