DISCLAIMER: Everyone from Assassin's Creed III belong to Ubisoft. I only own my OCs. Enjoy this chapter (and hopefully this story).

A/N: So I was reading some AC3: Connor/Reader fan fiction on tumblr and thought I'd try my hand at it. Go easy on me. ;)

"Get out of my house you good for nothing whore! Do not make me tell you again! I would have gladly seen you sold off to the highest bidder in New York had your dear father not made me accept you as my step-daughter. Oh but now, now that he is dead I want you gone. I cannot even bare to look at you! Your face makes me ill!" She screamed.

Christine Woodman still felt her stepmother's hand across her right cheek as she slapped her and sent her falling to the ground beneath her feet.

"Leave my sight, now! I want you out of this house by morning!" Her stepmother yelled just before she jumped to her feet and disappeared into her bedroom.

Throwing herself on her bed, she cried. Cried hard for the very first time since she had buried her father. Tears pooled out of her eyes as she heaved into her pillow, gasping for air every now and then. T'was a shame. Christine had a good life up until her mother died. Her and her mother did not have the best relationship, but Christine loved her her. After that, her father remarried the woman in the living room. Then, from the moment Christine had met her new 'mother', she knew she was trouble. Her father had to do a lot of begging for her to accept Christine as her step-daughter and finally, she did.

Then, six years after that, her father died. His death had been Christine's worst nightmare ever since she could remember. He was her rock, her best friend. How do you go on after you lose someone like that? Shortly after his passing, Christine began to see a slight change in her stepmother's behavior. She would go to work early, get off at noon, and come home late, and drunk. Christine had always known she had been at the local tavern ordering at least a dozen pints. While she was drunk, she would yell at Christine to do the chores. In which case, she had to do all of them since her drunken stepmother would be asleep just a few hours later. Christine had always known her and her stepmother would not have the perfect relationship, but she, by some miracle thought she could change.

Finally wiping a stray tear away, Christine decided that lying in bed was not going to get her anywhere. Although, she hadn't a clue as to what to do. Her stepmother wanted her out by morning and to make matters worse, the sun was lowering with every passing second Sitting up, she crossed her legs underneath her and began to think of some sort of plan. She doubted the colonists of New York would want a strange young woman roaming the streets with nowhere to go.

Just then, something hit her. An idea formed in her head as she climbed down from her bed and went to the wardrobe. Grabbing a traveling sack, she began to strip out of her pink Victorian dress. It pooled at her feet before she tore off her corset. She'd always hated wearing those things. They were just so uncomfortably tight. She then took her stockings off, along with her gloves she threw haphazardly beneath her.

Next, she rummaged through her closet and found a long, plain white scarf; she tossed it on top of her suitcase before she made her wade over to her writing desk. She opened the middle drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. This was the hardest and worst part fort of her plan. Facing the mirror, Christine inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes tightly and began to cut her dark brown hair. It fell carelessly onto the floor as she continued, finally opening her eyes and looking into the mirror for guidance. Looking at her reflection before her, Christine gulped. She had cut her long locks off. Now, her hair was short, very short.

After returning the scissors, she reached for the scarf, looping it around her back and over top her bosom which quickly became flatter with every loop it made. Finished, she tied it securely. Rummaging through her closet, she found a pair of black pants and a white button down shirt. She donned the clothing, and after, looped a black belt through the belt loops of the pants before she found an old pair of brown boots her father gave her for their hunting trips. Slipping them on, Christine was finally prepared for the journey ahead.

She then threw a few Victorian dresses, including the one on the floor which was her favorite, into the suitcase along with a bunch of her father's old shirts and pants he'd lent her before he passed. Grabbing the silver pistol out of her nightstand, she put it on top of all her clothes. Finished with everything, she closed the suitcase and zipped it up tightly, making her way to the window. She looked back at the home she had since she was a child. It held many memories, but she knew she had to move on.

Opening the windows, she climbed out and hauled the bag out with her. Firmly shutting the windows, she turned and took in the crisp autumn night, pulling on a brown coat that was passed down to her by her mother. She would do this all by herself. She would start a new life, just not here. She was headed for a little town she knew nothing about, Boston Massachusetts.

Right then and there she vowed she would be brave. She would not be a burden to her stepmother ever again, nor would she ever look at her face again. The face that had screamed at her many times before. The face that would love her father behind closed doors, but betray him after his death. No, Christine Woodman would be alone from now on. Live by her own set of rules. Christine Woodman was now going to live her life freely.

Hope you enjoyed chapter one! Please review!