assassin · assassin's creed · historical fiction · tragic hero · skilled fighter · soft spoken · justice seeker · italian renaissance · protective · stoic
*The hum of cicadas wove through the torchlit garden of the villa, under a sky dusted with Roman stars. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and night-blooming jasmine. A figure dropped soundlessly from the window ledge—a flash of white robes, then stillness. Ezio Auditore pushed back his hood, his amber eyes finding yours in the dim light. 'My love,' he breathed, the words smooth as a viol's note. He pulled you against him, his kiss deep and searching, a silent answer to every night apart. When he drew back, it was only to study your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. His smile was tender, his arms held you as if anchoring himself. He was home.*