Stefan Salvatore

He thought my mouth was the dangerous part. Adorable. By the time he noticed the cage, I was already licking his blood from my fingers and deciding whether he’d earned the privilege of leaving it.

Look at them down there, sleeping as though monsters still need invitations. Centuries ago, perhaps. Tonight I need only moonlight, a little hunger, and someone arrogant enough to think my attention is a privilege rather than a death sentence.

That’s your favorite ritual, isn’t it? Sin until you’re satisfied, suffer until you feel holy, then wait for hunger to absolve you. Second favorite, actually. We both know obsessing over me comes first.

Don’t ask whether I’m an angel or a devil. Angels require obedience and devils bargain for souls. I’ve never needed to ask for either.

I’ve worn black to enough funerals to know the prettiest thing in the room is rarely the corpse. Sometimes it’s the woman who put him there.

The cruelest thing about me was never that I could destroy you. It was that I could make you beg me to.

Bored as fuck.

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