The declaration Caulder had just made left her completely reeling. Her mind flashed briefly to the cell again. The oily slick of the concrete greasing up her filthy straight jacket. The terrifying feeling of being trapped, in filth, and dirt... Her hair sticking to her body like rotting kelp, her own oils and sweat dripping down the strands, polluting her skin. The cotton on the jacket yellowed from nights of vomit, blood, piss and shit.

She inhaled sharply, and drew herself back to reality, but the image didn't stick. She'd been hearing things that had been nonsense. Vampires? Princes? She's forced herself to accept them at face value, to just ingest whatever foolishness of this fantasy was that was escaping her from her cell. Whatever daydream she'd managed to forget herself in, she swallowed whole.

But she was in a cell. There was glare from a laminated visitor badge shining in her eye.

"You're clinically insane, miss Brosnen," said Dr. Ames. "You're currently imprisoned for your own safety, and the safety of others. Do you remember what happened?"

"I was at the office, and a vampire changed me. I met the prince, and pledged myself to him," she chanted, stiffly shutting her eyes. Dr. Ames sighed.

"Patricia, you need to face this. Can you hear me, Patricia?"

"I was at the office," she repeated. She felt the bile rising in her throat as the piercing hum of industrial lighting rang out overhead. It buzzed in her skull, drowning out the feel of the plush carpet in the skyscraper. "Roberto Garrett turned me into a vampire," she said, forcing herself to remember the details. Details made it real. Details meant she could get lost in the webbing, the network of fantasy, building it strong and sturdy against the attacks of her therapist.

"No, Patricia," said Dr. Ames kindheartedly. He leaned forward, his hands folding into his legal pad in pity. "Patricia, you're in the Queen's Street Mental Health Centre. Do you remember what happened?"

"I was at the office. Roberto Garrett turned me into a vampire. I met the prince, and pledged myself to him. There was a... a hallway. I was talking to someone..."

"Patricia, I need you to focus in me, now, all right?"

"I was talking to someone, he... He was telling me about the weird stuff..." Patricia said, her voice jumping up a few pitches trying to drown out Dr. Ames. He spoke louder in an effort to reach her.

"Patricia, please listen to me. Patricia, you're in danger!"

"And... you're doing one of those crazy things," said Caulder. "No problem, I'll wait."

...

Patricia snapped to attention, and looked around again.

She was back in the unknown skyscraper. Caulder was standing in front of her. Her hands were immaculately clean, and smelled of lavender. She gripped her hands. The mirror Caulder had just given her was still here, wrapped in a white-knuckled grasp. She held it away from her chest for a moment, daring herself to look into it. To see her face, check that it was clean, pristine, perfect, like it felt.

But she stopped. She couldn't... Her whole body seized at the attempt. It made her hands shake. She thrust the compact back to Caludr, terrified of the thing in her hand.

"You sure?" he asked incredulously. Patricia's stiff nod, and tight little swallow was all the convincing he needed. He took the offered mirror from her, pocketing it with a shrug. "Whatever floats your boat."

"I'm not insane," Patricia blurted.

"Heh, no, that's the thing. You are," said Caulder, sympathetically. "See, there's this thing about us Kindred. You're definitely insane, 'cause you're a Malkavian."

Patricia paused. There was almost something... There was something soothing about this. "What's a Malkavian?" she asked, slowing her speech down purposefully. The shape of the word was unfamiliar and awkward, and she didn't want to get it wrong.

"Well, see, there are these clans among Kindred. It's sort of like a bloodline kinda thing," explained Caulder.

...Isn't this hallway going on a long time?

No, don't question it!

Right, right! Of course. Caulder is speaking. Tune in. Listen.

"Ernesto was a Malkavian, Roberto was a Malkavian, and you, unsurprisingly, are also a Malkavian," Caulder rattled off. "Each clan has its own special differences from one another. Malkavians? They're all crazy," said Caulder. "And I don't mean in the sense like, 'oh all my exes are crazy,' I mean more in the sense that every single Malkavian is actually a bit off the rocker."

"Every one... Always?"

