A/N: This first chapter contains a lot of information, so I apologize if it's a bit messy. I'm currently working on revising this work, as well as working on new chapters. Please note that this story is rated M for mild language, adult themes, and violence. Just a warning, there are also triggers throughout the story for abuse (in the context of memories, etc). PLEASE feel free to leave a review! I can't fix anything if I don't know what is unclear or doesn't flow well.

Of course, I own nothing except my OC and my original storyline. All else belongs to Ubisoft.

Chapter One;

The Meeting

"Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild." John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci

April, 1781

Never before had she experienced such anxiety while on an assignment. Her focus was normally impeccable, bathed in confidence, and unwavering, yet as she pretended to inspect some fruit, she found her hands shaking. She took a deep breath to steady herself, irritated that she was so anxious, and redirected her attention. The assigned target stood out well enough – one did not see a hooded man in white every day. Her dark gaze was latched onto that conspicuous white hood. Even when her eyes were glancing about her, taking in her surroundings, she was still aware of even the smallest movement of the man beneath that hood. When he turned suddenly, as if searching the crowd, she tucked herself between two women squabbling over the price of cloth. Picking up a flower on the nearby stall, Cora raised it to her nose, eyes drifting again to the hooded man. He had turned back now, and was walking at a normal pace – he had not seen her. Of course he hadn't. Why would he have? Though her body betrayed her, Cora's mind still held confidence. She had no doubt that this mission would be a success. Never had she failed before, so why would this time be any different?

The man had perfected being unseen while in plain sight, yet Cora, too, was well trained in the ways of secrecy and stealth, and so she easily saw through his attempts at blending in as an average citizen. She could see the other Templar he was following. Her partner was not making the slightest attempt to stay concealed from the Assassin's sight. The bait had been laid, the trap set, and the hound was following it like a starving dog searching for meat.

He passed from one group to another, pretending to be looking at the merchandise of a nearby market stall or inquire about buying a newspaper. He was good, she had to admit. But not as good as she. In all honesty, she had been surprised that the Assassin had fallen so easily for the trap they had laid, but then again, he was a desperate man. He would have crossed the planet thrice over if it would have meant he could get his hands on Charles Lee, and all knew it.

Laughing to herself at his naivete, Cora pressed on. The young Templar would be leading him into the predetermined alleyway anytime now, and she had to be there waiting. As soon as the Assassin disappeared behind the corner, she broke into a jog. When she rounded the opposite corner and saw the alley deserted, she heaved a sigh of relief. He had not yet arrived.

Cora wasted no time in preparing for the next segment of the plan. After loosening the strings of her blouse to reveal the curve of her breasts, she let her hair out of her cap. It tumbled about her shoulders, the perfumed scent filling her nose. One look at her and she would have the man resting in her palm. No doubt hindered her – she knew how to seduce a man. She had done it more than enough times to be perfect at it.

Her partner rounded the corner first, giving her a curt nod before jogging out of sight, affirming that all was still to take place as planned. Placing a basket of cloth on her hip, Cora pretended not to be watching the corner for the Assassin's arrival. Though she tried her best to keep a steady mind, her heart quickened at the thought of getting her revenge... That man would answer for the crimes he committed, and she would be the one to hold him accountable. Her eyes frequently glanced towards the corner, her anxiety and anticipation threatening to cloud her judgment. Normally on an assignment, she was level headed, calculated, calm... But this time, it was personal.

Just as she began to grow impatient, the man in white round the corner. He paused in hesitation before continuing forward, and Cora noticed his attention lingering on her a moment too long. When he saw her, she knew deep down that she should end it here and try again another day. Cora knew when to call it, even before she had even began the mission, and though this was one of those times, she stepped forward, her stubborn determination stripping her of her sense and turning her calculated concentration into a carnal need for revenge.

She walked with her eyes straight forward, and as she sauntered down the alleyway, the Assassin, too, began walking. She looked behind her, as if she had heard someone calling for her, and ran right into the Assassin. Fabric flew through the air as she dropped her basket, clucking her tongue as she muttered of her clumsiness. Instantly, Cora bent to the ground, and the Assassin followed, helping her to pick up the cloths.

"I am sorry." His voice was deep and rich, sliding smoothly over each consonant and syllable. It was a shame to have to silence it, she thought, a smile sliding onto her face as she placed each bolt of cloth back into her basket.

