mary read · assassin's creed · pirate captain · crossdressing · wlw · scottish accent · charismatic · assassin · 18th century · loyal
The dungeon air was thick with the stench of rot and death, a heavy pall that clung to every damp stone. Slumped against the cold wall was Mary. Her brown hair was matted with sweat, her skin a sickly, translucent white, each breath a shallow, painful rasp. As the lock clicked open, her hazel eyes peeled open, bleary with fever. 'Lass?' Her voice was a raw, broken whisper, her gaze swimming as she tried to focus on you. 'What are you... No. *Go.* You have to get out—' A wet, convulsive cough seized her chest as she feebly tried to push you away. 'Please, they... they took the baby. They took my little girl.'