A/U: Bleh, I was planning on updating this like a week ago, but school caught up to me again, and… um… I was busy going through AC2 for the 2nd and 3rd times… -shot-

SO, anyway, I actually decided to do a little research before writing this whole thing. I went and looked up "Mary-Sue" on Urban Dictionary, just so I could make sure mine was not one, and the gist of what I understand is that it's an OC that represents the author, and the story is for the author's own 'pleasures'. Okay. Ew. First off, at the end of the Prologue, I put "Tragedy", which means, of course, my OC dies. No, not a spoiler, because when tragedy is mentioned, you're supposed to know.

Do I want to die? No. No I don't D: Also, she's not emo, a prep, the STAR 'look-at-me' person, and… well, whatever else a Mary-Sue consists of. The only thing Mary-Sue I can see about her is that she has a tragic past, but hey, in reality, some people do and are not little whiny biatches. :I

I also did a little research on the Renaissance. I took out about 4 books about the 1400s and am currently finishing up the third one. So, if there are any errors in my portrayal of culture or anything, just tell me, incase I haven't read enough xD;

Also, try not to get bored while reading. If you're waiting for the part where Ezio enters, well… that's about three quarters in. –killed- I really wanted to develop my OC, as I will have to get used to doing this once I write novels and stuff (Hopefullyyyy)

And on a last note, I've decided to write the whole fanfic in first person. I need to try new techniques, so tell me what you think!

(Also, there are a bunch of symbols here, try and spot them xD)

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed 2 or any of its characters… -pets Ezio statue- Lolwut.

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It was 1480, as I recall, when my story began. I was seventeen at the time-at an age that my mother believed was the time to find my "true love", so she sent me out into the streets to help with the family business more often.

My family, if you couldn't tell by my surname, came from a long line of tailors, starting with a simple servant girl from Ireland. From the stories passed down through many generations, she'd been the illegitimate child of a nobleman and a nun (Whether it was of her choice or rape, no one knows), and so, lacking a surname, the man that had bought her once she was of working age (Some Italian nobleman that was fond of traveling was what I was told) gave her the simple title of "Sarta", as she'd had a strange talent with a needle and thread. She later had an illegitimate child--by choice--and, not wanting to give up her son, she gave him her surname and took care of him until he was sold in Italy.

It was somewhere between then and now that my family's tailor business had started in Venice, as well as the reason for my peculiar orange hair and green eyes. It shocked my parents a great deal when they saw this, seeing as our Irish heritage was so far gone. It was by pure luck that I happened to take on these traits. Well, misfortune, in my opinion, for wherever I went, men and women alike gawked at me as though I was some sort of object that was incomprehensible to the human mind. Hah! My mother wanted me to find a man and yet every one in existence was afraid that they would burn to death by just standing a few inches too close.

Enough with that. I meant to go on to say that the business was from my father's side, despite the fact that he'd become a doctor. The shop had been given to my uncle, who, unfortunately, had died of a terrible illness. I remember my father refusing to work for a while afterwards, not believing in his abilities because he hadn't been able to save his own brother.

So, still mourning but somewhat excited, we took over the business. Our finances were going downhill, especially after the birth of Dante, my younger brother, now just six years old, and just the fact that Enrico, my older brother, could not find work… we could not live off of just my father's pay, so the death of my uncle, though this thinking is somewhat morbid, saved us from certain poverty.

We all worked then, to keep the family together. Enrico, three years older than I, sat at the front desk of the store and was the one to listen to people's orders, take the clothing that was to be dyed or modified, and bring it to the backroom, where my mother and I would work. Dante was able to help here and there, since he was no longer a complete infant. Six hands were better than four, of course.

I was often told that I'd not only inherited the appearance of my ancestor, but her talent as well. My father would often sit down with Enrico and I and tell us the basics of medicines and healing, incase he was not around.

Little did I realize that these skills would be the very reason I would survive for as long as I did.

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"Lucrezia, we don't have much blue dye left, and the water we have is getting dirty. Would you mind fetching some from the dealer?" I knew this was far from a question, and it was expected often from me at this time of the year.

Our little shop resided near the border of the San Polo and Dorsoduro districts, just west of the Canal Grande, and since the Carnevale was fast approaching, many men and women flocked at Tailor store windows to get the most fancy colors and designs in Venice so that they were noticed amongst the vast amounts of masked faces. As a tailor, I worked to promote our services, often sent out by my family wearing an assortment of dresses. While most could mistake me as a simple noblewoman on a stroll, it was my hair that signified my occupation. My appearance was well known in the southern parts of Venice by now, seeing as it had been about half a decade since I'd started this promotional route. If there were foreigners or simply people who resided in the northern parts of Venice, they would ask others who I was if my dress caught their attention. This had been how our shop silently became the most well known tailor business in southern Venice.