"Yup," answered Caulder. "Some of 'em get embraced and then just go catatonic forever. Some of them become kleptos. Some get an uncontrollable fixation, some develop intense phobias..." he listed absently. "I mean, its severity varies from Malk to Malk," he added encouragingly. "But yeah, every last one is insane."

"Oh," said Patricia, digesting again. "Is there any way to tell in what manner I'll be insane?" she asked.

"Uh, not ahead of time, no. What, were you planning on trying to figure out how it works so you can figure out which bits to ignore, or something?" he teased.

"Of course."

"Yeah, insanity's insanity. Just 'cause it's 'magical vampire insanity' doesn't mean it's more predictable, or easier to dog. Good try, though."

Patricia opened her mouth to argue, but no words came to her defense.

"Of course... you're right," she admitted. She looked at the ground thoughtfully for a moment before looking back up at Caulder. "So what are the other things I should know about being a vampire?" she asked.

"Well, there's the big ones, core to most vamp myths," began Caulder. "We do drink blood. Gotta do that. Fire's a big deal, sunlight is very bad news, and you do get to live forever without aging. As for crosses, garlic, throwing seeds on the ground, running water, none of that's a problem. Wooden stakes will give you the Dracula effect, but won't kill you."

Finally, they reached the end of the hallway. There was a large oaken double door, with long and narrow golden handles. "You're above the kine on the food chain now, so you're a bit tougher, faster, and stronger than the average human. But you can still die. It's just a little harder to arrange. Let's see, what else..." he sighted, tapping his chin. He shrugged again, and swung the doors aside.

Inside was conference room. It was dark, dignified, and classy. Straight lines, steel and black. Upon the beckoning of Caulder, Patricia stepped inside. There were no decoration on the walls. The wall opposite of her was made entirely of glass, leading onto a balcony. Nothing could be seen aside from the perpetual grey.

"Are we still in Toronto?" she asked to make sure.

"Yup. This is the Bank of Montreal building," answered Caldur. "On good nights, you can see all of Humber Bay. "I think you can see the islands from this window, but I don't really remember. One of these suites." He motioned to the door on one right. "That's your personal suite. I don't think Sebastian was finished furnishing this place, but he'd gotten it in good enough shape for now," he said. "Over to the left is empty. Your space to do with whatever it is you need. Maybe considering your siring whoopsie, it's just as well it wasn't furnished. You might need to install a llama stable, or something, for all I know," he rolled his eyes. "Conference room's yours too."

Patricia stared at her new surroundings, unsure of what to think. Her mind was drawing an uncomfortable blank on what to do next. She tried to figure out exactly what to account for when choosing her next words. She'd just been given an entire suite in the Bank of Montreal building. Did this building even have suites? Well, she'd accepted stranger things tonight than a bank having a lavish apartment waiting for her.

She wondered what the right response was. Gratitude? She'd just been given an amazing suite. Fear? She might be a prisoner here, for all she knew yet. Trepidation? Obviously they wanted her for something. No one gives this much for free. And they wanted her before she got turned into a bargaining chip, too.

She turned to Caldur, who was looking bored and unimpressed with her lack of reaction. She forced a smile onto her face.

"It's lovely," she said. "Thank you."

Caldur shrugged. "Not from me, I'm just here to hand you the keys," he said. "So back to the weird stuff."

He walked forward, disturbing the perfection of the untouched space, and pulled a chair away from the conference table, straddling the seat, his folded arms on the back, and dropping his chin on top of them. "There are rules and laws to this whole thing, too."

"The Masquerade," murmured Patricia vaguely.

"Right. Basically there are a bunch of traditions which you either adhere to, or the Sheriff hunts you down and kills you," said Caldur. He chuckled. "And I know where you live," he added.

"You're the sheriff?"

"Not for the kine, of course."

"So, what's the sheriff do other than hunting people down who break these traditions?"

"I'm basically the Prince's enforcer. Whatever he needs done, I do."

"And what does the Prince do?" asked Patricia.

"Whatever he needs to to keep the city from falling apart," answered Caldur flatly.

"Right. Okay, so what are these traditions?"

