Memoirs of a Killer-Cyras's Bio

She sat in the darkened room, blinking at the singed piece of paper. The light haired woman inhaled deeply as she stared at the blank space on the scroll. Holding her breath, she bit the inside corner of her mouth. What the Mentor wanted with a history of her life was beyond her comprehension. He should have known by now that she was uncomfortable with her past.

The night stretched its long, wispy shadow as if it was a dog waking from a peaceful dream. Instead of doing what I do best, she mused, ironically, I'm stuck here scribing. There was no one on on earth that would like to know the history of an assassin (or, rather, would not be terrified in understanding her.)

However, if Ezio Auditore da Firenze wished a biography, then she would attempt to write one out. She lifted the quill and felt the long, ivory feather at its end brush her cheek. Her emerald gaze narrowed as she brought the tip to the surface of the thin fabric.

My full name is Cyras Chiara Corvino da Messina, nee de Carsidoni. Like my mother and grand father before me, I am an assassin. My wonderful mother gave me life on the twenty-first of August Anno Domini Fourteen-Fifty Nine, and my father, a wealthy man in Milano, had another illegitimate daughter.

Cyras stopped and lifted the pointed piece of feather. Ezio, her confidant and lover, and Cyras were born only fifty-eight days apart. Il Mentore (the Mentor) noticed it as well. He thought it humorous and gave her the nickname il mio piccolo (my little one) and la mia piccola colomba (my little dove) because of the small difference in their birthday.

A cold breeze howled through the window as if the Heavenly Father, Himself, floated through the window. It was a strange twist of fate to be what she was and to believe in God. There were many times when she was younger and traveling with Ezio that she wondered if the Spaniard, the Borgia cane (dog), and she prayed to the same god at the same time. At those times, she wondered which side God would take. Was he a merciful deity, or a vengeful one? In the end, He had shown to be compassionate.

She pushed back the chair from the table and walked to the window. During most of her adult life, she had traveled with Ezio. Taking silent comfort for her aching solace, she wrapped her arms around herself. The woman had been there for his various triumphs, and he been there for her sundry schlemiel.

In the end, they had returned to Toscana (Tuscany) and her lover commissioned a group of builders to erect one of the largest palazzos that she had seen in one of the remotest parts of Toscana. She knew the reason why. Since the death of so many of their friends and family members, Ezio sought to keep those he cherished safe. Claudia lived with them, becoming a spinster in her old day. Before his mother's sickness and death, Maria lived with them, also. Her companion created a nest for her, a home that she had not known for most of her life.

Reaching up, she closed the shutter to the window. Now was not the time to think about the recent past, she reminded herself. Ezio wished for this to be done. She would have to push pass all thoughts, sit, and complete it. If he came home from his long journey and it was not done, then he would be disappointed. Cyras hated to disappoint her lover. Ezio (or anyone she loved) was one of her weakness. No, Ezio was her largest foible.

Sitting back down in the high back, posh chair, she picked up the quill, once more, dipping it into the well of obscure ink. If she thought that she could use her feminine wiles on Ezio to appeal to his good graces and have him release her from the torturous scribing, she would have. Yet, Ezio Auditore, her companion, did not request this from her. It was Ezio Auditore da Firenze, il Mentore (The Mentor), that demanded it. She had to comply.

During most of my very young childhood, I stayed with my father in his estate in Milano. Although my father was a womanizer and my stepmother and half-sister did not accept me, I grew up basking in the love of my padre (father). At my mother's bidding, I was giving one of the most prestigious educations. Studying the works of ancient scribes and classical writings, I was taught to influence my fellow man with eloquent thought. In the summers, Father and I would travel to Firenze and attend the Feast of Saint John and the Horse Race.

During the Horse Race, I caught sight of a beautiful, brash nobleman. Dark hair, dark eyes, and such fire in his young soul that he eclipsed the older boy beside him. Every year, he was there, sitting bedside an older woman, whom I surmise was his mother, and children that were his siblings. I admired him from afar. I believe he was the first boy that I ever love.

