#Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Alternative Universe Journal 3

It is two of my OCs together in this AU Journal. There are no warnings in this one, just some soft reading.

29th of March, 1755

My dear Amias,

Take heed of this note and meet me in our special place. One where your land meets my land. Shall we plant a beautiful tree where our garden will be pure bliss? I would like to know what we will do in the future. Is the spot the end of our long stories, or is it only the beginning of our chapter? 

I know this is a short letter, a dear letter to you, but hopefully, the smell soothes all your aches and worries. 

From your secret love, Enola.

It was today that I was able to reunite with Amias after writing this note a few days prior.

Amias, who spoke one of the countless Native languages as Ayenwatha, made his way to our secret location. It was the perfect setting for a romantic date. One that was encircled by stunning, towering trees, ones that had exquisite springtime blooms, and wildflowers that seemed to pop up everywhere.

I opted to wear a more appropriate outfit for this occasion. In this attire, I may have looked like a low-class vendor, but I knew he would not care. He had to survive differently than I did, after all. I have on a dark blue dress that does not have the elaborate busts and undergarments of a fancy noble gown, a white apron that is knotted perfectly around my waist and chest to keep this dress from getting ruined, and a pair of handmade boots from the local tailor that are ideal for gardening. I do not wear jewelry of any kind, and I do not wear my hair in a flawless bun. Even though it seems risky, I always wear makeup of some kind. I decided not to wear makeup today, and the few servants I had gave me the look that indicated they should avoid spending too much time with me because they saw something so exotic. 

To my surprise, he was not there when I finally found the location where I had asked him to meet me. I glanced above and around the trees but could not find him. Rather than get all worked up about being here before him, I got down on my knees and neatly ironed my dress so it would not get in the way of my gardening. 

I work for a few minutes, pulling weeds and pulling wildflowers off the trees. Then, wiping the perspiration from my forehead with the back of my sleeve, I quietly sigh as I turn to face the work I completed. However, I realize that I see a very familiar face from atop the trees, gazing down in my direction. He hops down from the thick branch he is sitting on to stand in front of my hunched figure as soon as he sees me.  

“I was wondering when you would be here.” I will always hold a particular place in my heart for his gentle voice. There are so many deep emotions that I feel just by hearing it again. 

I joke back, "I was thinking you would be here sooner." His lovely face appears confused as I make my statement, and he tilts his head slightly. “I was here earlier. A few minutes earlier, so it seems.” 

“You did?” My expression is now one of perplexity. "Yes, along with a surprise." I watch as his bewilderment turns into a smile. 

Here, I find myself staring at his toned physique and the perfect way the sun hits him to make him appear like a gift from nature. The way his pants fit his waist in the right places, down to his bare feet. What would this man look like under a waterfall? Whoever his gods are, I wish I could thank them right now. 

I saw him climb up the tree to where he was dangling just a few minutes earlier. I follow his finger, which leads to a smooth-surfaced, rocky cliff overlooking a verdant hill. 

"There, let us meet." 

His feet start to move with the trees as soon as his voice starts to diminish, giving the impression that he is a formidable force. I was astonished by his movements for a moment before trying my best to follow him along the trees. But as I approach the final tree, I stumble and nearly bump my head on the branch below, but I am saved by an odd sensation of strong arms and their copper glow. My cheeks turned bright red at the thought that a handsome stranger had saved me. It was then that I realized it was Amias, and I felt relieved that I was not unconscious for our secret date. 

"I should teach you how to run through the branches, sweetheart." His chuckle reaches a part of my mind that causes my back to shiver with delight. With a small chuckle of my own, I soon am put down on my feet with his guidance. 

Throughout the rest of the day, we stayed in that very spot with a steady breeze in the trees and our hair. At these special moments, all I can think about is him as we eat from what extra he gathered with the other tribe women from this morning. When the sun starts to set, I lay my head on his shoulder while I feel his head lay on top of mine. I feel his arm wrapped around my waist.

“You are my night. When I cannot sleep, there you are, out in the open, gazing at me.” I feel his hand move up to my side, and I feel his lips press against the top of my head. As I gaze at the reds, the purples, and the yellows of the sunset, I can’t help but wonder if this could be the night to ask if I can have him stay with me. 

Instead, I am met with his counter-question, a hushed tone of voice that I can not resist: "Will you sleep under the stars with me?"

My gaze shifts to his wonderful smile and beautiful brown eyes, which are fixed on the sunset. How come he looks so good? How does he do it so consistently? I have many questions about this mystery he keeps to himself. If I had the guts to ask all of these questions, I would. Perhaps another day. 

I wonder how I look from his point of view. Must I embody everything he sees? More thoughts appear to permeate my mind, but they all fade away when my eyes recognize him as the light of my life. His hand reaches out and touches my cheek, and I lean into it. All of my worries, stresses, doubts, fears, and bad dreams vanish. 

I begin to close my eyes, still leaning my cheek against his touch. Then, a split second after my eyes have fully closed, I lean in closer to him. I see his face change from a flirtatious, charming grin to one of surprise and curiosity. He is now lying on the cliff's flat stone surface, while I am on top of him. After a quiet moment as the day fades into night, the stars glisten as our lips press against each other, sending me into a deep state of bliss and joyful pleasure. 

I slept with him under the stars that night, as he requested. I did not say anything more.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

I wish the alternative version would’ve happened to be honest. I was naive, a child, manipulative, and obsessed with this man. I mean, I still am, but I won’t go all, “You hurt me by going to the love of your life. Date me or I’ll never forgive you and leave the Order and betray you!” kind of thing. I’ve learned a lot just by being at his side, and I regret a lot of things. That was one of them. 

-Enola

(Author’s Note: Reblogging the story because I edited it)

Enola Rossingol’s Journal:

Rejection (Alternate Version)

This is part 2 of Enola’s Rossingol’s journal entries. This time, it’s if she was rejected by Haytham, instead of giving in to her. I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Angst, Sadness

1755, Green Dragon Tavern, August 5th

I should have wrote this entry yesterday. Though, now I may seem fairly silly and filled with selfish desires that I acted upon quickly that day, I still tend to think to myself, how could I have gone so, so, mindless? This is not the girl I was raised up as, to follow unwillingly another man because of love? How stupid can I be? Very, it seems. Even now, I feel a creeping presence, and this makes my bones quiver.

