(note: Story cover has been updated May 2023 :) New chapter covers will be added slowly too)
Catherine Wolfe didn't know why she was chosen, or if she was at all. She only knew she'd been
pulled through time to help a family involved in a war she'd...
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April 30, 1479
Toscana, Italy
"Damn."
Catherine frowned as she looked down at the splotch of black ink on her parchment, blotting out some of the words she had written. She glared slightly at the quill in her hands and set it aside before sighing and putting the paper down. She had made such a good summary of things that had gone on for the past many months, too—something to tell her mother when she got home. Or, rather, if she did. Regardless, she had thought of writing a letter about a week ago, and lamented how she had forgotten the concept almost all together while being so busy scouting and dealing with the Pazzi. She was laden with guilt of course, but worked to remedy it, writing as much as she could while they went about looking for their next target.
Yet, her pen had deemed it time to forget that idea for the moment and impede her work on that particular page. It wasn't too ruined, and she already had a lot written down on the other pages, so it wasn't a total loss. At the very least she figured it could make up for the letters she hadn't written; the last one being so long ago she couldn't even remember. Once back in Monteriggioni she could check the dates, but even the notion of discovering that made her wince. It had been far too long that she'd done right by her mother. Of course, thinking on that made her realize just how long it had been since she'd last seen her.
Three years.
Three long years. It was maybe shy by a few months, but it was still a long, long time. So much had changed, too, and now she wondered if her mother would even recognize her. The redhead sighed again as she pulled a gloved hand off, looking down at the upturned palm. Her hands had remained mostly unmarred thanks to the fact she wore the material, but she could feel some of the rough patches; spot where there had been old scars or blisters. They were very different from the hands she'd come here with, and of course her body had changed even more. She was more of a proper woman now—twenty-two. She had seen the changes in her shape; more rounded hips, slightly thinner waist. Her practice and work had given her more muscular tone as well—along with new scars. She thought she felt a bit taller sometimes, and she swore her face seemed a little narrower, but she couldn't be sure. She rarely gave the time to admire herself, although she'd unconsciously done it a few times before. Personally, she blamed Ezio, and the annoying feelings she had for him.
It was hard to ignore them, though, when he was constantly by her side. Almost every mission; almost every scouting; certainly in every safe house; almost in every bed. For the most part, she was inured to his presence and didn't feel uncomfortable in any way. She trusted him to behave, and it was just something they had to do now. Yet, sometimes it was hard. Of course, it was a wonder how she didn't go insane with some of his antics—his favorite being to go shirtless on warm nights. Those were the worst, and her face burned hotter than her body did from the actual heat of the day. Not to mention he teased her and made a point to "show off" when he undressed, and generally when she least expected it.
