PLEASE READ ME: Hello friends! It has been a long time and I'm so sorry for not updating though i doubt many of you were very interested in this story. This chapter is unfinished and this story will not be updated again unfortunately. However, this OC was a great experiance for me despite, her Mary Sueness, I found this chapter awhile back and actually decided that this is the only chapter i liked. I hope you enjoy it too, I still don't mind any reviews, critique or comments however so feel free to add some and thank you for everything.

The whole entire day I walked around, thinking, having flashbacks and memories of Jacque. He really was my big brother.

The other people around the large encampment looked at me strange; I saw some who looked of a higher rank, leaning over a table drawing on a map with some white people they gave me a serious look then continued on their business. It was just liked the French soldiers back at the camp I stayed at, Pierre seemed to notify all the higher-ranking soldiers that I was an undercover spy, parading as a volunteer. So they seemed to tolerate me more. That was my excuse for being in a warzone, but not any reason for being an Asian girl in the colonies. Some of the lower-ranking soldiers gave me suspicious looks, and others just said "Where the hell does she come from? Why is she here? Who is she?"

Some of the Vietnamese assassins bowed to me, which I…didn't enjoy. It seems as if just because I put on the robes grandfather gave me, they think I am one of the assassins. But I was not, I was skinny and the clothes appeared baggy, they were strong and I was weak. Of course I killed a few people, but a gun killed nobody who fired it. I felt out of place. My thoughts guided my feet to areas unknown.

People started calling me Trang Uyenthy again, but I didn't respond to the name the first few times. I only knew my name as Tiffany. People always wondered why. I vaguely began to remember.

I was only 12 at the time I first stepped onto the colonies. I did not speak any language but my own. Two of the French soldiers were shouting at me in their gibberish to get down from the large tree I had scrambled up in terror. But I only stood in the fork of the tree, looking down at them quietly. I didn't say anything, but they probably knew I was afraid. I heard the raucous voice bark up in my direction once more. I kicked an acorn down at them, missing entirely. They laughed at how pathetic my attempt seemed. But then I heard a much clearer gentler voice of a man in his 20's.

"What are you two doing?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about, boy." They snapped, their smiles instantly fading into a bitter snarl. He looked up in the tree they were wrestling with and saw, me, the tiny, timid mouse.

"How did she get up there?" He asked,

"Well what do you think, smartass? She climbed up! If you wanna be useful then let's see you get her down."

He simply glanced up the tree, and began to climb. I began to panic and scramble higher unto the tree.

"Hold on a second, little miss." I turned around in alarm, I realized he was speaking to me but I did not know what he said.

"We won't hurt you." He explained calmly. I saw a smile on his face and frowned down at him. But I had stopped climbing completely to stare at the man. And by then he had caught up to me in my little branch. "What's your name, mon ami?" It took a little of coaxing and hand communication for me to understand he was asking for my name.

"Uyenthy." I murmured quietly. He tilted in his head in confusion.

"Well, gentlemen, I seem to have found her name. Though I'm sure I can't pronounce it."

"We didn't ask you to get her name, Jacque! We want her on the ground, NOW." But he looked at me once more.

"Perhaps we can find you a more suitable name." The young Frenchman said loud enough so the two soldiers below could hear. They rolled their eyes and groaned.

"Stop wasting your time on the little savage and let's go."

"I think the Thy, in your name could fit into Tiffany."

"Ain't that an English name?" One soldier piped.

"And your giving that little runt an English name?" The other chimed in. He twitched at the discrimination in their voices. It's as if they see her as tiny little pest. He thought. But turned back to me and grinned.

"Tiffany is the name of the headmaster of my orphanage."

"Ah, that's right. He's bringing up your precious lil' English baby-sitter again."

"Pfft."

I heard a scowl from Jacque and he flicked another acorn down the tree with the tip of his polished boot. It bounced off one of their heads and I laughed at this triumphantly, almost if I had done it.

Of course I didn't understand the story he explained to me. But when I grew older he told me of how his father was some sort of spy or something sent to England where he never came back. Jacque never knew his real mother, as she died awhile back from disease, which landed him in an orphanage. The headmaster was a kind, timid lady who had married a French man and moved over. That was Tiffany. The real Tiffany. When people found out she was from England they despised her. Accused her of being another spy. Apparently, after five years, she just had enough and left. He never told me what happened to the orphanage though.

But the reason Jacque wanted me to have this name was because of a coincidence. Jacque was always a rebel, believe it or not, and the day they sent him to live in an orphanage, he climbed up the apple tree nearby refusing to come down. That's when that Tiffany woman jumped in. It's how he came up with what to name me after finding me up in a tree, not wanting to come down.

"She was a quiet, shy woman. I imagine she felt out of place. You seem like a very quiet girl, and I for one, know, you are not where you belong, I bet you wish to be home with your family."

So I was finally coaxed down the tree. The rest of the time with the French soldiers, they ordered me around a lot, made me do many chores and tasks and help out with their problems. But they did not treat me very terribly, even Pierre, and I suppose the only reason I learned to hate him was because he always yelled at Jacque. I wanted to , HAD to protect Jacque because he was my new family. Pierre was always a naturally aggressive person.

I got used to the name Tiffany, because that's what Jacque called me a lot. I responded to it like a loyal dog responded to its companion. But when anybody else called to me in anyway, I was a brat. Never responding to a voice that did not belong to my closest friend, I'd only shy away from nurses who call to me for help cooking and cleaning clothing, or refuse to speak to gruff, burly soldiers who needed me to change a bandage, but were unkind to someone of my skin color or gender. I did the task, I just did not speak. Tiffany became my name; I remember trying to act tough when soldiers talked to me, trying to make me feel bad, telling me to go back where I came from. But altogether I was…silent, dealing with all the meaningless insults thrown at me. Just like the original Tiffany. But, sometimes I fear that like her, I've been broken and torn in half from being in a foreign land away from home and family for much too long.