To Haytham, a letter that will never reach you. I only wish to give you my sincere apologies on how I acted yesterday. I admit to using your vulnerability and manipulate you into maybe, just maybe, have what you wanted with me. You acted in a way that made me realize that I fell in love with the wrong man. Your heart is broken more now, and I have no wishes or desires to break it into more pieces. Haytham, you saw me at my most vulnerable, my most godawful jealous self. Then, the worst happened. Tears Down my face, regretting ever talking to you, not giving you chances to speak as I rushed to leave your… area. Now I wonder what would you have said. What is it about you that made me follow you blindly, that deeply connected my heart to feel pain, feel unworthy of you as you found the love of your life?

For the weeks he was gone, I was Ill shaken with grief of this sudden change. I didn’t realize how much Ziio meant to him until he up and left the group after the fight. When I went into my room, I couldn’t even cry a single tear yet. I was confused, concerned and overall worried something bad must have happened. Then Charles Lee entered the picture, said that he had gone to rendezvous with Ziio once more for the precursor artifact. I sat and waited for another answer from him or anyone.

John Pitcairn was awfully nice. He has a lovely wife of his own, but was there for me like a best friend. Though, the day he left, was the day you came back, yesterday.

Your eyes were so distant, yet so close. When I spoke to you, it felt like you weren’t even there. Something bothered you, and I didn’t understand that.

“Haytham, please.” I asked, arms wrapped around your stern chest, “I only ask that I can be a big part of your life.” “You are,” You said, “I do apologize for being absent here for so long. I had other business to attend. Is there anything else you wish to ask?” “I love you, Haytham. You’ve been a part of my life for so long, a big part. I only wish for more. I beg, please Grand Master, do you… feel the same?”

Your hands clench around mine, putting them in a stance of worthlessness, by my sides. When you let go, your deep crystal hazel like eyes stare. It looks like you’ve been crying. What happened between you and her? I still wonder that to this day, and each time, I remember your stern, cold breathed, shaken answer.

“Enola, you have caressed my cheeks when I was down on my knees, you have cared for my wounds, fought to defend me and my honor when it was weakened. I thank you for Everything you have done for the Order, and for me. But what you ask for cannot be. I see you as a Sister of the Order, a brave and loyal woman to the cause. Understand that I do think you are the most attractive, most wonderful lady I’ve ever had the chance to know best. Though, your love and mine are not the same. I deeply apologize, and I hope tomorrow we can continue our work here. Goodnight, Enola.” To make the heartbreak much, much worse, you plant a kiss on my head, and as I count all the steps you take to your chambers, the tears seemed to fall. I dared not to make a noise from my lips, and let you be.

As I walked to my own room that night, what was on your mind? What was going through it when I asked the simple question? Regret? Sorrow? Annoyance? Even the night seemed dark, like the night itself seemed… empty, lost like me. This rejection, I wonder what I will do for the Order, for you in future days, future nights and years. I might find another hobby, forget about the love I was careless with. I’ll still love you, the ways I’ve always done. You will be the greatest Grand Master Templar the world will ever know, and I will be there to chant your name and drink all my sorrows away.

For you, to you, Grand Master Kenway. Cheers to your health. Though, I may sound obsessive, I swear I’m not. I swear. Maybe I am going out of my mind. Being alone tends to do that to a person.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol's Journal Entry 7

Warning: mentions of blood and kidnapping

25th of December, 1755

Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away

1755, what a year it has been for all of us. It’s been months since Haytham packed his things and moved back to London. He did not tell me what else he was up to, but I wish I could go. 

The only thing that matters right now is relaxing my body. This year has been a bloody one, and it will continue to be one. The noblemen don’t know I’m carrying a child, his child. It’s something I’m worried about all the time. I only wish to be comfortable, I wish to be thinking about when Haytham is coming home. Instead, I’m fearing for my life. Every step I take, every sound in the house, even the crackling of the fire doesn’t help. I can’t sleep now like I did last night. 

I wish this snowstorm would cease so I can visit Pitcairn and Hickey. Even though I can’t stand Hickey’s drunken nonsense, it’s company. I hope next Christmas he’s coming home…

25th of December, 1756

Turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime

I am running, running and running. Celeste is buried in my coat I borrowed from Johnson, and I wrapped her small head in a warm cloth that I ripped from my pillowcase. 5 more months until she is 1, and her face looks a lot like mine, but she has Haytham’s eyes and hair, all for me to reminisce every day. 

I’m dashing through the snow, this cold, unbearable snow, from redcoats that think they can take my baby. They already stormed by a few minutes ago, and I let one of them look down at her. Panic ensued, I grabbed her from their arms, afraid for her safety, I put one heel on the ground and I could not stop myself from making my escape. Now I hear them shooting at me, and I hear the sounds of Celeste’s cries, knowing she’s just as scared as I am. She’s my baby, she deserves to be with her mother, not with dirty, vulgar men like them. 

A gunshot rang out in my ears, I felt a small ball drop beside me, too close to my leg. Again, another shot, this time I fall onto the snow mound, and I hear Celeste’s cries grow louder. The first thing I see is a trace of red right where my purple coat stops, the sight alone makes me worried if I can get up. Footsteps follow as I hold Celeste closer to my chest. 

“Shhh, darling. Please stay quiet for mommy.” I try to hush her cries, cradling her head against my clothed breast, kissing her head oh so many times. For a few moments after, it’s silence. The eerie silence, a silence I wish never happened again. 

I look up to see the trees and snow around us, but no redcoats, which I am grateful for. When I start to get myself up from the snow, I feel a gush come out of my leg, and more red stains the snow. I see a man with a tricorn hat rushing over to me. Oh, John, if only I could say thank you. 

The next thing I remember is I’m lying on one of my guest beds, and a doctor with a few of my servants surround me. This is where I panic again, wondering where Celeste is. Even as I look around the room, I panic, hoping who I saw was only a dream. Over in the corner, next to a grey fireplace and across from the doctor’s bag on the brown armchair, I see John [Pitcairn] cradling Celeste in his arms, wearing his redcoat uniform, smiling over at me. From his features, I could tell Celeste was going to be alright. 

Not a moment too soon, and the doctor tells me I’ll make a full recovery. After a few cloth bandages and a few happy cries from my maids, they exit the room, leaving the three of us together. Slowly, John makes his way towards me, and I can only smile in the way I know best, motherly and lovingly. He leans his head close to mine, to whisper something to me in his sweet, thick Scottish accent: “You have the face of an angel.” A smile from him, a smile that brightened up my heart made me feel comforted, safe, and secure.

