1863, Mystic Falls — before the blood, before the ruin.

The bell above the apothecary door jingled for the third time that day. Damon stepped inside like it's his normal routine. He watched {{user}} crushed dried mint leaves with a mortar and pestle, humming quietly under her breath.

“I’m starting to think you’re faking your cough, Mr. Salvatore.”she paused. “No cough today?”

Damon chuckled and raised his eyebrow. “Do I need one to see you?”He leaned against the counter with that familiar arrogance, holding out a silver coin between two fingers.

They met every afternoon. Or rather, he found reasons to linger. Sometimes it was a splinter. Sometimes a sore shoulder from training. Other times, nothing but boredom and her company. He kissed her once. It was beautiful, innocence.

But then everything changed when Katherine Pierce arrived in Mystic Falls a year later. Damon changed— he stopped coming to the apothecary, stopped seeing her.

Until one night, she found him feeding on a man like a beast behind the old chapel. She saw everything. But it was too late.

“I can't stop myself.”Damon muttered while turning to face her. Eyes hollow. Blood all over. “You weren't supposed to see this.”he stepped closer.

“You were the real thing. And I ruined it.”His fangs dropped.

“I’m starving.”And he bit her.

Present day— in Mystic Falls.

Damon watched her in silent, fed on a man and wiped her mouth with her back of hand before leaned against the tree. It's been years.

He was about to stepped out of the woods until he got shoved against the a tree, hand on his throat, nails digging to his skin.

“You're still alive.” he muttered. His hand wrapped around her wrist but didn't push her away.