I had wandered off, until I stood behind large wooden spikes driven through the earth. I'd never seen such ferocious structures; the French camp was not big enough to require such brutal protections. So, out of curiosity and stupidity, I traced the wood with my finger and received a bothersome little splinter. I sighed as I attempt to pluck it out.

More than half of the time, Pierre yelled at and punished me was because of a reason. I can finally realize that now that he took away Jacque. Trying to escape and go home without having a clue on where to even go, doing thing's wrong or just not thinking. He'd always shriek that he's a got a war to take care of and me being such a nuisance will bring out the terrifying, harsh side of him I don't want to see. When there was no reason to yell at me, he just rants about the war and soldiers when things get especially stressful, and maybe lashes out a few times. But then I thought of all the soldiers he killed so cruelly, and I look at the small little bloody noses and little bone fractures he's given me. Perhaps Grandfather was right. I did overreact. And more than once, I had pitied myself, so much that I had not noticed the others.

And I finally realize…I am still alive compared to the ones who died by his hand. Why I am still here? Why am I not dead? Why didn't Connor just kill me on the spot?

I felt terrible. I felt guilty of a crime I didn't commit.

The splinter slipped out of my skin, and I continued to wander back to camp. But my thoughts were clouded with thoughts of this assassin talk, the talk of honor, heritage, and the talk of freedom. I hear people spat nasty things about England, I can feel them dream about their independence, but all I see is a bunch of soldiers, coming back dead in the name of freedom. My people wanted freedom once, when China ruled Vietnam. Then the Trung Sister's, Lady Trieu came and started a rebellion, a revolution, just like the people here! Time to time, I wonder if these tales are true, my people had freedom, but they've had it taken away and given back, taken away and fighting to have it back.

These people in the colonies...they want freedom but they better pray it will not turn into a useless tug of war. If it does, what is the point of helping them? There was absolutely nothing to do, once I had re-traced my steps back. I eventually spotted Grandfather standing in the middle of the fort, his posture very noble and important. Nothing like the simple and warm grandfather I knew. I sighed. But still grandfather none the less. I waited by a secluded area silently until he approached. As he was about to speak I interrupted.

"Why do you fight?" I questioned.

"What do you mean? Did we not go over this?" He replied.

"Why do WE fight? Our people, why must we involve ourselves with the French, the colonies and their war? For honor?"

"No, no. You do not understand." Grandfather sighed deeply. He spun around slowly, in deep thought. "It is not for honor. It is for our people…we fight…because we have made a…er… deal with the French Assassins."

I feel alarmed for a minute, but listen attentively.

"I trust you are old enough to understand why we are involved. And you must not tell anyone else who is outside of our own order. We fight because the French have offered us protection against the Chinese invaders. China plans to conquer Vietnam, again, once and for all. If we help the French with their skirmish they will send their order to fight with us…We need them." He explains calmly. But I felt terrified. My home country was going to be invaded? And we needed those foreigners to help us defend ourselves? Then the uncertainty came over me like a damp veil sticking to my skin.

"That…doesn't seem right." I murmured to myself. Something was not right. There was something else to it. Not just assassins helping other assassins in their own affairs. There was someone else in this little game. I shook away the thoughts.

"We must gather foreigners to protect OUR home, by helping these French troops fight alongside the colonists in their war? Why can't we fend for ourselves? Help our OWN people and leave these foreigners to tear each other apart. I could care much less…"

Grandfather's face darkened somewhat at my words. I tried to read the words behind his dark, sad aura, but I can feel his disappointment in my attitude. My granddaughter, once so innocent, happy, and kind has become so ignorant, hateful and selfish. She has learned many things from her life in the camp, but not the righteous things. She has learned from many people, but not from the good, honest people, like that Jacque she cares about. Is he not a" foreigner" as well? Are we not foreigners? People of the East helping our fellow assassins in the West. My granddaughter…I wonder…what has she become?

"We are a brotherhood. By helping our brothers and sisters in their conflicts, they will turn around and help us in ours." Grandfather continued.

"Or they will turn around to stab us in the back. I trust no one but you grandfather, and I hope your 'deal' will save our homeland." I retorted. I wanted nothing to do with anybody. I no longer wish to trust anymore. Not while the place I have missed out on for all these years is in danger.

"It will. We do all this-"He gestured back to all the Vietnamese assassins and our small campsite set up. "In order to protect our land. It is Independence for Independence. The colonies will be free and so will our home if we just work together."

"If that's the case…then I will join you, in this brotherhood. Not for them…but for our people, and for our Vietnam."

Grandfather sighed in distress once again. There is much to teach to undo her way of thinking. Even if she is my granddaughter, she must develop an understanding nature. And I will see to her progress myself.

I bowed. There is much to learn to help save my home. Even if the Frenchman have to be involved. I am committed now, and I will work as hard as I possibly can to learn what it takes to be an assassin. I have little experience with weapons, and am downright skinny. But I will try. As I continue to plan on and on in my head.

Grandfather gently stopped me once more. "I also have something you might want, granddaughter, it is a letter from our family back home. I thought you might want to see how they were doing."

As i said this is an unfinished chapter and I hope it redeems some of the rest of the story but as always enjoy, reviews are appreciated and have a wonderful life!