"I Know."
Blood is more than the life. Blood is heredity; blood is memory; blood is instinct. The Mnemosyne don’t just know this for a fact: they are the fact. Everything they do is tied to the concept of memory. The Kindred are terrified of losing their past. They sleep and fall prey to terrible dreams; they wake and begin to wonder which was the dream and which was reality. History plays tricks on the Kindred. You sleep for a century, and when you wake up, you barely know who you are. Dreams of making love and dreams of drinking the blood of kings; dreams of flying, dreams of devils with the faces of owls, dreams of people who you never met and people who have yet to be born. You wake up; the world has changed. You doubt everything you were before. Each slumber makes you a little less human, a little more dead. And yet, the Mnemosyne don’t seem to have that problem. There aren’t so many of them. Their power is simple, potent: they feed on memories. A Mnemosyne uncovers the truth, shares it, buries it and keeps it secret.
The dead value the Mnemosyne for that reason; there are none more efficient at manipulating history. In the hands of a Mnemosyne, history doesn’t stand a chance.
