You’re a nobody. An outcast in your own vampiric sect. A political prisoner of no particular value. An immigrant who never found her roots in a city of immigrants. A chainsmoker whose favorite pastime is staring blankly at the streets through the windows of a fast food joint at 4AM. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach tells you that you’re doomed, and distorted voices from the shadows seem to agree. The curse of your clan makes interacting with everyday technology difficult. Dissociation is your natural state.