If that was a flirt, I never noticed. If I had the heart, and the mind to say what I feel, I would have. I kept my mouth shut, towards my best friend. The married soldier that held my daughter like a father should.

25th of December, 1757

Baby, please come home

No letters, no thoughts nor feelings. The Grand Master worries me sometimes. Especially now, I wish I could be with him. Celeste and I are spending Christmas with Amais and his tribe. It’s not fun without my other friends with me, hopefully, I will see you soon. 

Maybe next Christmas…

25th of December, 1758

All is calm, all is bright

Celeste came over to the Manor yesterday, and I spent it with her. She’s learning the native language very well, and her English is improving by the minute. Amias looks very handsome as well, maybe in another life I would have been with him. Sometimes, I feel like Celeste is his child, but my mind knows it is not.

Today is very special. Haytham is here, and so are Charles, Thomas, William, John, and Benjamin. I invited them over to the Manor for Christmas, and I am so, so joyful. We went out into the snow and acted like little children. I think I became more of a child than anyone else. I just felt like everything was alright, that time stopped just for today. Shay and Alanna were here as well, bonding is so much fun!

For dinner, it was a nice big banquet, though I regret having one due to all the violence happening around us. It paused for today, but it will continue tomorrow.

In the night, I sat beside Haytham, and I listened to his words, but when I realized he was talking about how much he misses Ziio, it made me think about Celeste. Did he ever get my letter? Maybe he’ll talk about how I was. 

At that time, I never knew his hand clenched mine, the way his fingers touched the back of my palm. As I looked up at his sad, old eyes, I felt a hand on my shoulder and his eyes flickered. He turned his head towards me, his lips curled up into a loving smile, and he planted a kiss on my forehead, temple, and lips. His free hand moved to tilt my chin up to gaze at his face more. When I did, I could see his eyes, lips, and nose, and how sweet and handsome he looked. 

The others had to go after a few more minutes, but I felt so happy. I can’t describe the words on paper, but what I felt for this moment, is something I want painted and framed. They told Haytham and me farewell, and the men kissed my hand or my cheek while Alanna wrapped her arms around me. 

Tonight, as I write this paragraph, I will sleep like a baby. Haytham is waiting for me in bed, and I couldn’t be happier in my words and emotions. Christmas is the best time of the year. 

(It’s snowing where I am right now and it brought me into a Christmas mood early. So I’ve been listening to Christmas songs writing these entries.)

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry 8

Warning: a bit of foul language, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting

9th of July, 1755

Any way the wind blows

I cannot say what happened last night, but all seemed to turn on me in a flash. This aching feeling in my stomach, the loneliness I felt without someone beside me. Haytham insisted on camping elsewhere on his own, and it took all my mental strength not to show my true ways, but to reach out and touch his hand, begging him to stay. 

I feel blue, I see the blue sky above me. When it comes time to handle the situation, I slowly rise from where I slept, and I catch sight of a cloud slowly moving through the sky. Then, I felt the hand of someone familiar to me, with copper-like skin, the man I met with Ziio, Amias. 

“Your friend is already in the eyes of the enemy. The others have gone to help him.” His voice whispers to me, our faces close to each other, close enough to feel his breath close to mine. 

It would make any other lucky lady blush, but I am so focused on the mission I have to turn my head to look at the setting before me. 

All the beautiful trees, the beauty of nature. I wish I dared to leave. The bombardment, the sinking ships, the Natives that wish only for peace. I wish I dared to go. 

I turn my head back towards Amias, seeing his intriguing features in perfect detail. The light brown color of his eyes reminds me of chocolate, sweet like he was when we first met. The size of his nose is a cute tale to tell, with his high cheekbones giving much for his oval-shaped head. The nose, as I’m trying to explain to myself, may have been a bit crooked, but it is cutely small. From the side of his face, there is a small black line of warpaint, it looks a bit like eyeshadow. Or did he not get enough sleep last night? Whatever that case may be, I cannot help but describe his lips. Full, thick, glossy like lips. That chin, though, my god, diamonds could be his worst enemy if they ever touch that. He is of muscular build as I have said in my earlier entries, and hasn’t changed it since then.

A gunshot rings out from kilometers away, giving me the warning that I should make my way towards the others. Amias’s rough hands took mine before I could turn from him, and as I looked down at our hands, I saw he had taken the risk, to intertwine our fingers together. The blush on my face was apparent, even thinking about it now gives me goosebumps. It took a few seconds to think I should let go of his grip, which I proceeded to do. 

The first thing on my mind is running again, but I hesitate in which direction. From the corner of my eye, I see a gorgeous brown horse with a unique white spot around its left eye with other white spots close to the saddle. Without another word exchanged between us, I ran towards the horse. I quickly hopped up on the saddle and grabbed the reins. I use the heel of my boot to tap the flank of its body, and I get the reaction I wanted. The horse’s movements go from trotting to galloping, moving through the battle ensuing. 

I see Haytham’s redcoat outfit and know how he looks very well. The athletic build, the way the hat fits, and obviously, the red ribbon that flows with the wind to keep his hair tied together. I see that man on the ground; what was his name again? Ah yes, George Washington, that man. The Native woman, Ziio, has him down to the ground and her hand on a knife that she uses to best him. I dart my eyes over to the ensuing soldiers on the British side and the French side, shooting and stabbing each other with their bayonets. The other Natives try to help, but with what they have, it feels hopeless. 

I leave Haytham to finish his job, to assassinate the bastard bitch named Edward Braddock. I join Pitcairn, Hickey, Church, Lee, and Johnson in attacking the French, but I also attack some of the British soldiers who think it is right to attack me who is helping them. The practice helps, parrying, thrusting, and rolling over various people just to stab the person next to them. 

After a few more minutes of fighting, I glance up from the tops of my eyelids to see Haytham reunite with Ziio. From this moment, I noticed my vision turning black, but in a transparent way. It seems like time has stopped just for a moment as I look around to see the damage, the bodies, and my friends. Behind me, I see time play forward, showing me a British soldier with his gun out, his mouth open in a fit of rage, about to stab me with a bayonet. I snap my head back to where I was looking, at the two. Time seems to play normally, and I use this to my amusement. 

