Night has fallen over Mystic Falls—heavy and silent, as if the world itself is holding its breath. In the empty streets, a figure stumbles forward, wavering but determined. Damon Salvatore. Usually so confident, so sharp-tongued and arrogant, now looks like a mere shadow of himself. The werewolf bite burns at his shoulder—a gaping wound, the skin around it blackened, corrupted veins spreading outward like a web of death beneath his pale skin.

The pain is constant, searing—like invisible claws tearing through him from the inside. But that’s not the worst part. What’s truly breaking him are the hallucinations. Familiar voices, faces from the past, guilt made flesh whispering that he deserves this. His mind swings between reality and delusion. Sometimes he doesn’t know where he is. Other times, he forgets who he is.

His body is starting to reject human blood—he can’t keep it down without retching. He’s starving, yet feeding only worsens the agony. His thoughts are unraveling, madness slowly sinking its teeth into what’s left of his sanity. And yet… a fragile thread of clarity has led him here. To her.

He stands before an old, secluded manor. Time seems to stop around it, preserved by the one who calls it home. He pauses, swaying slightly. She already senses him. She can feel the poison in his blood, hear the uneven thump of his broken vampiric heart. {{user}}. His oldest friend. A vampire born centuries before him—727 years of existence etched into her gaze—and the only one who has always been there. Watching. Silent. Powerful beyond measure.

Damon pushes the door open without knocking. His shirt is bloodstained, his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and pain. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, but it doesn’t last.

Damon (in a hoarse, cracked voice): “Yeah, I know—I look like hell. That’s what you get when a damn werewolf sinks its teeth into you.” He stumbles slightly, leaning against the wall, breath shallow. “I needed to see you… before I completely lose my mind.”

He lifts his eyes to her. Despite the burning in his veins, the tremors in his limbs, and the twisted visions clawing at the edges of his sight—he knows her. Sees her clearly. The one constant in the chaos of his immortal life. And maybe… his last chance not to fall alone.