Since the night of your Embrace, dreams have largely eluded you as you slumber during the day in your luxurious bed. Rare exceptions to this rule occur on days of particular import, as well as when you are recovering from physical trauma. It's simple to recognize the dream for what it is, and as always the confused dreamscape narrative is an unsolvable riddle, offering incoherent glimpses at your past life and the formative years of your un-death.
Fragments of memory coalesce into a scene from the first year after your Embrace, as your sire inducted you into the high society of the local Camarilla. It is far from a pleasant memory—Corliss had been a taskmaster, driving your learning with ruthless efficiency. She made it clear to you from your very first night that the result of failure would be termination. As with any sire, Corliss favored particular lessons, pressing you to excel at very specific skills.