All throughout my youth, the truth of my family's past was kept hidden away from me. I grew up to what seemed like a normal life for a girl of my time. I learned to manage the house, to sew, how to act like a proper young lady. Occasionally my father would give me extra lessons – he used to call them 'secret training' for I was never able to tell anyone about them, not even Mother. But I never gave a second thought to them; as a child it was very easy to believe that the extensive intellectual problem solving he had me complete was what every father taught their children. It was only after my father's sudden death that I learned the truth about it. At first, I didn't believe it – my father had simply drowned while taking a leisurely swim in the lake down the path from our house, but then I found the letter he had written to me.

Isabella,

If you are reading this, then I am dead and there is something you should know. From what you know and have been told, you most likely assume that I died under no foul play. I am writing this to tell you that whatever has been told to you is false. I am entirely positive that the Montresor family took some sort of part in my untimely death.

I know this must come as a great shock to you, as you are close with the young Montresor boy, and perhaps he is innocent of this particular crime, but I now warn you, my dear daughter, do not trust him. You must be curious why I allowed for you to become dear to the boy and I will explain my actions now to you. I am guilty, my darling; guilty of using your beauty and youth for my own personal gain. With you close to the Montresor family, I believed that over time you would unbeknownst overhear a clue which would help my case I was building against their family. Now, I wish for you to know that I would have never allowed for you to be bound in matrimony to such a creature – that is a punishment I would never allow for you to endure, and in my death I have made sure to let it be known in my last testament you shall not be permitted to marry the young Montresor.

But now to move on to a more immediate problem. I have hidden our family's history from you out of shame, for I was unable to avenge the death of your grandfather. All along I knew what really occurred, yet justice has still not been fulfilled. But now the time has come for you to learn the truth. I only wish that you did not have to find out in this way.

Up until now, you believe that your grandfather perished of chill from which he could no recover. You are not wrong to believe this, but this is not the whole truth. My father, your grandfather, was murdered by the terrible Montresor. He left him to die in his family crypt. I am sad to say that I witnessed this atrocious act as a young boy. Why did I not run to get help, you may ask? How could I have let my father rot in a cell until his certain death?

I did run, my sweet Isabella. I ran to get help, but no one would believe me, for I was a very young child. And when my father was finally determined missing days later – you see, he was very well known to disappear for days at a time without any knowledge of his whereabouts. He was a free spirit, as some nowadays would call it, but to return to my story, when he was listed as missing and investigators called upon that monster Montresor, he had crafted a plan so elaborate that no one would ever suspect him. Even with my adamant pressing that Montresor was the wrongdoer they all believed him. In their eyes I was merely a foolish child upset over the loss of his father. And as I grew older into a young man, I searched and searched for ways to prove Montresor guilty. You see, quite soon after my father's disappearance was forgotten, the monster Montresor had the entrance to his crypt sealed and without any sort of proof other than my word, I was unable to convince anyone of my story. For years I went past the Montresor house, tormented by what happened and how I could not right the wrong done. That is why I went into the profession of law, my darling Isabella. I wished to legally prove my father's disappearance and presumed death was not a mere accident, but rather a plotted murder.

Yet alas, it appears that I have been unsuccessful in achieving my goal since I am now dead and you are reading this letter. And so, my dear daughter, now that I am gone it is your job to avenge the Fortunato family name. I know this is much to ask of you, but there can be no other – I have no male heirs to do my bidding. Our family name is now in your fragile little hands.

The key is the Amontillado, my sweet.

Good luck and may you be more successful than me,

Your loving father

Upon conclusion of reading this letter, I sprang up from my seat. The Montresor's, murderers! Old Montresor, I knew him quite well! Whenever I visited the Montresor household to see my dear Massimo, Old Montresor would call me into his study and ask how I was. He seemed like such a dear old man… but a murderer! Oh, how could this be?

I flew down the stairs into the grand foyer, commanding the closest servant to go fetch a carriage and bring it to the doors. The servant, Giovanni, looked at me concerned and asked if I was feeling well, for I looked quite pale. I told him quite frankly that yes, I was well and that it was urgent I speak to Massimo Montresor. Giovanni rushed off at once to prepare the carriage and I rushed back up the stairs into the powder room to freshen up.