I said goodbye to my mother quickly, grabbing my own hand-made dress for this year and slipping it over my kirtle before exiting the backroom, ducats tucked safely in a pouch out of sight. I smiled gently at Enrico when he turned to see who had left the backroom. "How's business doing today?" I asked simply.

"Shouldn't you know? You and mother are the ones doing the work." He grinned. I pointed out obviously that he never mentioned how much we were paid for each task and the tips that were given for our work. I was a bit confused for a second when he looked around, as if making sure no one was looking. He pulled out a small chest from under the counter. I heard coins clink together as he put his hand inside it, and after getting what he wanted, he put the chest back in it's place, walked closer to me and took my hand. I felt the cold sensation of coins against my palm, and when I took my hand from his, I found a sum of 100 shining ducats resting against my fingers.

"Enrico, this is…!" He shushed me before I could finish.

"The rich have been very generous to us this week, and I think it is because your skills as a tailor are still growing. This is your reward, sister. Go and treat yourself." I gave him a peck on the cheek and left, looking back to wave with a smile. He waved back, and didn't stop until I turned a corner.

It didn't take too long for the women to eye my dress with greed or jealousy. I'd tried a different approach this year--risking the line between civil clothing and offensive. It was not often that a woman would show much of her kirtle; maybe the gown would have short sleeves, with the kirtle's long ones reaching the wrists, and nothing more than this. This year, I had deliberately cut out a quarter of the left side of my dress. A full leg's length of the kirtle was visible, the material itself being a scarlet red, when usually it was white or a tan color. The gown and shoes were a very Venetian blue; very pale, almost verging on white. The reason for this was to keep some of the style that signified it as Venetian clothing. I added a belt-like design around the waist, which was multiple shades of green, the design trailing down the side of the dress that was still intact. And of course, the sleeves were short, the scarlet kirtle's sleeves reaching down to my wrists. The neckline of the dress was low, but still civilized.

Though, the design of the dress was not what I valued the most. It was the hair ornament that I always had with me. It was shaped like a comb, and I often used it to keep the front of my hair on the back of my head. A family heirloom, my father told me. He said the gold form and the small rubies that dotted the design were almost as valuable as our household (The tailor shop) itself. I treasured it, only willing to wear it in places I knew, and only during the Carnevale. This was out of caution, and the fact that 'laws' stated that it was forbidden for middleclass men and women to wear valuable material, whether it be silk or expensive jewelry.

It was not a long walk from the store that I called home to get to the market where our dealer resided. I took the supplies quickly, sighing after realizing that I'd have to come back for the rest, and headed back the way I came. I never lingered in the market, for our dealer was rather strange. Never did I speak a word in front of him. He looked like a thug, with his sweaty brow and wide, threatening stance. He was content with my silence, I suppose, for he didn't bother striking up a conversation.

I stopped suddenly when turning the corner of an ally that lead to my street. It was often that I took this route, but the air felt… heavy somehow, as if some invisible force kept me from going forward.

"They're disrupting our business…"

I stepped back into the ally and pressed myself against the wall, realizing to whom this voice belonged. It was the threatening whispers of the clerk who manned another Tailor shop, just down the street from our own. The people who owned this large business (Twice the size of our shack) were those of the rich, using their sales as a way of gaining money they didn't need. It wasn't surprising that they had opened their store just three years ago, when our own finances began to increase. It was obvious in my eyes that they had been planning to outsell us, but despite their attempts, quality ruled over quantity.

I glanced around the corner to peek at the conversation between the two, immediately disappearing back behind the wall, as I realized I was eavesdropping on some sort of plan. This was not a man, but men the clerk spoke with.

Guards to be precise.

"Excuse… selling poison instead of medicine… whole family is conspiring… Take. Them. Out."

This was the gist of what I heard, as it was hard to hear over the crowds that roamed the streets of Venice. My heart began to quicken. Medicine. My father was a doctor… could they mean him? My family… They were plotting against them!

"Here are 1000 ducats. Now go and do as I told you!" Those were his last words as I heard the clinking of money. The guards ran passed the corridor before I could stop them. I followed them, but from afar so as to not get their attention. They reached the end of the street, and I froze. My eyes were wide, and blood seemed to seep through my fingertips, leaving me cold and dumb. They stopped, as I had guessed, in front of Enrico, just as he took in an order.

