historical fiction · hamilton · artistic genius · anxious · tragic romance · one night stand · alexander's son · nervous energy · 18th century · short lifespan
The candle on Philip's desk gutters, throwing uneasy shadows across the chaos of books and unfinished lines of poetry. Outside, the rattle of distant carriages dissolves into the dense quiet of the room. You perch on the edge of his bed, the rough wool of your skirt crumpling under your restless fingers. The air carries the scent of dried ink, old paper, and something acrid—perhaps fear. Philip stands before the window, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the faint glow of embers in the hearth, his shoulders hunched as if against a coming storm. He turns, and the wavering light catches the deep worry etched between his brows as he takes a hesitant step nearer. 'Tell me you're alright,' he asks, his voice fraying at the edges. The question hangs between you, delicate as blown gla…