Chapter Text
Léarna ha always been a timid child. Her mother said she was a 'Restringimento Fiore'. Léarna's mother died when she was six, leaving her with only her father who worked long hours in the bank of Venezia.
Now, at the age of seven, the small girl stood before a magnificent Palazzo. She pulled the cord on the small golden bell and waited patiently, tapping her foot against the floor.
"Léarna!" The large man who answered the door exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around the young girl.
"Papa." Léarna cried, embracing the man as he swung her around in the air.
"Léarna, I would like you to meet my good friend Giovanni." Léarna's father indicated a tall, slim man who had shoulder length, dark hair and a clean shaven face. The man smiled warmly and Léarna smiled back.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir." Léarna curtsied politely, bowing her head before the man.
"The pleasure is all mine, Léarna. Your father has told me much about you. I have a son who I think would make you a good friend. I will have to introduce you." Giovanni smiled as the small girl's face lit up.
"I would very much like that, sir." Léarna smiled and excused herself with the manners of a lady twice her age. She hugged her father and left his office quickly, her happiness still plastered all over her face.
That was the last time she ever saw him. Mario Romano, banker of Venezia, went missing the very next day.
...
"I am leaving, Franco, and that is the end of it." Léarna called back over her shoulder as she sprinted across the red tiles. Suddenly, a tile slipped. She lost her footing and nearly fell to the street below.
"Bastardo!" Léarna cried as her feet tried to find purchase on the sheer face of the building she clung to.
A hand caught hers as she lost her grip and flailed, nearly falling.
"You should be more careful." A smooth voice said as she clambered to her feet.
"Cazzo, Mi dispiace. Thank you." Léarna said, dusting herself off and looking up to see a man dressed in crimson and ochre robes. His face was covered by a dark Carnavale mask.
"Such language." The man smiled, showing that he was joking as he held out a hand.
"Léarna Romano." The girl said, taking his hand.
"La Volpe." He said, before turning and jumping from the rooftop and into a cart of hay. Léarna looked down but was unable to see him in the crowds of thronging Venetians, going about their everyday business, oblivious to her near-death.
"What was that all about?" Franco asked, finally catching up to her.
"He, uh, saved me." Léarna said, turning to Franco.
"You should be more careful up here; that’s another reason that you can't leave. Where will you go? Who’ll look after you?"
Léarna turned to her brother, a stern look on her face "I know a place. I am sorry Franco. Truly, mi dispiace, but I have to leave. Mother is well now and father is perfectly happy. He will simply be happier once I am gone. Goodbye Franco. Don't look for me.”
...
She stood in her bedroom, the window wide open behind her; her method of entrance and escape.
Looking in her mirror she saw a tall, confident woman with short black hair and a small angled face. Her shocking green eyes stared back from beneath her fringe. She tucked a cap onto her head and surveyed the rest of herself.
She wore a simple green cotton tunic and dark breeches. The cotton and broadcloth hid her petite figure as she strapped a leather belt around her waist. She carefully placed her two Sultan's knives and her Stiletto into their sheath's and pulled on her brown, knee high boots, lacing the back quickly. Before leaving she picked up a set of white rosaries that her mother had given her before she died. She wrapped them around her right wrist, buckling a bracer around her left.
She ran her index finger over the scar on her left forearm, then the one across her left cheek. She had gained them whilst preparing for her escape from her abusive surrogate father. The preparation had taken months, starting with learning how to fight with her knives, and then a sword - usually stolen from a guard as she practiced her other skills. There was nobody in town who would train a girl to fight so she had to learn the hard way; picking fights with armed guards and the like. Now she was as proficient as an Assassin, and they knew it.
There was a sound from her window, then a blade at her throat.
"Assassini." She hissed, seeing the ornate nature of the blade at her throat and the bracer around his wrist.
"I have been told you pick fights with us simply for fun." The Assassin remarked, holding the girl tightly.
Léarna froze. She knew that voice.
"Giovanni?" She asked, moving the blade from her throat as the Assassin loosed his grip.
"Léarna?"