Her body warmed throughout as she remembered the memories and, later, Ezio's confession. He was always at the Horse Race in Firenze. The night after the Carnivale in Venezia, he confessed that he remembered a blonde haired girl staring at her and realized it was her. In his youth, he could never mustered the courage to approach her.

Grasping the wooden earthenware cup, she brought it to her lips. She sipped lightly on the rosy-colored liquor. Cyras enjoyed a good drink, and her lover kept the house well-stock. Her thoughts sparked a memory as if lightning had stuck her.

With his realization that he was the boy, it lead to another revelation. Throughout her life, she had always loved Ezio. He was always attracted to her. She could not explain the connection the two of them had established in their life. At that point in their lives, she just accepted what she knew to be the truth. Nothing was true.

Cyras could hear footsteps resounding through the hall. For a moment, her heart skipped in her chest. If she did not have this done, then Ezio would be angry. When he was angry with her, he neither shouted nor physically struck her. His was the worse kind. Ezio had a sleeping anger that made her feel horrible to disappoint him.

For an excruciating moment, she waited for the door to open and signal the return of her lover. She hoped his quest would not take him long to complete. Although she feared his return because of the biography he wished her to write, she missed him. Without him by her side, she felt half of what she was. Cyras surmised most who were in love felt the same.

Dipping the tip of the quill in the bottle of ink, she returned to the task at hand.

When I was the young age of seven, my mother spoke to my father. Even with someone she cared for, she was uncomfortable with admitting much of her life. It would seem that my mother and I have that in common. Her existence was kept hidden from me, but she watched over me. So much of her was bathed in secrets that to this day I know little about her. She told my father was his puttana (whore).

I was ripped from the life of luxury and placed in a bordello. At first, I was terrified that the strange woman who called herself my mother expected me to sell my body. I could not understand that she was a member of a secret sect bent on preserving mankind's free will.

Despite their strange and elusive relationship, they held love for each other. She believed he would leave his wife, and he believed that she would give up the shadows. However, an assassin will always be an assassin, and a womanizer will always be a womanizer. A person can not change.

My mother taught me the arts of my trade. I learned from her how to use our tools to their best advantage. She taught me how to read, to paint, to ride a horse, and to write. While I was not acquainted with her, I felt loved by her. Mother wanted the best for me, and I constantly try to live up to the standards set forth by her. She taught me how to become one with the crowd and how to secure a living for myself. My mother instructed me on how to scale buildings to gain access to their rooftops and towers to gain full understanding of the area. I must have climbed one particular tower in Milano over a hundred times.

As time went on, I went to two other places to continue my training. While my mother had a talented hand at combat, I was willful and needed a father's guiding hand. I thought she would place me with my father again, but that was not what she met. I was going to be trained by two assassins. None other than the Mentor, Mario Auditore, and his brother, Giovanni.

Mario, or affectionately known as Zio Mario to me, became like a second father to me. The Auditores would become the family that I wished my own to be. For the longest time, I wondered if there was something going on between Zio Mario and my mother. The events of 1500 and the Seige of Monteriggioni robbed me of my chance to question the Mentor.

Ezio says the past is the past. While it was beneficial to learn from past mistakes, one can not live their lives for vengeance. Il mio amore (my love) has grown so much since I met him that fateful day in Forli.

She paused. The tip of the quill hovered above the sheet of paper like a fly around the rear end of a horse. Cyras knew that he wanted a history about her. He did not want one of himself, she reminded herself, grimly. Leaning over the desk, she slashed through the previous paragraph that she wrote, leaving a thick, ebony line behind.

No, this was suppose to be about her. She frowned and gazed at the words in hatred. Cyras hated to tell anyone about herself. Why was she putting herself through this? For what reason? Because she was in love with the Mentor? She could not deny that Ezio and his family had a special pull over her. Even she cared for Claudia as he did. The woman became close to her adoptive sister. With Claudia, she was closer than with her blood family. Blood did not make someone family, she suspected.

