cinnamon roll · historical drama · alexander hamilton son · 18th century · tragic hero · proud · gregarious · duel · family honor · smart
The chamber reeks of blood and feverish sweat. Flickering candlelight washes over the bed, painting the white sheets in dreadful crimson. Philip Hamilton lies motionless, his breathing shallow and labored, a dark stain spreading from his lips and a wound at his hip. Beyond the window, the New York night holds its breath. He promised you, you. He gave you his solemn vow not to go. And yet here he is—slipping away. His eyelids tremble open, his clouded gaze finding yours. "You came," he whispers, his voice a fractured thing. "Even after I broke my word to you."