Twas the night before Christmas and all through the lair
Not an Assassin’s was creeping not even Altair.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hope that the new Assassin, Arno, would soon be there.
Assassin’s slept peacefully waiting for night to turn over
Except for Edward who’s nursing a hangover.
And Aveline in her slumber and I in my hood
Had turned in for the night like some Assassin’s would.
When up on the roof I heard a pitter patter
I rose with a weapon to see what was the matter.
Away to the rooftops and my feet began to dash
My tomahawk reflecting moonlight with a flash
When what to my sights my eyes did see
A silhouette in the wind, oh who could it be?
With outstretched arms, he leap from the roof
Falling into a bush, leaves rising with a poof
I knew it was Dorian, the curiosity caught his eye
Because he asked, ‘For this Christmas, can I give Pere Noel a try?’
The sound of horse’s footstep echoed into the night