As I hear the soldier’s yells, I touch the tip of the bayonet with my bare hands, bending backward so the bayonet stabs another British soldier, and I do not hesitate in making the bayonet share its target. I bend the gun back as quickly as I move my hand close to the bottom of the musket rifle. I pull the trigger, making sure the target of the mini cannonball is his neck. It succeeds, and I quickly escape from the battle, securing my hiding spot behind some bushes as I take a closer look at where Haytham and Ziio are.

They seem to be in a short but deep conversation, and in Ziio’s hands is the amulet that was once around Haytham’s neck. I saw Ziio give the amulet back to him, and the amulet was back around his neck, which surprised me as I simply told the future out loud. 

I leave my hiding spot when I see Lee and the others getting closer to my location. My feet start to move in the direction of Haytham, being as quiet as I possibly can. But, I suddenly stop in my tracks as I see Haytham leaving with Ziio. I feel my heart crack open just a little more than it did last night, and I hate that feeling, the feeling of his leaving me. I feel my eyes dilate, I feel my pulse race. I feel… fear. This fear that he has left forever, that he is hers and I will never be in his line of thought, his line of sight. This jealousy will be the death and the beginning of me.

I feel the wind in my hair, I gaze out towards the blue sky, towards the tall forest of trees. I feel a couple of stares, while I feel the presence of Haytham and Ziio slipping away. 

I feel blue, oh so blue. I’m stuck back where I once was, following the Master like a small puppy, begging for attention. I am pleading for it again, and he’s abandoned me. He’s out of my league, yet I keep running to him. Love is a shit-mouthed whore.

Tonight, I go back to the aftermath of the battle, not caring I am the only one around. I sit under a willow tree, and I write to the Grand Master how many have died, I write to both the British and French soldiers of how many men they have lost. I write another letter to Amias, telling him of how many Natives became heroes, that this war will turn for the better. All I write is a total lie, but it makes me happy to know this will lift his spirits just a little.

The night sky casts an eerie light on the fallen, and I feel a sudden change of scenery. I will need to be prepared for what comes at me. 

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Another Funeral (Alternative Version)

17th of September, 1781

Of all days, why is today the day I remember things from my past? My mother, my father, the love I lost, everyone I lost. Especially Amais. Oh, what was his name again? He wrote it to me when we first met, ah yes, Ayenwatha. Beautiful like he was, and full of light like he was. I’m glad he stayed with me during the times I did need him and that he was someone that showed me many things I would’ve never dreamed of. He was everything I wanted. 

I know that reason now it’s because of Celeste. Yesterday, I lost the man I called Grand Master, that I called a friend. I wrote this today because I couldn’t get him out of my head. Writing things down has been my hobby and therapy lately, today I need both. 

Celeste came to my house at around 9:30 or 21:30 last night as I was writing a new journal entry. It sounded like she flopped on the newly made couch with fresh pillows that had brown tassels and Abenaki drawings, gifts that the tribe would give me as lifelong friendships, along with many other things I hung up around the house to show my own thanks.

 But I did not turn around as I spoke in a motherly voice, “Celeste if you’re going to sleep, you should be upstairs.” Then, she said with worry, “Now is not the time for sleep, Mother. I was just met with a horrible, unfortunate event.” “Those are some big words for a little lady-” “Mother.” I could hear her voice soften and have a slightly desperate tone. “Please, I need you to prepare yourself.” “Prepare? Prepare for what?” I question her and regret talking when her voice whispers, “It’s the Grand Master. He’s been assassinated.” I freeze in place, feel like shattering all over the floor, maybe even doing a dramatic cry, but I sit there, stunned at her words. Haytham Kenway, the man I came here with over 20 years ago, dead? 

I stood up from my chair and turned around to see Celeste standing in front of the couch, her outfit ruined with blood and her hands the same way. She looks tired, teary-eyed, her skin a pale white in the light, and her lips curled down into a deep frown. It looks like depression is seeping in, for both of us. 

“That means Charles Lee is next. He will not hesitate to try to assassinate the man. The respect, heavy dealings, the target, are now on his head.” I look at Celeste and continue rambling, “Might cower away though, which I don’t know why he would do that the man is a warrior, his own damn bodyguard. He can brush them off like it was nothing-” “Haytham told Connor his last words. Connor told them to me.” She interrupts, and I listen to what she said but I don’t follow up with asking her to say them. 

Instead, I moved my head down to see what was on the couch, and my eyes grew wide, and also teary-eyed as I see his body lying there, eyes closed and neck covered in dry blood. He still wears his outfit, but the hat lies on the floor beside him so I can see his beautiful, long hair tied with that little red ribbon. 

I moved my hands to cover my mouth, nose, and cheeks, taking in very deep breaths, looking up at Celeste, and then back at him, letting out a cry, “Another funeral.” I sit on my chair, slowly and ladylike, pulling out my handkerchief to get rid of tears that dare to fall off my face. I held my hands together, then look at Celeste, “You have to got to get him out of the house, sweetheart. I’ll make the date and time, you go take him to Lee’s place.” She goes to pick him up, hat and everything, but I hold her hand that’s holding his hat. “Wait. I need to write a letter. Just put his hat on his face.” I look at Haytham’s face from the corner of my eye, changing my mind immediately, “May I have a moment with him? Alone? I’ll let the maid know you need new clothes.” “Alright. Thank you, Mother.” She plants a kiss on my cheek before leaving the room to go upstairs into the bathroom. When the maid comes from the kitchen, I tell her about Celeste and her face beams up before going upstairs as well to do as I politely asked.

Celeste laid the hat on Haytham’s chest, and I look at Haytham’s face once more, truly seeing those peaceful features of his. “May God grant you peace and rest, Master Kenway.” I whisper to him, hoping he heard me from above. I move my face slowly towards his, wanting to kiss his lips, to just kiss him for a long moment, but then I remember not to, and I instead kiss his forehead softly, with shaking lips and a tear going down my eye to dry on my cheek. I stay like that for a moment, then move away when I hear footsteps come from upstairs. I don’t see anyone coming downstairs but I do hear a door shut, which has me sigh in relief, thanking god no one saw me. 

Then, I remember to write a letter to Charles, which I immediately go to do. Writing and writing, throwing paper after paper in the trash, then I finally feel satisfied with what I wrote. As I finally see Celeste coming downstairs in a similar outfit to her assassin outfit, except the colors being combinations of blue and purple, I rise up from my chair to put the letter in an envelope and a red wax seal with the Templar Cross on it, making sure to write his name on the front of it in styled cursive lettering. 

