Hi guys, well, I think this is going to be a cesare/oc story... or maybe an Ezio/oc story. But I think it's more than likely going to be a cesare/oc story.

Anyway... I don't own assassin's creed or any of its character's. I do, however own Trista Poverelli and Rosaline Poverelli.

Read and review. Let me know what you think :D

It was cold that morning. The morning our lives changed. Mother and father had gone into town, to the markets to earn some money. My sister and I had stayed home. My father had insisted on it. He had said that Roma was far too big a place for two small girls to wander around. Anything could happen to us, he had said.

So my sister and I kissed our parents on the cheeks and bid them farewell, until the evening. We went about our day as usual. Rosaline put on a warm dress and shawl and I put on my usual, trousers, shirt, vest and jacket. We ate our breakfast in front of the fire, it was too cold today. After breakfast we both slipped on our boots and stepped outside into the frosty air.

I remember shivering in the cold and clutching my jacket closer to me. I looked over at little Rosaline. The poor thing shook violently.

"Rosaline, go back inside, I'll do your chores today." Rosaline looked at me; a look of disbelief crossed her angelic face. The twelve year old didn't understand I was trying to prevent her from catching cold.

Rosaline had always been a frail child, quick to catch sickness and not easy to recover from it. The young girl was not meant for life on a farm. She was meant to be the pampered, beautiful wife of a nobleman. Lord knew, she looked the part. Rosaline was small and slim; she had beautiful, long white-blonde hair that reached the middle of her back, always tied back in a perfect braid. Her skin was pale and void of any disfiguring blemishes, light freckles sprinkle across her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were a lovely deep blue and her lips a kissable pink. I knew she could easily have her pick of the litter.

I doubt to sister's could ever look more different. Where she was slim and pale I was curved and tan. Her hair, almost as white as snow, and nearly perfectly straight, mine a dark raven colour and unruly, curly and left out of any restraints. Her features soft and angelic, mine striking, pixie like.

"I'm not going to let you do all the work." She said, huffing stubbornly. I rolled my eyes and complied to her will.

"Alright, go feed Fernando," I insisted. I watched as my sister walked off to our small, makeshift stables. Fernando was one of my family's two horses; mother and father had taken Esmeralda with them to the market.

I set to work doing my own chores, I knew after Rosaline fed Fernando she'd go to the chicken coop, collect the eggs and feed the chicken. Then all she had to do was feed our dog, Gypsy, and her chores would be done. It wasn't much, but I daresay that's all she could handle, especially in whether like this.

It was a while later when I heard her scream. The noise had frightened me and I bolted up from bending over, tending to the garden. I clutched at the dagger on my hip and ran toward the chicken coop. I arrived just in the nick of time, too.

I saw Rosaline, frightened and on the ground a dark haired man stood in front of her, he wore a menacing look on his face. Behind him stood several lines of soldiers, all braced for attack at a moment's notice. I saw the man raise his sword high above him. My heart stopped and I sprinted forward.

"No!" I screamed. I ran as fast as I could and stood in front of my little sister, my dagger at the ready.

The man sneered at me and brought down his sword. His sword locked with my dagger. I grunted in the effort it took to keep my own against him. He was strong, almost too strong for me to have lasted as long as I did. I wouldn't last much longer though. No doubt about that.

With one last grunt I fell to my knees. With a smug look the man once again raised his sword. But just as he was about to bring it down on my sister and I, something caught his gaze. I looked down at where his down of sight was and my face contorted into a look of disgust... of all the times to be perverted...

The man slowly lowered his sword. he sheathed it and bent down to me. With one hand he pulled me up by a hunk of my hair, with the other he gently moved the necklace from around my neck closer to his face.

"The Amulet..." he said quietly. "At last..."

He had something close to awe as he spoke. I didn't like it. I struggled in his grip. It was futile, of course, but I had to try. His grip on my hair tightened and I screamed in agony. Behind me, my sister whimpered.

"Rosaline!" I gasped out. "Run!"

Several men moved to give chase as my sister got up and ran toward the stables. The man whom held me though, lifted his hand to stop them. The soldiers looked uneasy but didn't dare question him. No, he didn't make them give chase to my sister, thank god, but he did do something almost as awful.

"Burn it to the ground." He said, his voice loud, and clear, and demanding. It left no room for questioning. With that I felt him tug at my hair again. I screamed in pain. He pulled me with him, ignoring my pleas, his mind obviously elsewhere. He pulled me with him to an awaiting carriage.