Thirteen-year-old Ameena Moghadam watched in terror in her room behind a curtain. Her mother told her to stay hidden and not to let the men find her. Say nothing if they do.
Her mother, Cecilia Firenze was an exquisite Italian beauty with green eyes and her father, Achmanad Moghadam, a Muslim. A marriage that her family strongly disapproved of, but she married him anyway. They had a secret wedding and fled from her homeland, willing to give up her traditions and beliefs for those of her new husband.
Cecilia had Ameena about a month later. Her father was disappointed that he didn't have a son, decided to love his daughter anyway. Cecilia raised Ameena, a black-haired, green-eyed, and olive skinned beauty that made all girls envious of her Gypsy appearance and boys desired her, raised her to live in the home and to be a good wife.
However, Ameena was more like her father, enjoying adventures, riding horses, and rough-tumbling with boys. Though her mother did not like it, she wanted her daughter to be happy. After all, wasn't she the one who married a man of another religion?
Her father saw a lot of potential in Ameena. Though she could never join the Brotherhood, he wanted to teach her their ways. He taught her history, science, philosophy, and languages. Ameena listened and was a quick learner. He taught her to always defend herself whenever it was necessary.
Do not be afraid to kill a man if he threatens you and brings you harm. He always said.
He secretly taught her, with the promise to never tell mother or anyone, how to fight with knives, how to disarm an enemy, how to be stealthy: all the things he learned in the Assassin's Creed. He would've given anything to give Ameena a chance at joining the Creed, yet they would never allow it. Perhaps he could try to convince them by proving his daughter was worthy of becoming an assassin. She was a woman: graceful, seductive...an enemy would never suspect an Assassin to be a woman.
Now, at thirteen, she witnessed the brutality that was happening outside her room, as men dressed in white robes with blood-red crosses blazed on their chest, pinned down her mother, torturing her, interrogating her about where her husband was. She refused to answer. Some of the men entertained themselves by playing sick, sexual games with her mother: groping her breasts and her ass, sticking their filthy fingers between her legs, forcing their cocks in her mouth to suck them off. Sometimes they stuck the handles of their swords inside her. She continued to resist their interrogations until they all took turns raping her.
Though she was told to be quiet, she accidentally let slip a little whimper, giving away her hiding place. The men roughly dragged Ameena out, holding a blade to her throat. They were in awe at this beauty with her appearance. They began to interrogate her, but she said nothing.
"Obviously, this little whelp doesn't know anything," said one of men. His voice sounded like it was not from here. Strange and foreign. They spoke Latin, which she clearly understood.
"Wait," said another who was the leader. "I want this one. She's my prize."
"But I saw her first," said another.
The leader backhanded him, causing him to land on the floor. "I said this one is mine. You can have the other slut. This one is mine."
"Fuck you!" he yelled, wiping the blood from his mouth. Again, he kicked him hard in the ribs where he lay coughing and moaning in pain.
"Get this one ready for me," said the leader. "I'm going to have a little fun with her."
The men blindfolded her, tied her wrists and gagged her, then dragged her away from her home, hearing her mother's screams in the background. She struggled but soon a cold, sharp tip pressed into her neck. The voice told her to stop or else she would be dead. Trembling, she obeyed. They attached her wrist bindings to a rope and pulled her along like she was some animal.
The dream was so real...so vivid...Cecilia Firenze sat up in her bed, naked and drenched with sweat. She vaguely remembered roaming the streets of Medieval Times, clad in a white robe. Her hands held a hidden blade.
She gazed over at her conquest that lay asleep in bed next to her. She picked up a lot of guys after her shift at the bar.
Cecilia Firenze was Italian descent with olive skin, black Gypsy hair and her cat-like green eyes. One could guess that those eyes of hers would bewitch men. She had an hourglass figure, perfect breasts and strong legs. She had a tattoo on her shoulder of a bird, wings spread.
She stood up to go to the bathroom, throwing cold water on her face. She drank some cold water to soothe her parched throat. Why were these dreams happening? It seemed like every night she had these dreams...yet, they seemed so real.
She reached for her medication and swallowed it. Everyone thought she was crazy. The only person who didn't think so was her co-worker, Desmond Miles. He was a nice guy, cute...but not really her type. More like a brother to her.
She reached for her journal and entered her latest dream in hopes to talk about it with Dr. Ramirez, her therapist at the next appointment.
Soon, they stopped. Relieved that they had stopped, her feet were bleeding since she had no shoes on at the time of her abduction. She was thrown on the ground and her blindfold and gag was removed.. She was inside a tent. The leader approached her, staring at her with eyes that frightened her, filled with a sexual hunger for a fresh young virgin. He closed the tent flap, giving them privacy. He pulled down the top half of her dress and gazed at her developing breasts.
Ameena watched in horror as he began to fondle her breasts with filthy fingers. Soon he lifted up her skirt and stared. Soon, he touched her there...that intimate area that her parents taught her was sacred. It was to be only touched by her husband or lover if she chose. It was to be treated with utmost respect. Anyone who thought otherwise was violating it.
With two fingers, he roughly plunged them roughly inside her, which hurt. She shut her eyes tightly, biting her lip. Then, he lowered his head down below and his snake-like tongue all over her. She hated the whole feeling.
"Mm, delicious!" the man murmured.
Then resumed this depraved act; his hand on her breast and his mouth and fingers working down south. She tried to block it out, squirming and wriggling as she was forced to endure this horrible act. Her father told her about men like this. He told her that sex was supposed to be a sacred thing between a man and a woman. He also told her about men also used sex for power and control. These were men she should beware of for they were the most selfish, cruel and evil creatures who walked on the earth.
Should this ever happen, always find a way to escape.
"Come on, love!" the man said. "Enjoy it! Stop laying there like a dead fish." His lips wet from her pussy and went back to work, grappling her ass.
Soon, he stopped and off came his trousers, exposing his cock to her. He forced her to kneel and shoved his cock in her mouth. It was disgusting! She could smell the filth and sweat on the mound of black hair, which tickled her nose. His hand grasping her head and hair, groaning with pleasure. He called her a stream of filthy names like 'whore', 'slut', etc. He continued this,jamming it towards the back of her throat, pressing on the gag reflex.
She thought of how her father taught her to steal someone's weapon, disarm them and fight back.
Look for a weapon to defend yourself. Don't hesitate to kill your enemy.
Ameena looked around and saw his dagger hanging off his belt. Though her hands were bound, she grabbed it very stealthily and with a swift move, drove it into his testicles, which he cried out in pain. He dropped to his knees and then she slit his throat. The blood sprayed her in the face, giving her a war-paint appearance. The man collapsed on his side, dead.
A voice yelled, "What is going on in there? Did that little slut make you com..." another man entered; he was bald and had a cold look. When he saw the dead body, his face fell.
He knelt next to him and he looked saddened. He caressed the dead man's face and closed his eyes. Then he turned to Ameena, full of rage. He was about to attack her when she slashed at him with the dagger twice, which he cried out in pain and cursed in French.
"Salope! Putain! Bitch! Fucking whore!"
He ran away, screaming in rage and pain, leaving her. Ameena held the dagger tightly to ensure no one ever touched her again.
Just then, two men appeared in white hoods to the tent and they were stunned. A little teenage girl just took out their leader. She stood up with the dagger in her hand, walked on top of his body and away from him. Ameena shied away from the men in hoods.
"We're not here to hurt you," they assured her. "What is your name?"
"Ameena," she replied. "Daughter of Ahmanad Moghadam and Cecilia Firenze."
"Come with us," they said.