A dead dove, with a spatter of blood

At the end of it all, I had in my trembling hands a dead dove - spattered with the vile blood of the cause of all this.

I have to admit that I do not know if we have achieved anything that night. We have not been able to save Japheth from Cladius' foul taking of his lifesblood and soul - what Japheth himself had described as the act of the Amaranth. We were stunned to find out that even that despicable act was only meant to cloud our eyes to what Claudius and his sire Augustus' ultimate plan was - to consume the blood and soul of Cappadocious himself, the progenitor of the Cappadocian clan of Kindred.

Aye, we failed to do anything to prevent that as well.

Our unlikely "coterie" of fledgelings had only been able to lend to the confusion that raged around the center stage of events, where Cladius' Conspirators fought against Hardestadt's Founders. Our sires had wanted to save their unlives, realizing the immensity of the sin that Claudius and his sire had orchestrated. Hardestadt and his so-called Founders had burst in, proclaiming death to the Conspirators for their crimes.

Ultimately, the melee that ensued led to the bloodshed that could be expected from Kindred elders tearing at each others throats, with my companions and I in various states of injury and bewildered by what had just taken place.

All that, and a dead dove with a spatter of blood, in my hands.

I will not claim to understand everything that took place that night. I hope to find out what it all means, and how this now affects the rest of our unlives.

One thing I am sure of is that I will forever remember what happened. I believe that I will keep what remains of this dove. Someone may be able to explain the importance of this insignificant thing to me.