"Look upon me and fear," he commanded. Some of the more pious dropped their pike and fell immediately to their knees. "I look upon you and I dismay. I give you Justice and Retribution, and you sell indulgences." Grant held onto the pulley that bore Fitz aloft. She was freezing, covered in the burn oil, half naked. She was pretty sure she smelled awful.

"Behold, the Messenger is nigh!"

She let out a scream as Hanover lit the oil. It was a strange sensation, to be ablaze, but not burn. The paper wings she wore ignited quickly as she descended into the clearing. The heat threw her hair around her face, her robe fluttering as it burned around her, eyes turned upward. Grant realized she hadn't looked beautiful at all until this moment. His reverie was broken by his palms sweating so badly, he lost the cable. Burke watched coolly as she hit the ground hard. Grant cursed at himself.

"Messenger, give them the might and fury of the Lord and remind them of their place." Yusef tugged onto his line, signaling Burke to prepare to launch. "She shall live amongst you and offer you salvation to the worthy and retribution to those who deserve punishment." The leader rose into the air and within two seconds, the group abandoned her to her mission. The lights, amps everything, gone. Silence and darkness.

Time to work. Fitz lay in the dirt, flaming wings turning to dust, choking on the ash while unhitching the tiny cable that held her. Several of the men crowded around her, looking in the trees of the orchard for the others they would never find or see again.

"Give her air!" someone called out. A soldier spread his arms to back up the crowd who were trying to get a glimpse of the supposed angel. She purposely blew into the dirt, kicking it up into her eyes to blind herself momentarily. She scratched at her face out of instinct, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, the rest of the robe falling away. The oil still ran down her back from her hair. She wheezed and reached up, crying in some nonsensical language for them to come back. Torches were coming this way. She collapsed into the dirt again, and the crowd crushed around her again.

"What is all of this?" a man on a horse called to the crowd. Some near the edge, turned toward him, as if he was waking them up from a dream they didn't want to leave.

"An angel, Signore! An angel fell from Heaven to save the righteous and punish the wicked!" A flurry of prayers began around the middle.

"An angel? You're mad!" The man slid down from his horse and pushed his way through the crowd. In the center was a nude young woman, eyes streaming, covered in dust, head to toe.

"You, girl! What is the meaning of this?" he addressed her roughly. Fitz wasn't worried. She knew the crowd would never allow him to touch her. Women were pulling at his jacket, screeching for him to get back. She decided to have some fun. She kept asking him "Where am I?" in a rush of about nine or ten languages, getting increasingly terrified as he did not understand any of them. A couple perked up at the phrase in French, but she continued through to their home Italian.

"Roma, fair one!" a woman shouted. "You are in Rome!"

Fitz sat for a moment, puzzled slightly, as if trying to make her brain understand the concept of Rome. She let the light turn on in her eyes. "Roma," she whispered. She climbed to her feet, unsteady. Grant had managed to knock the air out of her when he dropped her. She wasn't going to let that one go. She stumbled forward dramatically, clutching onto the jacket of the man demanding answers from her. She looked up. Fitz gasped audibly.

"Auditore," she breathed. He looked equal parts mystified, skeptical, murderous, and humbled, all changing in instants. She couldn't decide which to capitalize on first.

"You know my name? Who sent you? Speak!" Ezio pushed her away from him. Was it revulsion? Fear? She let herself be thrown to the ground. A chorus of wailing started around him and her. Fitz reached up for him, but was blocked by another man.

"Please! Get her something to cover herself!" Women clucked and men tried to quickly look away. Some even managed to. Fitz decided this angel had no need of shame, since it wasn't she who bit the apple. She climbed to her feet again as a couple of shawls were wrapped around her.

"Thank you," she said, peacefully touching each woman on the face. They lapsed into crying and prayers. Other followed suit. She kept her eyes fixed on the legendary Assassin, who in turn, was appraising her. He was still a young man, but he wasn't supposed to be in Rome until right before he killed Roderigo. So much of the time line changed, it could already be. Maybe he was here for her. Was he a believer of The Messenger?