"Oh no," she responded with a high pitched laugh. "The blame is all mine. I was not watching where I stepped! My humblest apologies, sir!" As she rose, she made sure to give him a good look at her chest, and a good look he took, as well. Smiling to herself, she was glad that he seemed to be falling easily into the plan, albeit surprised. It was always easiest to kill a man, especially a man as strong as this Assassin, in the throes of passion.

As his face angled towards hers, she tried to read his expression, but was unable to. The damned hood covered his eyes, and nothing on the visible portion of his face provided a window to his thoughts. If he had seen her following him, he did not show it. If he suspected anything, he kept it within. Perhaps she had been wrong about her feeling earlier. Perhaps the talk of this man was nothing more than stories concocted to keep the younger Templars in line. She could do this, she knew... She had to. For all those years she had spent under the control of another, she had to. For the lives of her family, she must. S

"I have a home not far from here," she whispered in a low voice. "You could... fully apologize for knocking my basket away." Looking up at him through dark lashes, she hoped he was not so daft as to not understand her implications, and reached to the hem of his jacket, pulling on it lightly and biting her lip.

In that moment, she wished nothing more than to be able to see the whole of his face. She could analyze so little with only his mouth visible! Yet just as Cora thought he would push her away, he nodded in agreement. Yet again, deep down, she knew it felt wrong. This was not the way. Still, though, she repressed the feelings. Surely she was simply being foolish. She knew her strength and skill. She knew how long she had planned for this, prayed for this, longed for this... She would not fail. She could not.

"What is your name?" He asked quietly, still staring straight ahead.

"Sarah," she lied effortlessly. "And yours?"

"Connor." They walked the rest of the way in silence, sounds of breathing the only noise that broke the stillness of the air. It was a long walk, and though it should have been awkward, Cora was too anxious to care. The house was on the outskirts of Boston, standing alone amid a small farm, unlike the closely packed houses within the walls of the city. Though many other houses were in close proximity, it gave more privacy than would have been afforded elsewhere. The house was small, containing only a table with two chairs, a small fireplace with a cooking spit, and a large bed. She seldom slept here unless on a job, for she was not allowed to be too far away from her master. He liked to keep an eye on her, for more than one reason.

Cora unlocked the door with a small brass key, gesturing for the Assassin to enter first. She turned, her back to him, closing and locking the door so they would not be disturbed. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes in preparation. At least he was easy on the eyes, unlike the other fat, crude men she had bedded to kill. As she turned, she wondered if he would be a good lover for this one night – his last. Pity filled her as she looked at him, but it was soon replaced by a determined anger. She knew what he had done. He deserved no pity, only death.

Steady hands reached up to the laces of her blouse as she began. Cora knew well how this would go. Likely, he would try to overpower her, to take control of her, use her for his own pleasure. It was what they all did. Yet instead of crossing the room to embrace her, the Assassin held up a hand to her, as if telling her to stop. Knowing eyes bore into her, and Cora tried to quell the beginnings of trembling in her hands. This was not part of the plan... Suddenly, she knew she should have listened to her earlier feelings. Oh, how stupid she had been! Her very desire to finish him had rendered the task impossible...

He walked over to her slowly, crossing his arms and looking at her disdainfully. It was time to get out, and Cora knew it. Backing against the door, she felt for the knob, trying to twist it before remembering she had locked it.

Shit.

"I was not aware they were recruiting women to the Templars," he said coolly. His level demeanor enraged her. It was as if he was mocking her!

"Why do you say such a thing? Does it bother you to know you will be killed by a woman?" Ice in her voice, she stood straighter, no longer leaning against the door. If she could not escape, she would fight – of that much she was certain.

As she approached him, he began to circle her, drawing his weapon. Fear gripped Cora's heart as she gazed upon it. Her knife, the only weapon she had brought, was no match for that. Stuck here, in this small room, she would be unable to escape. She would die, likely painfully so at the hands of this man. But not without a fight.

Lunging at him, she lashed out, knife slicing through air as he ducked away. Grunting in frustration, she turned back again, watching him swing his tomahawk in his hand as if this were a game. That son of a bitch! She would make him pay. She would make him pay for all he had done.

They watched each other for a few moments, carefully analyzing each step, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Who sent you," he finally asked, his lip curling as he spoke.

"Would you piss yourself if I said Charles Lee?" The Assassin practically snarled at her words, just as she had expected.

"Where is Lee?" His voice was serious now, determined and demanding. Cora would be lying if she said she wasn't intimidated, but she tried her best not to let it show.

"Long gone by now," she laughed. "Best for you to run back home to mommy."