Even with the now deceased Mario, I still maintained my willful streak. I was sent to Florence, and, under the watchful gaze of Giovanni Auditore, came into my own. He was a fair teacher. Giovanni reminded me of my father. I would often grow sad, longing for Milano and the padre I left behind. In Firenze, I met my doom in the guise of a Firenze assassin named Vaene Corvino. However, intrigued as I was with Vaene, I was sent away. They had my first assignment, and you do not refuse the Brotherhood.

She stopped again, looking up. Cyras was no more than thirteen. She was told to murder a boy no more than ten. Her mother told Cyras to use the skills that she had learned from Giovanni, Mario, and herself. It was a very messy...kill. After all, she did not have the years of experienced that the woman now had.

Closing her eyes, she felt the soft, familiar gag rise in her throat. There was so much blood all over the floors and the walls. She had stabbed the smaller boy over and over. Because he was being trained as a templar, she killed him. The woman was so very young and confused. At the time, she mixed the feelings of standing up for the greater good to hating everyone who done the red cross.

Her mother had pounded it into her head like any other training technique to respect the body of her opponent. She did not offer the small lad one thing. There was no blessing for him, and there was no peace for his body. Cyras dismembered him. For her crime against the body, she was plagued with an inability to be around blood. It was a peculiar weakness to have in her profession, and one that Vaene loved to exploit.

At once, Vaene spoke to me on a higher level. He reminded me of a part of me that I long thought dead. The emotions were cut off. I was being breed into a killer. Attachments proved dangerous, but Vaene thought all of that non-sense. In hindsight, I should have suspected something. I always prided myself in my ability to see a shadowy plot. Yet, I could not see what was to come.

Vaene was the start of the deception that the Templar Order plotted against me and agaisnt my Order; Vaene was the end of the plan set upon me. As our love progressed, his cruel chicanery grew. I was kept blinded to the duplicity. Not only, I. Everyone could not see his true treachery. My relationship with Vaene was a whorl-wind romance. It was something out of nobility.

Then, came the horrible winter of Anno Domini Fourteen-Seventy-Six. I received a message by carrier pigeon in our home in Messina from my father. My father requested her presence in Milano in December. It had to be about business because Father never contacted me that way before. Because I was enamored with Vaene, we took our time journeying to the city. Our first stop was Venezia. While I was shopping for the finest gowns, Father's murder was being planned.

I arrived too late to help any that I cared about. Father. Ezio. Giovanni. Mario. When I arrived to Milano, I found my father murdered. He bleed out on the floor. I ran to the corpse and cradled my father's lifeless body. There was so much blood that I was covered in it. Throughout the years, I had suspected that he learned of the Pazzi Conspiracy and was put to death by Borgia.

A few days later, Ezio's family was hung. I was too late to stop that, also. It is a penance that I can never repay to my companion. For that reason, I will stick by him until the day that I no longer draw breath. He does not blame me, and it is a weight that I willingly bear for him.

In January. Anno Domini Fourteen Seventy-Six, I marry Vaene Corvino, becoming Cyras Corvino da Messina. That night was both a blessing and a curse. If my husband was never abducted, I would never have met my companion, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, il Mentore.

That year found me in Venezia during the Carnivale with my mother. I was there to track the kidnappers of my husband; she, my father's murderers. She died alone in the streets. I stumbled upon her body as her last breath left her. At that moment, I swore vengeance against those who harmed my friends and family.

She stopped writing, feeling an old familiar pain in her heart. It had been years since she had thought of Vaene. On their wedding night, Borgia guards broke into their Messina villa. They caught the newly wedded couple before their marriage could be consummated (which was to her current partner's relief much later). The deception of her lover forced her into Borgia's control. Cyras was tasked with killing her current lover.

Reaching forward, she drank more of the wine. It was especially sweet that time of the year. Yet, it did not starve off the lonesomeness of not having Ezio there with her. Even with Claudia there, she desperately missed him. At that moment, she wondered how Maria waited for Giovanni to return for so long. The anxiety of his safety overpowered Cyras.

Frowning, she watched the wine expand like puddles in water. As the memories flowed back to her, she could not help but think it was a blessing and a curse that she was tasked with assassinating the other assassin. Ezio freed her from Vaene's, and ultimately Borgia's, grasp. After murdering her husband, he took her atop the Frari.

