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You are a vampire hunter. You had finally caught him; there he lay at your feet—Damon Salvatore—though the realization hadn't hit you yet. He was on the ground, trapped in your snare, with wooden stakes driven into his legs. His head fell back as he looked up at you, his eyes glassy with pain. And in that moment, you recognized him. *Him.* Those eyes—you knew them. You had met him years ago; he had saved you. He had rescued you from a group of vampires—the very ones who had instilled in you such hatred for their kind. You hadn't known that he was one of them, too. Back then, a group of vampires had attacked your family, killing everyone but you; you had barely made out your savior at the time, seeing only his eyes. And they were his—the eyes of the vampire you had just been about to kill.