Transformations: An Assassins Creed Unity fanfic

Chapter One: There Goes the Baker

France: 1791

           

The warm spring air flowed through the house. Charles sat down at his writing desk, sorting through the mail. All of them were dismissed easily except for one.

            The letter was bound in paper, yellowed with age. Shaking, he turned over the letter to see who it was addressed from. Charles didn't need to do this to know who it was actually from, he could feel it in his gut. As he suspected, there was nothing to say who it was from aside from the sender's insignia.

            Despite the warmth of the house, a chill ran down Charles' spine. He watched over his shoulder, in search of his daughter. She mustn't find out. It would only serve to put her in great danger.

            Eleanor hummed thoughtfully as she made her way through the town. A comfortably warm breeze made its way between the trees. She found herself thankful that she decided to head out when she did.

            Today, she decided, was a good day. The store had finally gotten the new book she put a request in for, she was the first in line to get the preserves, and the bread was made fresh just as she was buying it. Days like these were often far and few between. Part of her couldn't help wondering what atrocities were waiting for her around the corner.

            Perhaps it was a sort of payback. Payback for making her live in this dreadfully boring town with its incredibly cliquish people. Nothing ever happened in the small town and she supposed that was exactly how her father liked it. Except that at least her father still occasionally went on his business trips.

            Eleanor was stuck there. She was stuck with the withering glares the people threw her way. Every single one of them did nothing to hide the fact that she didn't fit in with them, and they made sure she knew it. They treated her father the same way, but he didn't seem to mind it quite as much as she did.  He assured her over and over again that he liked the small town because of its safety and sense of community.

            She pushed the thought from her mind as the small cottage she called home came into view. From the road, she could see their small vegetable garden healthily blooming. Smoke rose from the modest, stone, chimney. Clutching her basket, she hurried inside.

            "Papa, I'm home," she called out into the small room.

            Her father sat down at his writing desk. The desk he had was pushed clumsily into one of the only free corners of the small house. He looked up from the letters he was reading to greet her.

            "Ellie," he smiled at her, "Did you have a fun time in town?"

            "I did, I got everything we needed for supper tonight."

            "Excellent," he smiled, "Give it here and I'll start right away."

            She handed the basket to him. He took it eagerly to the kitchen and got to work immediately on the food. Eleanor followed him, lost in her thoughts.

            "Why the long face?" he chuckled in attempt to lighten the air. Eleanor smiled, but didn't quite seem to feel it. She sighed.

            "It's just," she paused, "Papa, do you think I'm odd?"

            "My daughter? Odd? Wherever would you get an idea like that from?" he questioned, pausing from his work to look at her incredulously. Eleanor chuckled.

            "I don't know," she lied, "It's just that I don't feel like I really fit in here. There's no one I can really talk to."

            "I'm sorry you feel that way, dear, but—"