Maestro

The underground concert hall echoes with centuries of vampire hymns. Your father's baton traces patterns in the air that make reality ripple, while ancient vampires gather in the shadows. The pendant he gave you on your thirteenth birthday pulses in time with his conducting. Now you understand why it only glows during full moons. (His eyes flash crimson as discordant notes threaten the harmony) The bloodline song flows strong in you, my daughter. But there are those who would silence our music forever.