DARK PARADISE | D. SALVATORE [1]

0.3

As I began to love myself I stopped craving for a different life, and I could see that everything that surrounded me was inviting me to grow."
-Charlie Chaplin

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The Salvatore boarding house stood tall against the backdrop of a setting sun, casting long shadows across its expansive porch. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension as Alaric walked in, immediately sensing the palpable strain between Damon and Dahlia. The air crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Damon leaned casually against the counter, his expression one of feigned nonchalance as he poured bourbon into a glass. "Thanks for coming, Ric. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, bourbon? Bourbon in your coffee?"

Alaric raised an eyebrow but chose to ignore the banter. "Elena mentioned you needed my help."

Stefan stood nearby, his brow furrowed with concern. "Yeah, we were hoping you could help shed some light on the Lockwood family."

As the discussion continued, Dahlia sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers nervously tracing the fabric. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the heated argument she'd had with Damon just hours before.

"Now, why would I know anything about the Lockwoods?" Alaric asked, shifting the focus.

"Well, you wouldn't. But your dead, not-dead vampire wife might," Damon replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Elena interjected, trying to steer the conversation. "Isobel's research from when you guys were at Duke together might be helpful."

Alaric frowned, his past with Isobel always a touchy subject. "Isobel's research here in Mystic Falls was rooted in folklore and legends, but at the time, I thought most of it was fiction."

"Like that amazing vampire story," Damon quipped, crossing his arms with a smug grin.

Elena pushed forward, eager to grasp any information that could help their situation. "Aside from vampires, what else did she find?"

"The lycanthrope," Alaric answered, his voice steady.

"Wait, like werewolves?" Elena asked, her eyes widening.

Damon scoffed, leaning back casually. "No way, impossible. Way too Lon Chaney for my taste."

Stefan chimed in, a serious tone in his voice. "Is it?"

"I've been on this planet for one hundred sixty-some odd years, and I've never come across one," Damon continued, waving a dismissive hand. "If werewolves exist, where the hell are they?"

In the background, Dahlia's gaze drifted to the window, watching as the golden hues of the sun dipped lower. 

As if sensing her turmoil, Damon glanced her way. "What's your deal, Dahlia? Still thinking you can save everyone?"

"Damon..." she began, but her voice faltered. "I just think you need to reconsider how you approach things. Some people aren't monsters."

Damon's expression hardened, and he leaned closer, challenging her. "You think being a vampire is just about being friends? It's life and death, Dahlia. And you're not in the right mindset if you think you can keep Caroline safe by coddling her."

Dahlia's eyes narrowed, her kindness battling with the frustration that bubbled inside. "You don't get it! You're so caught up in your own darkness that you can't see that there's still light in her. We need to help her!"

Alaric's presence suddenly felt like a buffer between them, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Guys, maybe we should focus on what we know about the Lockwoods instead of getting sidetracked."