The Unknown 

This world feels like a sunrise, by comparison. A sunrise of vast and magnanimous presence below a blistering horizon of heat and beautiful life. There is pleasure here, there is comfort, there are constants. The world's like that. It is endlessly forgiving in its lack of need to forgive. You don't know how you died, whether you deserved it, but unlike all the other humans at this auction, you were not born on the day of the Black Sun - you were killed. You died and you came back and now nothing is right anymore.

Long Description: You remember thinking of the planet's atmospheric gradiations as you came through them, all the different ideas throughout history that people tossed around about what cosmically made up our reality. All that bumbling meteorological and chemical philosophy that in no way prepared you for the singular agony of being brought back to life and thrust into the blinding furnace that is the living world.

You had suppositions of it being gentler. Just before it happened you knew it was going to happen, the information dropping into your mind like some confused fever dream and there it was: the idea of rebirth came to you, as if from something or someone else and it grew louder and louder until you had to look - and there it was. Light. Painful, blinding light.

You only had a few seconds to think on it - rebirth - coming back, the resurrection, what have you. You'd been frightened for a moment, had thought the feeling of entry or re-entry would be... perhaps a sinking upwards sort of sensation. A gradual congregation of spiritual atoms, the adherence of each to each a rather wonderful thing, pleasurable even, because the place you were in (that you barely remember now) was certainly a horror that had no compare. Surely anything else, anything else, was better.

But it was not. It was agony.

The assault on your soul as you were ripped through layers of reality, up through into the world left you in a shocking state of hypersensitivity - and blurry with pain. For days you stumbled around, naked, wet, unable to put thoughts together. One thing became clear in hindsight: you couldn't die. No matter how broken your body became or what accident assailed you in those raw days, you didn't - you could not - die. You might have tried killing yourself for a while, reasonably, because for a couple weeks everything felt on fire.

You've been able to see dead things ever since. Sometimes it’s like looking past a veil or shroud. Other times it’s grisly remains of apparitions on this side. You can see the echo of places and people that once were, and if you look hard enough, things can look back. You realise your current mind's silence is because you are traumatised, but you can't quite reach the emotion you once had. Perhaps it's better this way, that you don't remember. Perhaps the only solace you've gained from this confusion of being back is that your new captors - the Giovanni, because vampires exist apparently but really anything could at this point - don't seem to realise you can see the dead things, or see ghosts. The Giovanni would care a great deal about those powers. You, meanwhile, seem to be a blindspot for them. You are immune to the power of any necromancer, apparently any powers, including Dominate - the ability for a vampire to reach into and edit the mind - as long as it is a necromancer trying to use tbe discipline on you.

It does not register as a failed use of their power, either. Their minds seem to entirely reconstruct the event of Dominating you and they currently believe you are a bit of a dud with some latent, unexciting gift. Maybe you are. You aren't sure how useful these snatches of insight you're getting into death even are. Thus far they've terrified you, and slowly frayed your sanity to the point where everyone thinks you're just a bit blaze, or slow. You stare at things you shouldn’t. Hard not to. The reality is much sadder: you've been through so much that a great part of your psyche has shut down and withdrawn, moved to a safe, tiny core in the depths of you where nothing can get to it anymore. Not even you.

You’re not sure you want to remember.

Mechanics: You are immune to all mental and social vampiric disciplines when the attacker is a necromancer. Much of your power is unknown to you - and to your captors. You don’t think they would put you in this auction if they really knew anything about you. But from what you’ve learned being back, staying beholden and forever enchained to a creature that deals with death is the last thing you want. You want life - life and a place to quietly heal and lick your wounds and figure out what happened to you, not stay in this dangerous family that will lash a leash around your soul as well as your throat. Better to get out, stay out, in whatever way you can. Something about the name specifically - Giovanni - fills a part of you with rage.

All the humans who had any necromantic power have vanished, you presume up in the House or away to other places, as vampires themselves now, or as human experiments.

Being able to side-step the necromancers’ power is not a guarantee of safety. You’ve learned that the only power you really have beyond your weird sight is your silence, and for now, that’s all you have to work with.