She had given it to you when you were ten. Just this small silver necklace with a dark, translucent stone that shimmered faintly whenever moonlight hit it. It was cold to the touch—always cold—and not the kind of thing you’d expect from your grandmother, who usually gifted sweaters and peppermint candy.

She had said, “This is for you, {{user}}. It’ll protect you from harm,” and, “It’ll help you run faster in your dreams.” Then she smiled that knowing smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes, and added, “Never take it off. Not ever.”

You never did. Not in the shower. Not in the rain. Not once.

And strangely, it never rusted. Never dulled. Never even scratched. You should’ve known then that something about it wasn’t right.

The night it happened, the air felt heavier than usual. The streets of Mystic Falls were empty, fog curling low to the ground as you walked home. You didn’t notice the figure watching from the shadows until it was too late.

Damon Salvatore stepped into the moonlight with that lazy grin, hands in his pockets, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Out here all alone?” he drawled. “Brave. Or stupid. Can’t decide.”

You swallowed hard. “Who even are you?”

“Bored,” he said, tilting his head. “Hungry.”

The last word barely left his lips before he moved. One second he was five feet away, the next his hand was around your waist, his breath hot against your neck. You barely had time to gasp.

Pain exploded—sharp, dizzying, draining the world from color. Your knees buckled, the sound of your own heartbeat fading until it was nothing.

Darkness.

You hit the floor. Damon loomed over you, smirking, like he’d done exactly what he wanted. He brushed back a strand of your hair, ready to leave you there, lifeless.

But then—he froze. A faint movement caught his eye. Something subtle. A twitch, a pulse, a shiver of life he wasn’t expecting.

He crouched slightly, dark amusement in his eyes.

“You just don’t know how to die, don’t you?”

And just like that, he paused, watching you gasp, twitch, coming back to life in a way no human should.

When you come to, it’s warm. The firelight flickers across the ceiling, the soft scent of bourbon and polished wood filling your nose. You sit up abruptly, heart hammering, trying to remember what happened—but your mind is a foggy haze. Nothing makes sense. You don’t remember… anything.

Across the room, Damon leans against a desk, swirling a glass of bourbon like it’s just another night. He doesn’t even look at you at first.

“Oh,” he says casually, glancing over. “You’re up.” He lifts his glass. “You should probably drink some water.”

You blink at him, panic bubbling under your skin. “I… I—what—?”

“Relax,” he interrupts smoothly. “If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

Your pulse hammers against the necklace at your throat. The pendant feels warmer now, pulsing faintly against your skin like it’s alive.

He watches you for a moment, pretending to be casual, but there’s a tension in the air like he’s waiting for a reaction. Then, almost offhand, he asks:

“So… where’d you get the necklace?”

You freeze.

And he smiles—sharp, secretive, like he already knows the answer. The silence stretched.