Roma, 1512.


"How about... this one?"

Ezio chuckles under his breath, a rumble deep in his chest. Sofia is smiling down at him like an angel, the golden sunbeams of the late afternoon making her pale skin glow. Under the light, her hair is a fierier shade than usual. Her fingertips drift across the surface of his skin, running a little firmer over the scars and pocks. There are many, and though most are tiny and barely off-colour, others are a bit more noticeable.

( So far, she only knows the story behind the one on his lip. )