He didn't like that. The visible part of his face twisting in pure fury, he lunged at her.

"Oh, you don't like that, do you? I bet she was just some common whore, wasn't she? One night stand with daddy? Or was she payed like the worthless bitch she is?"

With the finding of his weakness, it was as if she had unleashed a beast. Hoping to use his anger against him, she opened her mouth to say even more, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. With one easy motion, he grabbed her, slamming her against the wall so hard her breath left her lungs. As she tried to suck in air to hurl more insults at him, she felt the telltale sharpness of a blade against her throat.

Ah, the famous hidden blades. She almost laughed, but the chuckle was cut off by pressure at her throat.

"You might next time wish to ask to be trained by one more experienced." His voice was harsh and dark, overflowing with anger and strife. "Did you really expect me not to notice that you have been following me for hours? Perhaps a novice would not have noticed, but to me you might as well have followed at my heels."

Cora's heart sunk with embarrassment. He had seen her? How had he seen her? Waves of anger flooded through her and she spat at him, in hopes he would take a hand off of her in order to remove it.

Instead, he wiped his cheek onto his jacket.

It was as if all the tricks of the trade she knew were wasted on this man.

"If you're going to kill me, do it now." Grabbing his hand wielding the blade, she pressed it further into her throat, drawing blood. "Do it," she commanded harshly. She wanted him to – wanted him to end it. That way, she wouldn't have to return to him, wouldn't have to endure the punishment. Wouldn't have to feel his hands on her body or hear the cruel things he would speak to her. She would be with her mother, her father, walk among the grasses of her ancestors for the first time. Closing her eyes, Cora welcomed it.

He could see her willingness to die, and it stayed his blade and interrupted his temper. Silently, he wondered what had driven the woman to welcome death, to even seek it out... And though he knew he should, he found that he could not end her life.

Hands dropped from her then, blade receding into its hiding place as the Assassin stepped back.

Her dark eyes flew open. "What are you doing?"

"I am not going to kill you."

Anxious eyes searched the Assassin, hunting for any hint of what his intentions were.

Both stood still, waiting for the other to move. When Cora realized he really wasn't going to try to kill her, defiance entered her eyes again.

She crossed the small room in three long strides, gaze locked onto the window that would deliver her from this man. Excuses for her master were already filling her mind when she lay her foot onto the window frame, but a strong hand pulled her back, discarding her onto the floor.

"I said I would not kill you, but I did not say I would let you go free," Connor told her, his large form looming over her.

Wrangling herself off the floor, she got to her feet, grinning wildly as adrenaline again made its way through her veins. Laughing maniacally, still sure she would meet death, she opened her mouth to deliver more taunts, only to be stifled by his large hand over her mouth.

"You would do well to be silent," he muttered, his anger evident even through the monotone of his voice.

"I will be of no use to you," she breathed as he removed his hand. "I will tell you nothing! It is better for you to kill me now and get it over with."

"And give you what you desire?" He scoffed, patience with her obviously at an end. "Absolutely not."

Finally, it set in that she would not be dying this night. No, he would make her prolong the suffering, the reality of her life. As he leaned towards her to grab hold of her, she spat into his face, pure hatred burning within her. The girl had hoped to get a rise out of him, but he remained calm, simply wiping it away as if it had been an accident. Cocking her head, she gave him a curious look for a moment. This man was strange indeed, she thought. If she had done that to any other, the punishment would have been severe – a woman acting out of place, and all. Yet here this cold blooded, cruel Assassin was ignoring her attempts to anger him. It was terribly infuriating. She almost craved the feel of his hand against her face or the threat of him overpowering her if she acted out. At least then she would know what to expect, would know how to prepare herself. Now, with this strange man, she did not know how to handle the situation, and that fact was maddening.

"I will scream," she threatened as he took hold of her arm, his large hand ensnaring her with a tight grip.

"If you make a noise," he said quietly as he peered out the door, "I will deliver you to the doorstep of where you came."

Damn, she thought. She wished her options were death or traveling with the Assassin, because death was looking like a good option. But going back was not an option for her. She refused to look upon that... that man's face. No longer would she be his pawn, his plaything. If this is what it took to escape his grasp, she would do it. Besides, how hard could it be to escape in the night while the man was asleep? Surely he was simple minded enough not to pay attention.

So she let herself be led from the small house, through the dark city, plopped onto a horse and led into the darkness that awaited outside the city walls. How long it had been since she had seen the wilderness, she thought as she tried to distract herself from her predicament.