“Now, you know where he lives, right?” I ask in a sweeter tone this time. ‘Yes, I do, Mother. But, he might not be there.” She replies, and I follow up with, “Wherever he is, make sure to place the letter inside Haytham’s hat, so he knows there’s a letter there when he goes to take the hat off his face, okay?” “Yes, Mother.” She nods her head forward a bit before going to kiss my left cheek gently. I give her a small smile as she puts the letter in her pocket and the hat on Haytham’s face, then slowly picks him up bridal style, sighing sadly as she looks at me. She asks me again, “Will you be alright while I’m gone to Connor’s place, Mother?” I give her a reassuring smile, feeling my wrinkles show my oldness. “I will, thank you, dear.” I see her leave through the front door, and the butler opens it for her. 

The butler had been waiting for something like this to happen as I can tell from his normal butler stare, “Madame, would you like me to give you your afternoon tea?” I wave my hand low and in a counterclockwise circle to mean a no, “No, thank you, but I’m really not in the mood for some right now.” He nods his head gently, and before he can walk away from the room, I change my mind yet again, “Wait a moment, Lowe. I actually would like some hot chocolate, one with that new ingredient, whipped cream I think on top, and two scones with raspberry jelly please.” The butler lowers his head to me before leaving for the kitchen. There, where I have been standing for so long, I finally sit back down in my comfortable chair and I begin to write this story, knowing I wouldn’t finish it until today. 

As the last of the original Templars in America to be alive, I know I have to use my time wisely and to keep myself safe from the Assassins. Celeste, I know, will tend to take his side, and I will not tell her to come to mine. Even though I wish it, I know it’s for the best. Though I do wish one thing will come true during the rest of the years, I wish for another damn good pastry, like the scone I had last night. 

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol's First Journal Entry

14th of April, 1742

Fresh paper, fresh book bindings, and a beautiful new quill, courtesy of my first role in what I consider to be my favorite opera piece. Here, I am free to do as I see fit, and feel free, thanks to my foster father. If not for him choosing me of all the others at the orphanage, I would have never learned how to write or read again. 

The orphanage takes a toll on you when all you do is wait for a small meal, a beating if you’re not respectful or obedient, or the time it is dark, it is finally time to sleep, but you can’t sleep because of the other crying children. Sometimes, it is late at night; a visitor comes to look at us to check that we are healthy and who to take with them to another caretaker who asks for them. 

With enough time and patience, I finally got my wish and was taken away from this godawful place. Yes, I was adopted before, but soon I was carried back to the same old place, probably because I was the daughter of two nobles, mainly a pirate marrying into a noble family. 

I can faintly remember back into my childhood days, might come back to me when I grow up. I only remember the bad parts that brought me to where I am today. 

I remember it was a couple of days after my tenth birthday that my father, Timothy, as the caretakers have said to many people many times, told me that I was to stay in the manor with mother as he would go on one of his daily business trips. His last words were on paper, but his last words to me personally were, “When I get back, your mother and I are taking you to the opera to see the play you like. If we are lucky enough to, we can also talk to the conductor about having you do a song in front of the audience. Will that be alright, sweet girl?” His voice and manner were so fatherly, so loving, and the nickname he gave me made me happy. 

In the following months, Mother was always worried, pacing around, even threatening herself that she would put back on her ‘assassin clothes’ and try to find Father. Even on that day when we got the letter, she was pacing, waiting for Father to arrive. The letter she held was a signed death note from Father. That put her in a time where she could be in an insane asylum for all the madness she went through. Through that, Mother could never look at me, face me, and I felt alone for the first time. So, when I heard the day after my next birthday that she died in her sleep, with her last words being about me from the maids there, that’s also the day when I lost my title, reputation, and the first part of my life. 

I am thankful for my foster father; he said he needed a little lady to put in his opera show, and I was the perfect choice. He was my vocal coach, my helping hand, and as we brought money to our names, I chose to keep my last name from my father instead of using my current dads' name. It brought me noble success and more chances to get huge roles. I could get anything I wanted, and I loved it all. I still do, even after all the bad that has happened to get here. He also taught me about Protestantism. I would not have traded him for another foster father in the world. 

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry 5

17th of September, 1781

Yesterday… was the worst day of my life. I lost the one I loved. Worst of all, he was assassinated by his own son. I rushed in too late; Connor disappeared and Celeste followed suit behind me.

Seeing him on the ground, surrounded by rubble, barrels, and tables, I didn’t know what to think, I couldn’t think. The one I trained with that indicted me into the order, the man I stayed with all these years. Gone.

I blacked out after that. Whatever happened, I woke back up in my home, lying on my comfortable bed. It felt cold, empty, and lonely. I looked around the house, it taking me some time to get out of bed, trying to find the person who brought me back home.

However, when I reached the drawing room, it was there I find a simple envelope sealed with blue wax and the Assassin’s symbol. However, the front of the envelope had my first name, last initial, and the Templar Cross on the right corner. I quickly sit down at my desk, opening the envelope without shaking my hands too much, with my paper knife. When I’m done with it, I gently place it back where it was before, then I pull out the letter that stuck out. I put the envelope to my left as I open up the paper and look to read it.

“Mother, I’m writing this to tell you I was the one who safely brought you home.” The letter starts with beautiful cursive handwriting that quickly grabs my attention, knowing it’s my daughter. “After seeing Father’s body, you went into a horrific shock and a scream that could pierce the Harbor as you held him in your arms. I let you cry for a while and even tried to take him away from you so we could do a burial, but you wouldn’t let that happen. After a while, that’s when you passed out. I couldn’t carry him with me so I left him there for Charles to deal with while I dealt with bringing you back home. As I write this letter, Connor came over to ask if I wanted to stay at his place, and I kindly turned him down to stay with you. However, we had pressing matters to attend to so I had to leave anyway. I might be staying with him for a while anyway, so I might as well have just said yes. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you, Mother. I only wished I could say I love you to Father as well… maybe one day I can.”

It ends with her name and Connor’s Native name signed as proof that they were here. Though, it gets me to wonder, why the Assassin seal? Is she turning into one of them? It doesn’t matter what she does now, she is a grown lady. Much better than I. Celeste, and Connor, I trust you two will keep this growing country in order. A new nation will form, and I will no longer be in it. Kill that bastard for me, for I will be immensely grateful.

