Lights Out.
Sundown. Eleanor, like every normal vampire in existence, is immediately wide awake. Unlike most Kindred though, she remains under the sheets for a few minutes longer. Her place didn’t have any heating and as such was ice cold while her electric blankets –insane she knows– were too warm to abandon just yet. A full seven minutes pass before her alarm clock hits 5:13PM, triggers the radio and forces Eleanor out of her warm bed to deactivate it.

Slipping out of her nightgown, she quickly decides to go with her thickest socks and dresses herself. She makes her bed and hides her nightwear beneath her pillow before heading over to her improvised ‘bathroom’. Once Eleanor had safely navigated the broken black-and-white tiles she looked in the mirror at her smudgy reflection. Taking a toothbrush and toothpaste she brushes her teeth, twice, and reaches for the mouthwash. She gargles as discreetly and silently as she can manage before grabbing her coat, switching off the light and heading for the door…

…her hand missed the doorknob. That was rather peculiar. Another blind sweep yielded no better result. Slightly annoyed Eleanor hit the lights again. When they flicked on however, bathing the room in an intermittent yellowish light, she did not see the door either. Confused, Eleanor took a look around the room, figuring that maybe she’d disorientated herself somehow. …Nothing.

A sense of dread takes hold of Eleanor as she invokes the Sight. Again, nothing. A quick scan of the room revealed no other exits. Most peculiar.
Shifting her perception and senses –visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory, supernatural and finally even gustatory– Eleanor quickly deduces that she could neither find the door nor the source of the obfuscation. She tries to calm herself, takes a book from her collection and set herself opposite the door. Sooner or later, whoever or whatever did this would relent, she hopes.

Minutes turn to hours and as the last hour before dawn approaches, Eleanor is still seated opposite the door. It was hard to be very fearful without an immediate threat but Eleanor was starting to get there. Preparing for bed, she again brushes her teeth and gargles before turning on the electric blanket and putting on her nightgown.

When sunup came she was once more gone.

Sundown brought no change of any kind. Eleanor, however, now shared her room with consternation. Banging on walls, screaming, nothing. No change. Back to the bathroom.

And it was her return from the bathroom that heralded understanding, for as she turned her back toward the mirror her superhuman senses detected the angry black mark on her back. In the mirror it looked like a cross, or a spoon. It covered most of her torso and as she watched the symbol dripped downward, like tar.

Guess that would be what happened at the end of the spell. Disconcerting. Though it would explain a lot. Not knowing what else she could do in this situation she continued trying to escape. Hours turn to nights and on the fifth night Eleanor did not wake up at all.

She knew voluntary torpor was, by far, the better of the torpors. Even so, a gigantic cross-like shadow hounded her dreams. Hunger gnawed at feet and the moon burned brightly in the sky.

Nights turn to weeks and when Eleanor finally awakens from torpor she finds that the door was still gone. In fact, she was quite certain other things had vanished. She was thoroughly screwed unless she could understand what was going on.

Once her post-torpor frenzy was over there was a time for meditation, contemplation and experimentation. Eleanor tried every trick she knew. In her cycle of starvation, torpor, divination and questing, time was measured in tarry discharges from her back and barefaced desperation.