The Assassin fell into silence, and Cora got the feeling he was not one for words. Perhaps the exchange they had back in the house was all she would hear from him. Indeed, he did not even reveal his face or acknowledge her as he bound her hands, made a fire or secured her to a tree before laying down. She had scoffed at him as he bound her, whispering insults that would have made any other man lash out against her. But it was evident that the man had found a way to control his tongue, as he stayed silent, which raised her frustration to unspeakable levels. She berated the man with bitter abuses, but aside from the occasional twitch of the mouth, it was obvious that the Assassin had long ago shut her shrill words out of his mind.

Forced to stay her mouth by the now still form across from her, the girl tried to sleep, but every attempt was thwarted by the distant rumbles of a storm. Closing her eyes, she let the sound calm her. Storms always seemed to have that effect on her, oddly enough. Perhaps it was because it took her back to a time long ago, a time she could only fully remember in moments like this. She and her eldest brother had always glued themselves to the windows of their small house whenever a storm would pass. While their sisters would be clutching at their mother's skirts, Cora and her brother would be watching the lightening snake down from the skies, would giggle as they felt the thunder shake the little house. Bets would be made on how long it would take for one of them to jump at the noise, and Cora could still hear the clucking of her mother's tongue as she gently reprimanded them for getting into fights over who had been startled first.

Riordan was always like that; competitive and feisty, always getting into fights and wrestling matches with the other boys who lived nearby. Cora had always followed him like a shadow, trying to act tough like her elder brother, much to her sister's dismay. Aoife had always been the most proper of the four children, attempting in vain to teach Cora the ways of a lady. Cora had always preferred climbing and mud-slinging to dolls and frills, though, so when Maebh came alone, Aoife was more than delighted. From the time there were four of them, it had always been her and Riordan against Aoife and Maebh, taking sides and blaming each other like young siblings often do.

Their mother, even stubborn in nature as she was, could never get the four of them to cooperate, despite all her urgings. When their father walked in the door, though, with his booming voice and broad frame, the house fell into order as if the yelling, hair pulling and chaos of the day had never even occurred. He would tickle them with his beard and delight them with stories of magical beings in lush green lands far across the sea.

Oh, those days seemed like a dream to her. Long before everything had fallen apart... Long before she had been ruined, innocence taken in more ways than one. Still she could remember the day her misfortune had begun, with the loss of her mother.

She had birthed four healthy children with relative ease, so when she died in childbirth along with her infant son, it had been a horrid shock. Though all the children were devastated in their own way, having to learn to deal with the ragged hole in their life where there mother should have been, none in the family were as affected as much as their father. The light left his eyes as soon as he buried her, their son in her arms. Though joy came back to his face every so often, he was never truly the same.

Their love had been that great. It had been forbidden love, their mother had always told them, a secret smile on her fair face. As a child, Cora had always imagined the story as if her mother had been a princess and her father a noble prince, like the characters of her father's stories. It was love at first sight for their father, she would say dreamily, stealing glances at him as if they were again young lovers. With that, he would jump in, affirming their mother's tale.

"It was her eyes," he would say in that storyteller's voice, "Blue enough to rival the most revered skies of all Ireland." Sometimes it would be her hair that had caught his attention, the long, silken strawberry blonde tresses just waiting to be touched. Other times it would be her laugh, lilting as the most beautiful song, or her smile, bright enough to send the sun away in shame. At that, her mother would blush furiously, looking down as if embarrassed. Cora could see the scene so clearly in her mind, and it almost pained her to think of how long she had sat as a young girl, dreaming of a man who would love her as infinitely and selflessly as her father loved her mother.

But that was long ago...

No longer did she indulge the thought of a husband or family, or life beyond what it already was. No one would want her, anyway.

Scoffing in the silence, she went to cross her arms, only to be reminded that her hands were bound. Frustratingly, she yanked at the bindings, trying every trick she had been taught to release herself, but it was useless. The Assassin knew how to tie a knot, that much was true.

Sighing loudly, she slumped back against the tree with a resentful groan. How had she landed herself here? There were so many things she would have done differently, had she the chance.

The first of which would be to have found her brother after her father had died, and not so blindly trusted her uncle.

He was actually her great uncle, and only by marriage. Her father's sister had married the Englishman when she was still but a teenager, though often Cora had heard her aunt confess to her parents that she wished she had never agreed.

