✓ | ✩ louis partridge imagines ✩

maybe / p.m.

please watch the attached video before you start reading :)
TW: graphic descriptions at the very end (murder, blades)

it felt like the journey had taken forever, but the constant surges of anger and adrenaline that coursed through your veins powered you through the italian countryside. the cold metal of the sword tucked under your dress sent shocks of reassurance through your skin every time they came into contact. the feeling was indescribable, knowing your moment to strike had finally come. 

you were born and raised in venice, and growing up, you never knew who your father was. your mother and grandfather refused to speak about him. all you knew was that your parents were wed in florence, but the marriage was annulled shortly after you were conceived and your mother returned to venice alone. he never found out about you. 

throughout the course of your teenage years, the secrets that your family had kept from you slowly turned your blood into gasoline, poisoning you into becoming something deadly. when you were sixteen, everything had been revealed to you by your mother. she told you who your father was, why you never knew him, why he never knew you, and why he was dead. but life had finally given you the chance to get your revenge, with the death of lorenzo de medici and the unsteady succession of his son. 

the match was finally lit, igniting the substance in your veins. 

now at the age of nineteen, with your mother and step-father having recently left to scotland, nothing was stopping you. it was time to claim your title and accomplish what your father couldn't, but more importantly, it was time to avenge him. 

bringing your horse to a trot, you approached the gates of florence with your head hung low. untamed locks of your curly brown hair rebeled against the confines of your cloak's hood, the shadow that it cast across your face made your hazel eyes darken. 

"signorina! per favore, indica la tua attività qui," one of the guard's called out. (miss! please state your business here.)

"trade, gentlemen. i do not wish to be a bother, i'm simply a craftswoman delivering her product," you responded, gesturing to the leather bag tied to your horse that contained a sword, along with a bow and arrow.

"what is your name, and where are you from?"

"eleonora marino, i've traveled here from milan," you shot back with ease, having previously rehearsed what you were going to say so you wouldn't raise suspicion. 

"how long do you plan to stay in florence?"

"no more than one night. i'll be gone by dawn."

"very well, signorina," the guard responded, glancing at a nearby tower where a watchman pulled a set of heavy chains, allowing the guards below to push the doors open with ease.

nodding at the two guards, you tugged at the reins and slowly entered through. the rays of the setting sun painted the buildings and all its inhabitants a beautifual shade of gold. passerbys gave you amicable smiles and the vendors waved at you as you continued through the city. the serene and friendly atmosphere almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do.

almost. 

the tranquility that you once felt quickly vanished as palazzo vecchio slowly came into your view. heat immediately traveled up to your face, your grip on the reins became bone crushingly tight as you approached the spectacle. people nearby gave you odd looks as you stared at the painting on the wall, but you paid them no mind. 

your mother painted a clear image of your father in your head, burning it into your imagination forever. she always told you that you were the spitting image of him, even though you didn't know how accurate her accusations were since you didn't know what he looked like. that was until your eyes traveled to one specific spot on the wall, and you were haunted by the face that you saw in the mirror every day.