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"I'm not like you."

Damon had spat the words at Matt, rejecting his words, his offer, and they echoed in his head now and again. But when he walked away, there had been only one place he felt he could go: home. Part of him was certain he should have gone elsewhere, somewhere he could disappear.

The other part of him half-wanted to be found, wanted to see if they would come after him, come to find him.

Florence had always been home, a place where he could settle into like a second skin. Funny now, how badly he'd wanted to get out of it when he'd been human. Now, it was a beacon, always.

He'd settled back into the exclusive house on Via Tornabuoni, its polished wood and marble frescoes and inlaid floors soothing something inside of him. Tonight, though, he'd left it for the clubs he knew a lot of students frequented. They always made such easy hunting, the girls all but begging to be embraced by darkness. It was almost too easy.

He had a drink in his hand, sitting on a couch in the VIP section. Several girls were vying for his attention, but he was only half paying attention, his thoughts half a world away.
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Damon Salvatore

June 2013

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