Rightly so – her uncle was a cruel, venomous man on the inside, once you dug beneath the cunning layer of seeming kindness that he so well pretended to have. It was well that they never had children – none should have the misfortune as having him to call father.

Of course, when Cora was still a child, she didn't understand how self-serving and cruel he really was. And indeed, her aunt was a kind and virtuous woman. She didn't think the woman would have married a true louse – he must have some good qualities, she would think to herself. Chuckling to herself, Cora mocked her own naivety.

Her father had never gotten along with the man, and had only put up with him at the urgings of his wife. When she died, there was nothing stopping his hatred from festering.

Eamon was a humble man, good and kind and well-intentioned. Never had Cora seen him with such hatred in his eyes as when he set eyes on Robert.

It was early spring, the last time she had seen her father with Robert. The roses that Aunt Nuala so intently tended to were just beginning to bloom, the scent overwhelmingly pleasant when they would walk through the front door. Robert was a wealthy man, and he owned a large plot of land that their home was built on. It was quite spacious and grand compared to the little cottage that Cora shared with her family, and it was partially for this reason that Cora so loved to visit her aunt. Despite her love of riding horses and idolizing her brother, as she entered into being a young woman, she had begun to enjoy when she dressed in one of the fine dresses Nuala had gotten her and her sisters.

The visit had started off normally, with Nuala insisting that the children share all that they had learned or the cleverest things they had done since they last visited, as they all snacked on freshly made blackberry tart.

The outburst was sudden, coming from Robert's study. To everyone's surprise, it was Eamon's voice that was assaulting the air, not Robert's. Cora had glanced at her aunt, but Nuala had turned a ghostly shade of white, and she set down her tea, a placid look with buried worry on her face. Cora's father burst out of the study, Robert following behind with a startling look of tranquility.

"Eamon, I am sorry you are unable to see things for how they are," Robert had said ominously.

"To hell with that," Cora's father responded in heavily accented English - his accent always came out stronger when he was angry. "I knew you to be a self-indulged man, sure, perhaps a bit cold hearted, but for you to be associated with those bastards is unforgivable." Cora knew it was serious as soon as she heard her father curse – hot tempered as he sometimes could be, never had she heard him curse in front of the children.

Robert made no attempt to deny the accusations, and simply stood in the hallway, hands clasped, a twisted smile on his face. Nuala looked terrified, and had leaned towards the direction of her brother as if hoping he would take her away. Cora's father stared at Nuala for a long time, unspoken conversation passing between them, before he nodded.

"You are always welcome in our home," he whispered to his sister, kissing her on the cheek as if saying goodbye.

Once more, he turned to Robert, eyes narrowing as he stuck his hand out protectively in front his children. "If I ever see you near my children or hear of you harming my sister, I will kill you."

That simple sentence had shaken Cora to the core.

It was almost a month later when the men had come, bearing rifles and a grim determination on their faces. Maebh had come in from playing outside, and said simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, that strange men were approaching the house.

Oh, how papa's eyes had widened... It was the only time that Cora had ever seen her father genuinely scared. He had glanced between his two youngest children, likely thanking the heavens that the elder two were away at lessons. Silently, he had ushered them upstairs, stowing them into a closet and quietly telling them to stay hidden until he came back. Maebh, at nine years old, was trembling and crying, completely terrified by her father's obvious fear. As he kissed them and whispered 'I love yous,' Cora knew something was terribly wrong.

As soon as she heard the familiar creek of the first step in the staircase of their little house, Cora had told her sister to stay put, and with a racing heart and sinking stomach, she tiptoed from the room.

What had happened was, to this day, engrained in her mind. She had spent years wishing to forget, trying to remember her father laughing and tickling her or cuddling her when she fell ill.

The crack of the rifle had made her jump, and the snicker of the culprit had made her feel ill. Her heat bid her eyes not to look, but her glance fell anyway, and soon she found herself staring wide-eyed at her father.

He was laying on the floor, eyes on the ceiling as blood spilled out of his chest.

"Don' forget those lit'le brats," the man said in a familiar accent.

Cora tried to shake herself into action, tried to tear her eyes away from her dying father, tried to save herself. Instead, her limbs betrayed her in their inability to move.

"There you are," he said with a sick smile as he brought his gun up, the small circular opening aimed right at her forehead.

Finally, she had regained control of her body. Wordlessly, she had sprinted back into the room, grabbed her sister and squeezed themselves into the smaller staircase that led to the kitchen. As she heard the hollering men ascending the stairs, she slipped silently out the back door.

Never before had she run so hard.

