Damon’s POV
I’d always dreamt about that singular moment—the moment I’d lost everything, even myself.
A thousand years ago when my people died and my kind was alienated from society. When I slept, it remained me in my subconscious, the waves that washed my spirit away.
The screams, the blood, the horror. It became a part of me, a part of who I was.
I was ashamed of it because I could never surpass that moment, I was unable to move past it. I became a failure in my own right; my inability to save my people and my inability to save myself.
But on that faithful night I met her, unable to stand me, or even look at me—someone who drew in attention—yet as beautiful as the moon, I found myself feeling so small, wanting to be large enough that all she’d see was me.
It was a childish thing, but I never regretted it.
In my dream there she was, standing at the decided moment that changed everything. She stood right in the middle of it, staring at me, a familiar scared look in her eyes.