Their words were muffled, but from what my ears could register, they were using the lie that my father was selling poison as medicine. I strained to hear the confused protests of my brother, and before more than ten words slipped from his lips, he was silenced.

My throat was dry and I couldn't scream. All my body would allow was for my blinded eyes to stare as my brother was impaled by a guard's sword, his blood spilling over the counter as his body fell limp against the blade. The guard pulled it from his chest, and he fell, out of my sight.

This was a dream, wasn't it? Just a stupid nightmare! I tried to blink myself awake, but my eyes would not shut.

At that moment, my father walked down the other side of the street. He protested, yelled for Enrico, and was slaughtered before a bigger fuss was created. I could feel my breath becoming erratic now. If this was a dream, why couldn't I wake up? Why couldn't I move my body and control what the hell was going on? I felt like I was trapped in someone else, forced to watch this tragedy with my own family as the players.

I suddenly came back to reality when two of the guards that had disappeared into the back emerged. Their hands were not empty.

First was my mother, killed the same way as Enrico, and then… Then there was Dante… His throat was sliced… They let him choke and suffer! A child of only six years!

I screamed. I screamed as loud as my body would permit. It was the scream I'd been holding in for those passed few minutes. I dropped the box of materials and clamped my hands over my mouth, but it was too late. They saw me. One pointed, and they all came running.

I don't know how I got away, but I did. Whether they lost me or didn't bother following me, I couldn't tell. All I did was run. Why did I run? I don't know. At that time, it seemed as though my life was over. My family was dead, and I had nothing except for money that Enrico had given me… the last time I ever saw him… There wasn't any possibility of me starting over, even if I did earn enough money. I was a woman, and therefore not allowed to own a home or land.

So why did I run? Why did I decide to live? I thought… I thought for a long time, with no answer.

I thought for four years, until the answer appeared before my eyes.

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1484. I couldn't recall what day it was. I was roaming the streets, aimlessly, but at the same time, with a goal. I no longer had my overgown, as it was a nuisance to wear anyway. My kirtle and chemise were the only things I kept. The kirtle, not surprisingly, had lost most of its scarlet color from so many years. It was a color verging on its original white, but the last few inches still retained their full vibrance.

How had I survived for so long? Well, luck, I suppose. It did not take me long to recover from the death of my family and to realize that I needed to do something for myself to survive. But, I wanted to do so in a way that would not sacrifice my morals. I would never sell out my body, especially for the rich snobs who lusted for anything with breasts. Stealing was out as well. I wasn't willing to take away the money that was rightfully earned by whoever it was. So, how had I survived?

I worked.

I distanced myself from where I used to live and asked other tailors (Or doctors, if I was desperate) if they needed an assistant; someone to help in the back. I was often turned down, always by the rich folk, the excuse often being my poor appearance and because I was a woman. Whenever I did work, though, it wasn't for more than a few weeks. I did not blame them for throwing me out, though. They told me bluntly that they did not have the money to pay me. I left without making a fuss, and used whatever I had earned from my work to buy food.

There was one period of time, though, that I could have died. I suppose it was about two years back, but for some reason, no one would hire me. I was on my own for almost a month, spending and eating little to preserve what I had, but it did not last long enough. On the last few days of my personal recession, I became desperate. I was thirsty, and did not have a single ducat. So, in complete stupidity, I drank straight from the Venetian canals, despite their contaminated state. I paid for this dearly, becoming ill to the point that I felt Death's touch.

Somehow I recovered, and in fear of it happening again, I sold the very thing that I valued the most. It was the hairpin my father had given me; the last piece of evidence that kept me bound to my family.

Not surprisingly, it fetched a reasonable sum in the market, enough that I did not have to work for two months. But, after those two months, I was back to working again, like each day, trying to survive for some hidden cause.

I myself did not want to be the only one looking for my reason, so I often used some of my ducats for others. I bought apples, and I gave them away.

Does this seem pointless? Not in my eyes. I gave the apples to the poorest of the poor, those who had given up on life and were waiting for death to take them, rotting in an ally. They would always take an apple. Strange, considering they were waiting to die, correct? The apple, in my eyes, was not just food. It was a symbol.

Temptation. It was a temptation to live. The poor take an apple because deep down, they want to live, for something they don't know. So, maybe if I couldn't find my way, I would help them find their reason for survival.