Never before had she felt so guilty shushing her sister, who kept tearfully asking the same question. "Where is father?"

Cora should have taken her sister and found their brother. He was nineteen then, and their elder sister seventeen. Instead, she headed for her aunt's house. It was what she had thought of first, despite her father and uncle's falling out, and by the time she realized she should have found her brother, they were almost there. Besides, she had thought, Nuala and Robert would no doubt reunite them with their siblings as soon as possible.

But oh, how wrong she had been...

The moonlight was bright now, strong enough that Cora could see all around her. Exhausted, she moved about, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep, but with her hands bound and her whole body attached to a tree, it was a difficult task to accomplish. The fire had since died, leaving only embers, and though it was nearing summer, Cora shivered, wishing for a blanket and a bed. At least that was one indulgence she was allowed back home.

Home. What a funny word. The fact that she had used it so unintentionally to describe the place she lived on a regular basis was almost sickening. Home was a place full of love, full of laughter, life, and hope. Cora had none of those things.

They had been stolen from her.

She and her sister had stayed with her aunt and uncle for a few days. Though Maebh cried often, consoled by Nuala, who was heartbroken enough for herself, Cora was numb to the pain. It still didn't feel real to her.

It was the fourth day when Robert had pulled her aside, whispered "He is coming for you," into her ears. Relief had flooded through her – he had finally found her brother!

But when the men arrived at Robert's door, Cora was confused.

It was only when the tallest of the three, likely the natural leader of the trio, took hold of her arm that she knew something was seriously amiss.

"Robert!" Nuala had screamed, clutching at Cora's free arm as she tried to pull her back. "What in Hell's name do you think you are doing!"

Robert was silent.

Nuala snatched her niece from the stranger's dirty claws.

Cora clutched her, digging her nails into the fabric of her dress.

"I have a debt to pay, you see," her uncle said finally. His voice was ice, his glare somehow even colder. "And what better way to do it than with flesh? She will be much more adaptable, more dexterous than money ever could be. And much more beneficial to the cause."

"I will not allow it," Nuala screamed, pushing Cora and Maebh behind her.

"You have no say, woman. Or do you forget that I am head of this household? I make decisions. Besides, this is for your own good!" As he made his excuses, Nuala shook her head in disbelief. "You should thank me, I leave you the younger one to mother. She's too young for this purpose yet, and not nearly as fair."

Her aunt's fist was hard in Robert's face, delivering a loud crack. "Damn you!"

"You will regret that." Despite their simplicity, those four words were near as threatening as Cora would ever hear.

The stranger moved towards Cora, slowly at first, then with haste. His grip was rough as he dragged her away, wrenching her from Nuala's grasp. Robert held her back, thick arm clasped around her waist as she kicked and screamed, tears running down her face.

As he watched Cora be taken away, it finally dawned on her. It all came together.

"Wait!" She screamed, wriggling away from the stranger's grasp. "It was you," she said pointedly. "You ordered my father killed." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

Robert laughed.

"Very smart for a child, and a girl at that! Perhaps she will serve the Order well."

As Nuala again began her wailing, Robert uttered the last words Cora would hear from him.

"Take her away."

The first night was the hardest. They broke her, defiled her. Left alone on a cold stone floor, all she could think about was her father's body, unguarded and alone in their little home.

Headstrong as she was, she wasn't able to hold out for long. First the denial of food and water, then the restriction of sleep, then the mind games... It wasn't long before she had given in to them, agreed not to fight them. And little by little, they changed her – hardened her, turned her into a cold-blooded killer, fed her information about the enemy, fueled her hatred.

A hatred that had led her here. But if the Templars had given her one thing, it was resilience. She had to be, to survive. And perhaps and was even thankful. Besides, they had also given her the truth about the Assassins, and a chance to avenge what had happened to her, to her siblings, her father. The Assassins had destroyed her life, and so she would destroy anything of them that she could get her hands on – starting with the one laying before her.

Renewed determination, she sat rigidly against the tree, unwilling for sleep to claim her. Sleep was for the weak, and of all things she was, weakness was not one.

As the Assassin stirred, she narrowed her eyes, malevolence and hatred fueling her. If it was the last thing she did, it would be to rip away from him everything him and his Order had taken from her.

A/N: Some pronunciations; Cora's older siblings, Aoife: Ee-fuh and Riordan: Reer-don, Cora's younger sister, Maebh: Mayv, Cora's father, Eamon: Aim-an, and Cora's aunt, Nuala: Noola.