Now, I will sleep, yes, a dream of my own…

I love you, Celeste. More than you will ever know.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry 4

(This can also be a Reader POV as well, but I chose my OC because I’d like to use her journal entry style more. Anyways, hope you enjoy.)

Warning: ‘death’

3rd of July, 1758

Just this morning, I woke up in a chill sweat, the nightmare I had barely clear in my mind at this moment, so I decided to write it down before I forget.

I faintly remember all those years ago, when I was training with Haytham, how young, sassy, and handsome he looked. He took care of his body, and trained every day; surely he looked like a marble statue. I should have one made, actually. Oh, how dreamy it would be having him towards the entrance, then again, the statue would be naked and I will be burning down the house for my embarrassment. Oh well, still dreamy, not risking it. Then again, no Enola, think clearly, think.

Where was I? Oh yes, yes, the dream.. Well, again, I was in the middle of my training, to be officially apart of the Order. I was using my new moves I taught myself, parrying his sword, moving swiftly and flexibly, even doing a slight split before moving my wrist up, his sword flung away. And before he knew it, the tip of my sword was at his chest, and I stood straight and proud of myself that I beat him. There were other times I did, but not too many.

My feet were close together, my hair up in a loose bun, wearing my usual outfit but without the coat, and, again, my wrist turned side to side slightly as I curled my lip slightly.

“Here we are again, Master Kenway.”

“Well done, Enola. You’re teaching yourself well.” He gives off a slight smile but it soon goes away.

“I’ve only learned from the best, sir.”

I slightly blush, and from that he does a little curl of his lip, making it into a smirk.

“But, we still have more training to do.”

“We do? B-But it’s already almost time for dinner and then bed for me-“

“I ask you.” He repeats, “I ask you to train again with me.”

My mind is telling me no, but my heart is telling me yes at this point. So I went with the latter.

“Alright. If that’s what you wish.”

But, a wicked grace comes my way, karma stabs me right in the… well… bottom. As soon as my sword lowers towards the floor, he moves swiftly and easily, having me in a chokehold on the floor. My head is in a twisted way and my hands reflex to grab his arm, to try and get him to stop. I even kick my legs up, thinking that would do much help. His arm gets tighter and tighter around my neck. My voice that calls for help, for him to stop; it starts to sound like a wheezing cough. After just a few seconds, I feel so weak, and my hands slowly fall off his arms and drag to the floor beneath me.

“Do you think yourself so easy as to win against me? Dear Enola, remember the words I taught you. ‘Always back away from your defeated opponent with your weapon sheathed and forward.’ You had it down.”

With that, I can feel myself crashing down, my eyes still wide open but in shock. Haytham never acts like this in front of me, never. He’d told me he never hurt a lady, at least me.

He still has his hold on me. I can’t move a single muscle or else his arm might squeeze and break my neck, possibly pop it out of its socket. I wait, and I wait, it feels like years since we’ve moved from this very spot. Then, I feel his arm slowly lower, that’s good.

Then that’s when I feel his hands on my cheek and neck, a gentle cold kiss from his lips touch my temple, a sweet, but shivering line leaving his mouth in a whisper, “No one will ever know.”

Crack!

That’s when I woke up, he broke my neck in the right place. I was dead. I had my head in my hands, shivering and breathing heavily, my hands numb and legs aching. I did touch my neck and felt relieved that there was no marks there. Then, I touched my nice nightgown, cursing myself for the cold sweat I endured.

At least though, it was morning, and I had gotten the letter Haytham sent to me. From the letter, it said he’s coming to…. See me?

Shit. I quickly get up and have my newly hired servants to make my bed and do my clothes, while I bathed again and the cooks did their work. Some of the workers are black, yes, but they are not slaves. Well, they were, but I freed them right when they came to me. They were living under a horrible owner. After I freed them, I never talked to the man who had them again, and he already knows not to come after my home. When they came to my home, they saw how nice and tidy it already was, but then when they found out I was having the baby, they looked so… skeptical. How could I have a baby if I didn’t have a husband? Well, once I told them, after they agreed of course, that they were free, that’s when everything came to a celebration. It’s so nice having people work for you, knowing that you treat them kind and like a person.

I can’t wait to see him!

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol's Journal Entry 3

10th of May, 1756

Two days ago, I just conceived Haytham's child, a beautiful baby girl. I have decided to give her the name of Celeste, while, for obvious reasons, her last name is Kenway.

It felt like heaven appeared to ease my pain, but it lingered in my mind that he wasn't here to see this happen or at least hold her close like I'm doing now. I'm writing a letter to him to tell him of this wonderful news, and I hope to God he gets it. At least, for now, peace has come at last. Peace...

2nd of July, 1758

I'm not proud of some of the things I've done in life. Leaving my daughter to the Natives is one of them. He was gone, I was alone, and I didn't even know I was able to conceive, especially at this age. For women and girls, it is a high possibility to die, or even lose the child you are supposed to birth. I was honestly terrified of myself, of how repulsive I looked, of how my body changed so rapidly. I sheltered myself from the world, from those I called friends, and luckily, Haytham was overseas, so he couldn't even look at my horrible, tasteless features.

It became months of endless torture, feeling so introverted. This was the year when I heard nothing from anyone. But, I guess it was my fault since I told them not to bother me. Still, the stupidity of those men, even Hickey thought I was going on a slanderous vacation, one where I would come back the next day. Honestly, I don't know how I deal with them.

Just yesterday, I had this thought, this feeling, maybe he won't ever come back. But, what if he does? He hasn't sent me any letters. I'm getting worried. I know that I can't have her around, and I've been really tired lately, probably due to the lack of sleep, and paranoia that someone will rob me blind and kidnap her.

The nearby tribes have been really kind to me, and one of the members, a clan mother, as I've been told by them, volunteered to have her terribly handsome son help take care of the home to make sure no one dares to come near it. With a name that sounds like Amias, he honestly is a dreamy man. But, yesterday, to their surprise, but with a total understanding of my issues at the time, I had to give my sweet girl to them.

She was only 2 years old, barely spoke English, but could almost walk perfectly. I miss her so, but I must move on. Big girls don't cry, after all.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

At this point in time, I lost all hope of fighting, all hope of giving myself up for someone else. I was waiting for Connor to end my life as well due to my Templar connections. At that point, I was in love with a man that never loved me back. I regret letting myself get carried away. I still love Haytham, but I know never to let my heart take over my brain. 