"Masquerade, Domain, Progeny, Accounting, Hospitality, and Destruction."

"My dear, proper ass holes die," mumbled Patricia.

"...What?"

"...Mnemonic."

"Um. Right, okay," said Caludr, surprised, but approvingly. "Masquerade's simple; you know how you didn't know anything about this, or us, until just a few hours ago?" At Particia's silent acknowledgment, Caldur continued. "Keep that trend going. We're a secret from kine. It makes a whole mess for the rest of us to clean up, and we don't like it.

"Domain is a little outdated these days, but it still applies. Basically if someone is considered a fully-fledged kindred, they maintain the laws in their own territory. The Prince's domain is the city, and thus everyone who occupies it answers to him. There are people who maintain domains within the city, even though they technically occupy a subset of the Prince's domain. Things get tricky when those details are messed with, so basically what this one boils down to is respect your elders, they probably have more ways of screwing you over than you have on them.

"Progeny. Don't embrace anyone without the permission of your elders. In this case, the Prince and your clan's primogen. That's the one that did Roberto in, as you may recall.

"Accounting. Basically means if you have any childer, they're your problem. Anything they do wrong is your fault until they're released from you. For you specifically," said Caldur, tilting his head side to side as he sized Patricia up again. "This means that anything you do wrong is bad for Sebastian, since' he's just taken you on as his ward.

"Hospitality is basically just when you enter someone's domain, announce yourself politely. If you try to sneak into a city, people tend to get a bit miffed about that, and might decide to kill you before asking questions.

"Finally, Destruction. Only a city's elder such as the Prince or Primogen, or someone who outranks them within the Camarila can call a blood hunt, or destroy any other kindred. That's their right alone."

Patricia listened to the list, trying to absorb all of the new rules which tethered her to life.

"Don't kill anyone, to make anyone, don't disrespect anyone, and don't let anyone know you're a vampire," she summarized.

"Gold star," answered Caldur.

"What is the Camarilla?" she asked.

"They're us. We're them. There's the Cam, the Sabbat, a few independent clans not really worth talking about in this neck of the woods, and the Anarchs. We're like factions of vampires. Different countries, or systems of governments, or whatever analogy you'd like to use. They have different rules regarding the Masquerade. The Sabbat don't even follow it at all. The Anarchs, well, they can't agree on anything anyway. But mostly they follow them, 'cause a lot of it's just common sense rulings in ye olde tongue."

"We're Camarilla," began Patricia haltingly. Caldur nodded for her to finish that thought. "Was... is Ernesto?"

"Yes. Ernesto is the Malkavian primogen. That's like the head of the Malkavian clan within this city. This entire city, no matter what anyone tells you, is Camarilla domain. Sebastian's made sure of that."

"Do I... Need to present myself to Ernesto?"

"Thankfully, no. Not exactly. You didn't arrive in the city, you were in the city and were embraced. You will have to be presented at Elysium soon. When Sebastian thinks you're ready for it," added Caldur.

"Where's Elysium?"

"Not... Well, not exactly where. It's a thing. An event. And a place," conceded Caldur. "But mostly it's like a little gathering, or party, or something like that."

Patricia looked out onto the balcony. She felt like she should be asking more questions. Like she should be trying to soak up more information, but nothing was coming to her. Eventually, Caldur sighed, and stood up. He slid the chair away, but didn't put it back in line with the others. It was crooked.

"Look, take the rest of tonight. If you need me," he said, reaching into his pocket. He fished out a flip phone, and tossed it to her.

She made absolutely no move to catch it, and it sailed right by her head.

"...use that," said Caldur, slightly disappointed with the response. "It's a lot to take in, but you're doing well. I'll come by and check on you tomorrow night, and I expect some time tonight Sebastian will come by and have words with you. But for the time being, try to just take it in. I'll have Kimmy go by your apartment tomorrow and collect your things."

"I should go-"

"Does anyone there know you?"

"...Yes?"

"You're dead now," warned Caldur. "You're no longer the human you were when tonight began. She died. Everyone in her life lost her. You have to be someone else. So you can't be seen there."