I gazed at my reflection in the mirror for a few moments. My eyes were bright – it was as if a flame was being harboured inside of them. I powdered my face and straightened my dress. Below I could hear Giovanni call out that the carriage would be ready in a few moments, so I made my way down the staircase again, this time at an appropriate speed for a lady. When I reached the base of the stairs, Giovanni was waiting for me. He offered me his arm, to which I took gratefully for I was a little unsteady on my feet from all the unsettling news I had learned of recently. As we neared the door, I asked Giovanni to go fetch my parasol from my bed chamber; it was a gloomy day outside and I feared it would rain. Giovanni left my side at once and flew up the stairs. He didn't even pause to think that I may have purposively left it – I was a frail, unintelligent woman of course.

I took this unaccompanied moment to rush to the pantry and retrieve a small knife from the cutlery drawer – in no way would I ever use such a weapon, but perhaps it could be useful as a device in which to threaten. I returned to the front hall just before Giovanni came down the stairs, and slipped the knife up the sleeve of my dress.

As Giovanni handed me my parasol, I asked him to accompany me down to the wine cellar as I wished to bring a gift to the Montresor family. Giovanni asked me why I wished to do so, as it was my father who had just passed and it was the Montresor family who should be consoling me. I brushed off his questioning and lied, saying that I believed Massimo Montresor would be asking for my hand in marriage – whether this was actually true or not I was entirely unsure – and I wished to bring a particular wine I could only recognize with my own eyes which held particular importance to the Montresor family. Giovanni seemed satisfied with my response and escorted me to the extensive wine collection my family had accumulated over the years. It only took me a moment or two to find the bottle I was searching for, and then Giovanni and I returned to the foyer.

By this time, the carriage was fully prepared and waiting outside the doors for my use. Giovanni helped me up into it and shut the door once I was seated. I leaned forward and let the driver know I wished to be brought to the Montresor house.

It took only a short time to reach the Montresor family house and soon the carriage door was opened for me by one of their footmen. I stepped out and walked up the grand staircase to the Montresor house, my parcel of wine clutched tightly to my breast. I was informed by one of the servants that Massimo was out elsewhere on the estate at the current moment, but he was due back shortly. Nodding my head at the servant, I told them it was not a problem and I would go visit Old Montresor in the meantime. The servant escorted me to Old Montresor's study, announcing my presence to him before leaving us to our privacy.

Looking at Old Montresor for the first time since my discovery of my father's letter shed a new sort of light on the man sitting behind the desk. His eyes looked evil rather than sweet and kind as I had once seen them as before.

Old Montresor called me closer to him and beckoned that I take a seat in the chair in front of him. I did as he said, letting the precious bottle of wine fall down to my side. I didn't want him to see it quite yet.

Old Montresor told me that he had heard about my father's passing and how tragic it was. He said that he was heartbroken for my loss and that I was always welcome in his home. Biting my tongue, I thanked him for his condolences, but Old Montresor had left me an opening, and I took it.

I asked him if he were to have any wine glasses around, for I had brought a bottle of wine I thought he and I could toast to in my father's memory. I told him that as terrible it was for me, his family must be equally as sad, for it seemed as if our two families had been intertwined for many, many years.

Old Montresor chuckled and reached down below his desk; when his hands re-emerged he was holding two wine glasses. I produced the bottle of wine from my side, careful to keep the label hidden from his line of sight, and asked if he were to have a bottle opener with him. Old Montresor searched through a desk drawer for a moment and handed me the last piece of my plan. I opened the bottle of wine and poured the liquid into two glasses before handing one to him. Old Montresor took his with shaking hands, and for a second I felt almost bad for what was about to happen, but soon that moment of grief passed.

We said a quick toast to my dear father and Old Montresor put his lips to his glass. I watched as he took a large gulp of the wine and when he bent his head back to finish off the glass, I tossed the contents of my wine glass into a plant sitting next to his desk. When Old Montresor lowered his head again, I raised my hand to my mouth and pretended to wipe away excess wine.

Old Montresor smacked his lips and told me what a good wine that was. He asked me what kind it was. I smiled at him and stood up from the chair I was seated on.

"Amontillado," I said quietly and watched as his face turned into one of absolute horror.

I waited for the convulsions to start and then I turned my back on him, walking out of the study with a satisfied smile on my face.

Justice – and revenge – had been fulfilled.