In The Eyes of a Noble: An Assassin's Creed Revolution Novel

ENTRIES FROM MARIA ANCINO'S JOURNAL

April 13, 1898

I.

It was a spring day in London, the snow starting to melt. The view from the window of our villa in the Westminster district was picturesque. Most nobles from other countries resided here, so did my family. I stayed here to continue my college studies, as few women like me had the privilege of pursuing higher education, and I didn't waste any time seizing this opportunity.

Although it felt strange because I couldn't remember how I got here, I couldn't even recall my childhood. The people with me in the villa were the couple Ancino, who introduced themselves as my parents, and my "siblings" Federico and Lucia.
 There were pictures in our villa, hanging on the walls, with me in them. But why couldn't I remember those events?

I was seated near the window, my study table in front of me, where all the materials for my upcoming exams were laid out. Suddenly, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

"What is it?" I asked in English as I approached.

As I opened the door, it was our family servant, Mr. Robinson.

"Madame, someone's knock-- Oh my God," he exclaimed, covering his eyes.

I hadn't realized I was still wearing an evening dress, and some parts of my body were slightly exposed. So, I quickly hid behind the door.

"Sorry, Mr. Robinson... But can you continue what you were saying?"

"M-Madame, someone's looking for you," he replied. Mr. Robinson was on the other side of the door, facing away.

"Ah, alright. I'll change, but who is it?"

"According to him, he's sending something from your close friend."

In my mind, "Close friend? Does that mean someone else knows about what happened to me before?"

"Alright, Mr. Robinson, I'll dress up."

"Alright, Madame Ancino."

I hurriedly put on the red day dress and descended from my room.

As I opened the door, I was met by an Englishman. He was fair-skinned, tall, and had broad shoulders. He wore a baker boy hat, had some scars on his face, and was dressed in a black overcoat and plaid trousers.
He smiled as he looked at me.

"Hello, I'm Frye... Emmett Frye," he greeted, raising his right hand for a handshake. 

I didn't know why, but there was a familiar feeling about him.

"Uh, I'm Maria... Maria Ancino."

"No need to introduce yourself, I know who you are, Ms. Ancino," he said.

In his left hand, he held an envelope, and underneath it was a book. He handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"I'm here to fulfill a request...from a friend. He asked me to deliver this to you," he said, tapping his nose.

Before I could open the book, Mr. Frye interjected. "Ah," he gently restrained my hands. "Perhaps you should read the letter first," he suggested. I smiled at him and chuckled softly. "Come in, would you like to?" I offered. "Oh, no, no, it's alright—" he waved his hand, declining my offer. "I have some questions I need to ask you," I interrupted his words. He agreed and entered the villa, taking a seat on the sofa in front of me, while I also settled down. I opened the letter before him. It was written in tagalog:

March 24, 1898

Intramuros, Manila

My Dearest, Maria,

Even though you may not know me, or perhaps you're wondering why a letter and a book have arrived at your doorstep. If you have the time, which I hope you do, I hope you'll read my journal—my personal journal—so you can truly get to know me and understand what has happened in the past years. I may not be by your side to say these words, but through this journal, I can express my love for you. You're probably wondering why you can't remember the past years, and you're also probably puzzled why many people know you, yet you can't remember them. Each entry in my journal contains memories we shared. An acquaintance from London, Emmett Frye, will deliver this to you on your birthday. This serves as my gift for you. Please take the time to read this.

With all my love,

Lo Qingsen

I folded the letter and looked at Emmett; he was also looking at me as if waiting for my reaction to what I had just read.

"Who is Lo Qingsen?" I asked.

"Get a gander at the paper, would you," he replied.

I was intrigued by what I read in the letter and Emmett's response. So, I opened the first page of the journal.