"She lit a fire in the kitchen and removed her clothes. She prepared a pot of boiling water and began to wash her cloak and shirt, scrubbing until the red seeped out of her clothes. Steam rose from the cloth as it was plunged into the water, and then lifted out. The humble fire and its crackling gave the room a familiar glow, and Maria’s deep locks fell loosely around her face. Her hands wrinkled from the water, and the scrubbing brush made them raw, but as she hung the clothes near the fire, the sleeves dripping with water rather than blood, it seemed as if her soul had been cleansed." - Maria, an Assassin's Creed II Fanficition

"A humble room with only a few scattered pieces of furniture and a stove, it mimicked its tenant. Claude was strong and well built, but his hair and his face were free of the wistfulness of his youth, and replaced with the stoic calm of maturity. His eyes tightened at the corners as he examined the chest, and he gingerly lifted the lid to reveal his garb. Although the nineteenth century had brought with it a new era of clothing, the image of the Assassin remained the same." -Claude, an Assassin's Creed Fanfiction

"'Your mother was not loved.'

The pearls slipped down the threads of gold and fell from her shoulder.

'Do you understand?'

Isaac could only watch the pearls fall like rain from her brow.

'You do not.'

White tear drops." -Helena, and Assassin's Creed Fanfiction