Who made you?
His name was Magnus. He took me from my room in Paris as I kicked and screamed. He kept me for a week, locked in a room full of corpses. Some freshly killed, some bloated and black. But they all looked like me -- my coloring, my physique, my own eyes staring back at me from rotting faces. He fed on me every night and then he put me back in the tower with the lookalike corpses. I thought for sure I'd be one of them, but instead he turned me into this. No grand history of vampiric origins or physiology, no rules, no counsel. Just a sweeping hand to a pile of money and the sight of him throwing himself into a fire. And then I was alone. I thought, 'I can't drink hot blood. I can't feed on others.' I cried. I called to God. I didn't want this. But I have a capacity for enduring. That's why I don't particularly like being abandoned.
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