-Enola 

Haytham Kenway x Enola Rossingol: “I wish I never met you.”

This is going to be in the style of Forsaken, so journal entries, but mainly just one. This is going to be after Haytham’s death and is in Enola’s POV, meaning first POV so don’t be confused. For the idea of this, it’s from his passage about Ziio dating August 1st, 1755. So, if you’re looking to be angsty or cringy by my writing, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Enjoy.

Warning: Angst, Dramatist things, some god cursing words, and a lot of ummmm… poured out feelings for the man

Here’s the passage I’m talking about:

Haytham’s Journal; 1st of August, 1755

“Do I love her? That question I find difficult to answer. All I knew was that I enjoyed being with her and came to treasure the time we spent together. She was . . . different. There was something about her I had never experienced in another woman. That “spirit” I spoke of before, it seemed to come through in her every word and gesture. I’d find myself looking at her, fascinated by the light that seemed permanently to burn in her eyes and wondering, always wondering, what was going on inside? What was she thinking? I thought she loved me. I should say, I think she loves me, but she’s like me. There’s so much of herself she keeps hidden. And, like me, I think she knows that love cannot progress, that we cannot live out our lives together, either in this forest or in England, that there are too many barriers between us and our lives together: her tribe, for a start. She has no desire to leave her life behind. She sees her place as with her people, protecting her land—land they feel is under threat from people like me. And I, too, have a responsibility to my people. The tenets of my Order, are they in line with the ideals of her tribe? I’m not sure that they are. Asked to choose between Ziio and the ideals I have been brought up to believe, which would I choose? These are the thoughts that have plagued me over the last few weeks, even as I have luxuriated in with these sweet, stolen hours with Ziio. I have wondered what to do.”

20th of September, 1781

The cries that came from my lips, the pitch that a dog would make, I never want it to come out again. Thankfully, I am alone, myself… alone. Why in the hell would I feel for this? This overwhelming, burning feeling, this love that aches and breaks each time I reread those words. It’s exhausting, but still, I keep reading it. “Do I love her?” Again, I read, “Do I love her?” What have I done, how could I have not known? Whatever selfish acts I did, that outcome that came to be… was it all just a distraction? His distraction, the pain he must have felt, while I was, for weeks, weeping because I didn’t have him, the man I wanted for so long. The man that a woman would fight for, die for, loathe and want. Like me, me, the one that tossed myself in his arms like a weeping baby, pleading and begging for one chance at a glance of his affection. I gaze upon that past, that one wrong, that felt so right. He was there! I had him right where I wanted him, dammit! And yet, I only had a tiny piece. Ziio had the rest. When she passed, the pieces scattered like no other, to where no one else could reach.

Ashamed, I weep, again, and again, I weep. I wonder now, what I should’ve wondered then, what if? What if I didn’t become his side lover? Did he love me? No. I know he did not, for I know not, he didn’t write about me anywhere in his book. Connor, he gave me his journal, to read it, and the passage he wrote for the memoir of his own father, so that I might react blindly. All his secrets he shared, all the feelings that went through his head, what he went through. I am sorry, my friend, my companion, my-my mentor. I’m even afraid to call you lover in my own writing, that’s how embarrassed I am for doing the one thing I regret doing all this time.

All this time… even now, you’re still with me in spirit, but not smiling, not even looking at me. Ziio is beside you, reunited with you, as it should be. Your smile is with her, your look is at her. I might be hallucinating a little. God, I haven’t slept in days. Your death meant a lot to me, the one person you told me that you would protect with your life. You did, you did exactly that, and at a cost. You only pretended to love me, to adore all the things I did. I know now, I’m such a selfish prick. These tears flow like waterfalls, endless, infinite, impossible to bear without them staining the paper. I wish you were here, what I’d do to have you near me, to only hold me and say my name once more, so I don’t have to sob and worry about the things that might have been. Running off my words, my sentences, I can’t even write anymore! Goddammit, I can’t write a word without a tear, or even speak the words she wrote. Writing is for the minded, for the ones that have ideas and purpose in life. I have none, and will never have any.

My mind exists only for the thoughts of you, dear Haytham. My Eagle that spread his wings and flew too high into the sun. You flew to Venus, to find Ziio and find her love that was kept in her eyes. You flew to Earth, just so you could exist for that time being, then to Mars, where your true colors started to show, the ones that I will never edge out. Then, the invisible gravity, pulled you towards that light, and you burned with a heart of gold and precious stone. I shake my head in awe, how could I have fallen for a man that only wanted a dream to exist, yet his head stopped it, knowing this world is a cruel place, for the weary, for the forsaken, not for a place like me or you. Or Ziio. Or Connor. Or, or anyone and anything that only treated you like a human, not a servant to the god.

I know my time is getting close to its own end. I only wonder what my fate would be, and where, in the afterlife, I would be. With mother? With father? Would I even see you again in that life, so that I may redeem myself? My wrongs that I stressed onto you, brought to your heart that was already broken. Not even alcohol could get rid of the memories I had. You made me happy, you made me feel wanted, alive, and all the things that I could never have with anyone else. I thank you, Haytham Kenway, for my happy love ending.

As I finish writing this journal entry, or diary, if you will, I just hope Connor doesn’t read my other… secluded private diary. Oh, I shouldn’t have said it. Now he’ll want to find it. He’s too innocent, I swear. A beast yes, but a soft one too, and very sweet when it comes down to it. Leaves me threatening messages of assassination on my doorstep, how cute. Other than the puddles of my own tears on the floor, and my clothes stained with the rapture of nothingness, I keep the ring, that Haytham promised me, the one thing that I cherish til this day. This page will prove useful to you. Tehya, my daughter, Connor, his son, do whatever you wish with this. I feel like my use is done, all my fangirl feelings and regret poured out into these last pages. My chapter has come to a close, and anew, my mind has gone blind. The thoughts of Haytham, the thoughts of my mother, and her stories of his father, Edward. They all smile together now, conjoined in harmony in the skies above.

The thing that I will never ever regret: I wish I never met you.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol's Journal Entry 6

1st of June, 1786

Forgive me, the future me. I am just remembering the times I had actual time to breathe, to live, to sing. Where I could be happy, where I had all the time in the world to follow my own path. That path of mishap, of trust and confidence in my Templar abilities.

I wish I could go back to the time I won, to the time I first came to Boston, to the New World. But, I am now preparing for my inevitable fate of passing. Whether I will be assassinated, die in my sleep, pass out as I am standing doing nothing in particular, or even something more oblivious to my person.