This is why I walked aimlessly, but with a purpose. I looked for them, a small basket of apples in hand, hoping to find my answer. Well, on that specific day, it may have found me.

I heard people gasping and screaming somewhere behind me, and, thinking nothing of it, I continued. The screams made their way closer, so in some strange fear, I turned to see the threat that approached. There was nothing. I furrowed my brow, looking at the terrified crowd. They were gawking upwards, strangely, so I looked up. I blinked.

A man in a hood ran across the rooves, two archers with their swords unsheathed chasing him, shouting profane words of slaughter and gore. They were gaining on him, and in a blind rush, he took the quickest route of escape; jumping down. When I said blind, I meant this, as he didn't look where he jumped, which happened to be, well, straight towards me.

I crashed to the ground before I could move out of his way. The basket of apples fell with me, fruit rolling all across the brick street. I gasped from the impact, feeling a sharp pain across my spine. My eyes, still open, were blurred but trained on the face of the hooded man. I could only see his jaw, and the scarred mouth that smirked down at me. I blinked forcefully a couple times, and within one of those blinks, he'd disappeared. I stood, in a daze, feeling sore and bruised from the sharp stone. A guard suddenly grabbed my shoulders and shook me into reality.

"Where did he go!? Which way!?" he spat, clearly aggravated that he'd lost his target. I thought for a moment, but I wasn't contemplating whether to tell the guard or not. I was wondering what the most effective way to distract them was, so that the man could get away. I hated the guards, of course, and was sure that there was some reasonable explanation for him to disrupt these guards… but also, strangely, I was intrigued, and my mind was telling me that I had to help him before it was too late.

With what little time I had, I decided that I would steal. I looked the guard straight in the face, and with a quick swipe, stole the bag of ducats that hung from his belt. I bolted, hopefully in the opposite direction of the hooded stranger. Success! The guards came after me, so it was clear that his offense was not as great as what I had just done.

I ran for a quite a bit, my breaths becoming short and winded. As soon as I turned a corner and was out of their sights, I hid within a large crowd, walking as they did and with my head down. Thankfully most of the people around me were taller than I, for I was sure my orange hair, though it had become more of an auburn color, would single me out.

I waited for a few minutes after I heard them leave, making sure they were a far enough distance so that I could walk freely. I sighed, and suddenly caught my breath. I remembered that the weight in my hand was not my basket of apples but… money.

I clenched the moneybag in my hand and cursed. What the hell was wrong with me? I stole! I stole for some stranger I would never see again! Broke one of the morals that I'd been following for the passed four years… simply for that man…

I swore under my breath, deciding that I would use the money to replace the apples I had lost. There was no sense in returning it to the guard, seeing as how I stole it from him in the first place, and throwing the money away was a waste. I would not be using it for myself, at least.

Though… Strangely… I did not regret stealing as much as I thought I would. I'd gotten over it within a few minutes. The thought of stealing from citizens and innocents still chilled me to the bone, but…

Stealing from guards, however…

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"Stop her! Stop her now!"

People screaming. Guards running. Swords unsheathed. Adrenaline rush.

It had only been a few days since the incident with the hooded man, and already my mind was warped. This was the fifth time I'd stolen from a guard since then, simply to buy apples for the dying. The other three times, I'd gotten away with stealing without being noticed, but this time I was unlucky, as some other guards had seen my grubby little hands.

My eyes blurred with every pulse of my heart, and I could hardly comprehend my surroundings. All I could do was run and hope the guards would lose me. I cursed at my kirtle for being so inconvenient for running, and myself for being so short of breath. I used the same technique as the other day. I ran around a corner and into an alleyway. There was no crowd, so I looked for other options. Just to my left was some abandoned store. Immediately I climbed over the counter and hid under it, holding my breath and hoping the guards would not look inside. I heard them run passed, yelling words of confusion from my sudden disappearance. As their voices drifted into the distant streets, I looked around the abandoned store, assuming I was safe for a few minutes.

Books were piled in corners and on shelves, their pages and covers blanketed in a layer of dust. It was odd that I had stumbled upon this library, as they were very rare. I stood, noticing a door that lead to a backroom. Curious, I opened it. The rusty hinges creaked, sending a small echo through the short hallway it led into. It was surprising to find that this hall lead into two other rooms, where usually there was only one for storage. There must have been someone living there who made their home a library. I stepped inside, the floorboards creaking as I did so. I chose the left room first, opening the door to find a small mattress in the corner, with a desk beside it. So many books were stacked in this room that I could only open the door halfway, so I assumed it was a study and a storage room. Closing the door, I entered the room opposite the corridor.