"I am here to call upon the secret and bring true guidance," she said. He didn't betray any feeling about it. The crowd murmured about this. She held his gaze. "Am I the one you seek?"

Ezio thought about drawing down on her. This slip of a woman knew the prophecy, so she must be a member, mustn't she? Maybe she was sent as a prank. A trap? He opened his mouth to denounce her, but there was a gunshot. The crowd of witnesses screamed and parted after a pair of carriages emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Borgias rattled up the path. Armed soldiers backed the crowd up as they pulled in front of her. Ezio backed away and disappeared in the crowd. She could sense his rage rising, still seeking his revenge for his family. Not just yet, Ezio.

A large man clambered out of the carriage, followed by a younger man. Roderigo and Caesare? She toward the second and saw the silhouette of another.

"I demand to know what happened here." She fought the urge to stand toe to toe with him. Fitz looked at him like a child staring at a fish tank. A sense of wonderment and superiority, while being humbled by it. At least, that what she was trying to convey.

"She fell from Heaven!" A voice called. There were shouts of agreement. "We all saw!"

Caesare scoffed. "Surely this is some ruse! This little whore has you all fooled!"

"I am the Messenger. I bring the true guidance," she said. She kept her face soft, but her voice loud and clear. Cesare frowned. Did he not know? He snarled at her and raised his arm high to slap her down, but Roderigo caught him by the wrist.

"Father!"

"No, Cesare! If she is, we need to treat her like the most precious treasure, the most delicate glass." Roderigo leaned in and in a low voice, whispered "She will be our undoing otherwise." He turned his attention to her. "Yes, Holy Messenger. Please, let us bring you to comfort and hospitality." The smile he gave her seemed like that of a salesman. She winced inwardly but returned his smile. She stepped toward the two men and the elder put an arm around her and helped her into his carriage. The crowd again crushed into see her one last time. Fitz extended her arm through the portal, feeling a thousand grasping fingers at once. Roderigo signaled to his men to back them up. Roderigo followed her up, causing the carriage to shift and rock.

"Cesare, ride with your sister," he commanded. Again, Cesare had been denied. He did not hide his loathing from his father, slamming the door shut. Fitz looked through the ornate paneling. She saw faces, hands reaching for her. She could not find Auditore.

"How are we to address you?" Roderigo asked as the coach lurched forward. Shouts for the rabble to move away and pleas for salvation were all she heard. She turned toward him in a moment. He was watching her expectantly.

"I was not listening. Forgive me," she smiled. "You said...?"

He smiled tightly. Borgia was not used to being ignored, much less by a young woman. "I asked you your name, Messenger."

She perked up at the use of her title. "You may call me Messenger, if you like."

"But your name?" Was he trying to humanize her? She looked out the paneling again. "I have none. I have existed forever but have had no need for one," Fitz said flatly.

"You must have a name, Messenger." His tone was measured, but his body language was tending toward impatience.

"Then please lend me one, if it matters so greatly to you." She sat rigidly in the compartment, trying to figure out how to keep from bouncing around as the carriage clattered along the dirt road, heading for the city.

"I do not deign to name a heavenly being." Roderigo put a hand to his chest, shaking his head. False modesty.

"Do not waste my time." She half-stood and flung the door open. He shouted the driver to halt which happened in about ten paces. The horses reared slightly and whinnied. She looked out into the dark. A man had stopped walking along the road, to avoid the carriage. "You! Man! I have no name! Give me one?"

He seemed thunderstruck, not sure how to appraise the scene. A woman with honey-colored hair, barely clothed, in a coach bearing the heraldry of the Borgia. Was that Borgia himself? Aristocrats... "Pardon, my lady?"

"What name would best fit me?"

He stopped and thought. His expression went soft in a hurry. "Aurelia?"

"Is that your answer?"

"Yes."

"Thank you very much. Bless you!" With that she shut the door and resumed her seat opposite Roderigo, who could not believe what he had just witnessed. "You may call me Aurelia."