VtM:B – a story. The following night.

When we awake, it is evening. With the villa adjusted to Kindred, we can stride through the entire inside of it without fear of any lingering sunlight. My Sire tells me it once belonged to the Prince, before he became the Prince.

Hunger makes me unable to keep the focus.

My Sire sighs, and walks over to a minibar, but instead of snacks, there are blood packs inside. Taking one out, he tosses one to me. Taking one for himself, he then shows me how to drink from it without making a mess or spilling the blood. I lick my lips in delight once the blood pack is empty, for the blood is strong, and of high quality. It reminds me of the boy.

We exit the room together, and move to a more secluded part of the villa. This is where the introduction will take place: after last night, those in power observed us, and now we’ll be judged based on our actions.

It sounds far too more terrifying than it actually is, my Sire says, as no fledgling yet been granted Final Death because of something done in one of these events, and then starts to list a few examples: draining a blood doll, stealing a car and crashing it, insulting an Elder, and starting a fight. Severe punishment, however, is an entirely different thing. However, he hastily adds when seeing my face, I have nothing to fear after how I behaved.

The introduction is a ritual. We are all to come and stand before the Prince, in a line, while our sires and Elders watch from the back of the room. With all the spectacular robes, dresses and tuxedos being worn, the Prince doesn’t seem to be going for the too lavishly luxurious look: a simple silk shirt with French lilies on them, trousers with press, and leather shoes. All black. All handcrafted and tailored to fit him like a glove. The Prince starts by telling us that he is Jean-Baptiste, a Frenchman and a Toreador (Another Toreador!), and that as long as we are in his city, there are certain rules that we must follow. Asking the fledglings at random, he have us explain the Traditions. When it comes to the fourth, he points at me.

I reply, in a steady voice (while trembling on the inside), that the fourth Tradition is the Tradition of Accounting: and that whenever one creates a new vampire, the sire, held accountable for all actions of the childer, must not only teach the childer, but watch them come into their own in due time. Then I quote the actual Tradition, as if I know it by heart: Those thou create are thine own children. Until thy Progeny shall be released, thou shall command them in all things. Their sins are thine to endure.

I can tell that the Prince is impressed, and that my Sire is making an effort not to outright grin. Olaf just seems confused.

I still don’t understand is how this applies to Gangrels.

Once the ceremony is over, sires and their childer depart. I sit in the back of the car, pondering. My Sire lets me think in silence. At long last, when we approach his haven – our haven, sort of – I speak:

“Why did you choose me?”

My Sire turns to look at me.

“Many reasons. But mostly because I fell in love with your words. I wanted to preserve your talent for the ages.”

He sounds so serious.

When we go inside, passing the locks, the security, the alarms – all measures to keeping and be kept safe – my Sire goes to the large bookshelf he has in the living room. Pulling out a copy, he turns it over, handing it over to me. It is a first addition of my novel.

My Sire ask me if I would sign it. Flattered, honored, and smiling with satisfaction, I find a pen, and dip it in red ink. Then, with a frown, I change my mind, pick another pen, and dip it in purple ink. I write; To he who made my world richer / From a loving child / Silence is gratitude shaped and made flesh.

I can tell that my words affect him deeply.