I stood silently in the doorway, confused. The room itself was not baffled me; it looked like a bedroom, a bed in the center of the room with the headboard against the wall, a desk in the corner, and other such things that made the room feel like a living space. What seemed strange to me was that there was a quilt, brand new and almost shining in this room that was covered in dust. Like a fly to a fire, I stepped closer to it. I set the money and basket of apples on the desk near the door unconsciously, letting my feet drag me over to the bed to feel the fabric. I hadn't felt new fabric in so long… It was comforting… familiar… safe…

There was a creak in the front room. I felt my heart stop for a second, but immediately I grabbed the quilt, hid under the desk and covered the opening with it. Conscious thought kicked in, and I swore, realizing of course, that the quilt would stand out.

The door creaked open. My heart beat in unison with the heavy footsteps of whoever had walked in. I held my breath, realizing that it could be the guard I'd stolen from. It was silent for a few moments, and then a crunch. The bite of an apple. A few moments later I heard the clinking of coins. There was a chuckle. It was silent, but gruff, signifying a man's presence. He put the moneybag in his pocket. I scowled.

Greed.

"Is anyone here?" The man's voice echoed. I flinched from his sudden booming voice, which in turn moved the quilt. The shuffling of a boot was heard. He'd turned to look down. Shit! He was going to find me, and I was going to die…

I felt the weight of his foot step onto a piece of the quilt that rested on the floor. He tugged it lightly, and then his foot was gone. Nothing happened.

Complete silence settled in the room. His breathing had stopped. No footsteps were heard.

Suddenly, the blanket was ripped from my hands. I closed my eyes and screamed in horror, waiting for the worst. His hand covered my mouth, but I screamed anyway, thrashing my legs in some strange hope that it would help me escape. His other hand grabbed my wrist.

"Calm down. Why are you here?" His voice was completely calm, as if he was used to such antics. I stopped screaming but kept thrashing. He removed his hand from my mouth, and I yelled, "Stop, don't hurt me! You-!" I opened my eyes. Immediately, I stopped struggling. "You…"

It was him.

We both stared in silence for a few seconds, and then he smirked. "What? Have I charmed you already?" He teased. He let go of my wrist and reached for the hair on my face to move it behind my ear. I scowled again, slapping his hand away.

Lust.

"Don't touch me." I hissed, moving my hair behind my ear anyway. He chuckled, but abruptly stopped.

"You… You're that woman that I crushed a few days back!" He realized, amused and completely oblivious to the fact that I was angry.

"Yeah, I'm still aching from that, you bastard." I spat. I tried to slap him in the face, but his hood got in the way. He grinned at my attempt and stood, proceeding to take a glove off his hand.

"Thanks for the landing, though. No idea how I got away from those guards so easily. They're relentless here." He grumbled, trying to strike up some pointless conversation.

"I stole from them, that's why." I admitted, "And I've been stealing from guards since then."

"Oh, so you're a thief?" He inquired. I gave him a look from under the desk.

"No. Actually, I hate stealing. I just… during that time I felt… I needed to help." He was about to take his hood off, but he stopped, instead walking to his bed and sitting down. He sighed silently.

"If you need somewhere to sleep, I have no problem with you using the other room. Just don't walk in here unannounced." He stated. I blinked, not saying anything for a few moments.

"Lucrezia." I mumbled. He looked up, somehow seeing me through his hood. "My name. It's Lucrezia. Who are you?" He sighed again.

"I never asked for your name." He stated matter-of-factly. He threw the apple he'd taken a bite from towards me, and turned, lying down to face the other wall. I caught the apple, absently taking a forceful bite from the side he hadn't bitten. It had been a long time since I'd felt this emotion. It was wild. I could feel my face heat up, and my teeth clenched. This man…

I hated his guts.

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A/U: So, was it okayyyyy? (I always ask that question, sorry xD; ) I'm hoping it was, and that whoever is reading this is at least SLIGHTLY excited for the next chapter. Whether it's to enjoy the fanfic, or to read about my OC dying, well, I don't mind either, as long as I've intrigued you to read more xDDD

Reviews are always welcome and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! And again, no flaming. If it's about my OC, don't tell me she's retarded or stupid. Just tell me how I can improve her :3

And, if for some reason I can't update until after, Happy Holidays!

(Also, tell me what you think the symbols are and what they stand for~ I want to know if they're obvious enough xD; )