A description of the obscure offshoot of Clan Toreador known as House Van de Nacht
Why, hello there. Welcome. Did Trevor send you? I'm not surprised. My brother always sends the curious ones to me. Don't be too offended. He's a busy creature, always studying the history of this family, but while his knowledge is perhaps the most accurate and volumous, there's a lack desire to share outside the garden. That's where I come in. We're a bit of a matched set, ever sire's dream when they create multiple childer and try to cultivate their lineage. I doubt that it was ever part of Regan's original design, but then, we were always better at impromptu inspirations than long, drawn out paperwork.
But I'm getting off-topic. Forgive me, my words tend to take me. My name is Ella Thompson. You've heard of me? Then you know why you were sent. I've always had that knack for storytelling. Why, I could whisk you away to another world if it so pleased you, but with all these lovely stories of truth, why would anyone need to read fiction? That's why you're here, after all. Some Malkavian told you a secret, about House Van de Nacht, and now you can't get it out of your head. Pesky insects, but sometimes the buzz will send you to the right flowers, but I have to warn you, like most tales of the damned, this nectar is bittersweet.
It started with Regan deVries - yes, deVries, as in
those hunters. She loved flowers, had a garden in Amsterdam after she married and moved from somewhere south. It was that perfect, delightful life, mundane in every aspect, and she was quite fond of it, like many of us were. Then her flowers, the scent, the beauty of the colors, her tulips, caught the attention of a Caitiff - yes, one of the orphan clan was first to drink her blood. He asked for her hospitality as a traveler, and she allowed it, innocent and caring as she is. They started talking, and while Regan loved Josef, the desire to travel, to leave her bed of tulips, was more grand.
Josef came home after work and found the place was empty of his wife and the stranger. He went searching for her and found her, fangs and all. Poor thing, but inside of Josef's blood was something perhaps more dangerous than our kind, for not only did he survive the attack of his frenzied wife, but he found them again with people and torches and pitchforks.
So you see now why it is so difficult to trust? Regan, barely surviving the tragedy, watched as her husband and those humans burned her lover. It poisoned her blood, made loving family impossible no matter how many times she sired, and no matter how many times they sired.
You don't believe me? Have you heard of Chirstopehr Montague, Clinton Host, Calvin Bainbridge . . . there's a reason I do not dare to share my blood! It's a curse worse than the Clan of the Rose, the House Van de Nacht. Like our cousins, we fancy beauty, we Embrace art and passion, and we cultivate it to the fullest edge of madness. But instead of merely becoming entranced, enveloped by such stunning rapture, we obsess over it. We find extraordinary and must make it into something more even if it drives it away or breaks it to tiny bits and pieces. We fear losing our family like our matriarch, so we destroy it instead.