With that simple carnal act, he encouraged whatever was growing between them. Their emotions could not stop. Even in the heat of disagreement, they were attracted to each other. Of course, there were times when she wondered if all they had was their physical attraction. Yet, the answer was obviously no.

Cyras sighed as she dipped the point of the quill in the marble inkwell again.

Through all the trials and tribulations of my life, one thing has remained a constant. He has always been there for me. When things look the bleakest, he would find a way to me. In a world full of blood and violence, mystery and untruth, Ezio is the only constant.

Who could believe a chance-

She paused again. Cyras would never admit that she was originally tasked to assassinate the assassin. There were only two people in the world that knew. The woman would rather keep it that way.

Who could believe a chance encounter would have lead me to where I am now. If it was not for a simple horse race in Forli, then I would not have met him. Destiny would have been denied, and Vaene's deception would have continued.

In the end, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, the future Il Mentore (The Mentor) liber....

A large booming crash echoed inside of her head. She opened her eyes with a start.

Morning light streamed through the closed window, illuminating everything in its soften glow. She could hear the blackbirds from outside of her window sing eeriely to her. They had nest there since Ezio commissioned the house.

There was a part of her that feared that Ezio's (or her's) enemies had found out about their secret home. Would a canon ball come roaring through her window? Yet, she could not make out anything but a silhouette standing beside her.

Looking up, she gazed into the warm, dark eyes of the man that was always on her mind. Despite his age and the wrinkles around the corner of his eyes, he still looked at her the same way he did all those years ago. His gaze twinkled with humor as he held a book in his hand, closed.

Bastardo (Bastard), she groaned to herself. At once, she understood what had happened. Ezio had closed the book he was holding right next to her. A darkened expression blackened her face as if a storm was raging inside of her. She hated to be woken up. Cyras scowled at him.

"Did you finish the Memoir?" his voice asked. The curiosity peeked in his voice.

"Almost," she replied. Bending down, she realized what had happened. She had fallen asleep, writing. For a moment, she worried that she had ink smeared on her face. Dipping the ink in what was left of the ink, she bent down and wrote.

After she was finished, she smirked and handed the pages to him. She watched his expression as he read over her work. Cyras wondered if it would be good enough.

"In the end, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, the future Il Mentore (The Mentor), liberated me. However, he does say librate greatly," he parroted her words. His eyes glittered dangerously beneath the shadows cast by his ivory hood. Her attempt at a joke fell over like a lame deer. "What does that mean?"

"Well, il mio amore (my love), you tend to repeat that phrase. A lot-" she started before he spoke up.

Cyras," he spoke softly. With that one word, she stopped. Ezio smiled. He walked over to her and pressed his lips to hers, gently. "You're going to rewrite the last page."

Of course, she would have to rewrite the last page, but it was worth it. She loved to see him like that. They did not have to be guarded all the time. They could lean on each other. It was something that she learned through the years.

"Writing this is going to take quite some time," she told him. Like many in her profession, she laid out a clever trap for Ezio. She knew that he would walk into it willingly. He always did. Then, she would make him regret the book.

"La mia piccola colomba (my little dove), it's your first time writing something as lengthy as you are," he replied. "I did not expect it to be over quickly."

Even if he did not mean it, she could not help but notice the innuendo in his words. In that, he took his time. However, she could not help herself. Cyras arched one of her eyebrows elegantly in jest.

"Don't say it, Cyras!" Ezio warned as he pointed a finger at her.

Her mouth was frozen open, slowly spreading into a sardonic smile. Cyras felt like a cat playing with a mouse. She had him right where she wanted him. She inhaled as if to lead into speak.

Ezio stabbed his finger into the air as he glared playfully at her. "Don't!"

"It is too bad that you failed at that the first time," Cyras said, ignoring the warning. When Ezio's face transformed into a horrified look, she was quick to add. "Aw, did I hurt your feelings? But you are supposed to be the invincible Ezio Auditore! Can the words of a simple woman phase you?"

"You are anything but simple."