I fought for my life, I claimed my own sanity, and I lived the life I thought I could live. I was educated in only the finest things my mother could offer me. Honestly, I thought my father would have had his way and I would be married off to the highest bidder. I would be the most miserable girl alive at the age of 10. Nearly a quarter of my life ago, how funny.

I remember the time at 8 years old when I had my first bite of honeyed lamb, and the wonderful smell of spices that consumed the diced potatoes, along with the long, thin strings of green beans. It consumed my tongue and I could only feel the craving for more, but Father had to stop me. I could not grow bigger in size, or else my potential suitors would think of me as lazy and too ugly for marriage. If it was not for that logic, I probably would have never met a guy in my life that would have loved me. I would have to work and marry a commoner, and I was raised to marry a noble, a man with money and security, like other girls like me.

Today, I turn 60 years old. I wish I had Haytham smiling at me, and all the others, Celeste, Shay, Connor, Charles, Hickey, Johnson, Pitcairn, Church, and maybe the tribe that raised Celeste too. I imagine them here now, even my mother and father, and Birch, surrounding me and wishing me a bit of good luck. I want Mom, I want Dad, why did they have to go? I wish I was back in bed and Mom kissing my head, and Father reading me a story, telling me that I will be safe for all of my days.

Can I try again? Can God give me a better life than this one? No more killing, no more stealing or envy, I want my parents to be with me for longer, just until I turn of age, or after I marry. Maybe I'll get a better man than Haytham or a man that looks like Haytham. Can I not wish for that, just that wish?

I remember when love did not hurt. When we fought together against the world, how close we came to be, when we kissed and touched. I remember the times when you raised your voice, but it was out of love. Even the times you forgave me for all the dumb things I did. I want to try those things again.

But, I will always remember how it all started.

Smile like that again, like the time you watched me sing on the big stage. Talk like that again, like the time you introduced yourself to me, sounding so noble and soft. Walk with me again, like we did across the fields of Virginia. Touch me like you did, when I felt out of place, when I needed someone to show me they were there for me. Kiss me like you did, when I was in the middle of saying something, when all you wanted to do was feel my lips on yours.

If you were here, I would hold you close, lay my head on your chest, and want to hear your sweet whispers against my ear. My heart beats faster and faster each time I mention your name, each time I think about you. Knowing you are happier, knowing that I'm stuck in this miserable world and you are free.

On and on and on and on and on and on... I wish I could try it all again.

[cut-small-but-deep]

Enola Rossingol’s Journal:

Rejection (Alternate Version)

This is part 2 of Enola’s Rossingol’s journal entries. This time, it’s if she was rejected by Haytham, instead of giving in to her. I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Angst, Sadness

1755, Green Dragon Tavern, August 5th

I should have wrote this entry yesterday. Though, now I may seem fairly silly and filled with selfish desires that I acted upon quickly that day, I still tend to think to myself, how could I have gone so, so, mindless? This is not the girl I was raised up as, to follow unwillingly another man because of love? How stupid can I be? Very, it seems. Even now, I feel a creeping presence, and this makes my bones quiver.

To Haytham, a letter that will never reach you. I only wish to give you my sincere apologies on how I acted yesterday. I admit to using your vulnerability and manipulate you into maybe, just maybe, have what you wanted with me. You acted in a way that made me realize that I fell in love with the wrong man. Your heart is broken more now, and I have no wishes or desires to break it into more pieces. Haytham, you saw me at my most vulnerable, my most godawful jealous self. Then, the worst happened. Tears Down my face, regretting ever talking to you, not giving you chances to speak as I rushed to leave your… area. Now I wonder what would you have said. What is it about you that made me follow you blindly, that deeply connected my heart to feel pain, feel unworthy of you as you found the love of your life?

For the weeks he was gone, I was Ill shaken with grief of this sudden change. I didn’t realize how much Ziio meant to him until he up and left the group after the fight. When I went into my room, I couldn’t even cry a single tear yet. I was confused, concerned and overall worried something bad must have happened. Then Charles Lee entered the picture, said that he had gone to rendezvous with Ziio once more for the precursor artifact. I sat and waited for another answer from him or anyone.

John Pitcairn was awfully nice. He has a lovely wife of his own, but was there for me like a best friend. Though, the day he left, was the day you came back, yesterday.

Your eyes were so distant, yet so close. When I spoke to you, it felt like you weren’t even there. Something bothered you, and I didn’t understand that.

“Haytham, please.” I asked, arms wrapped around your stern chest, “I only ask that I can be a big part of your life.” “You are,” You said, “I do apologize for being absent here for so long. I had other business to attend. Is there anything else you wish to ask?” “I love you, Haytham. You’ve been a part of my life for so long, a big part. I only wish for more. I beg, please Grand Master, do you… feel the same?”

Your hands clench around mine, putting them in a stance of worthlessness, by my sides. When you let go, your deep crystal hazel like eyes stare. It looks like you’ve been crying. What happened between you and her? I still wonder that to this day, and each time, I remember your stern, cold breathed, shaken answer.

“Enola, you have caressed my cheeks when I was down on my knees, you have cared for my wounds, fought to defend me and my honor when it was weakened. I thank you for Everything you have done for the Order, and for me. But what you ask for cannot be. I see you as a Sister of the Order, a brave and loyal woman to the cause. Understand that I do think you are the most attractive, most wonderful lady I’ve ever had the chance to know best. Though, your love and mine are not the same. I deeply apologize, and I hope tomorrow we can continue our work here. Goodnight, Enola.” To make the heartbreak much, much worse, you plant a kiss on my head, and as I count all the steps you take to your chambers, the tears seemed to fall. I dared not to make a noise from my lips, and let you be.

As I walked to my own room that night, what was on your mind? What was going through it when I asked the simple question? Regret? Sorrow? Annoyance? Even the night seemed dark, like the night itself seemed… empty, lost like me. This rejection, I wonder what I will do for the Order, for you in future days, future nights and years. I might find another hobby, forget about the love I was careless with. I’ll still love you, the ways I’ve always done. You will be the greatest Grand Master Templar the world will ever know, and I will be there to chant your name and drink all my sorrows away.

For you, to you, Grand Master Kenway. Cheers to your health. Though, I may sound obsessive, I swear I’m not. I swear. Maybe I am going out of my mind. Being alone tends to do that to a person.