Hamilton Angst stuff

more WeRk

Alexander had been writing for a week, and he felt like he had been writing for a lifetime. His fingers were raw and his eyes were blurry with fatigue, as if they'd been rubbed away by the words. But he couldn't stop. He was in the grip of a feverish energy, an unstoppable force. He had to keep going, to keep going until the end.

The room was lit by a single lamp, its light casting deep shadows in the corners of the room. His desk was cluttered with scattered papers and the remains of meals, half-eaten and forgotten. He had no time to care for them. His only focus was on the words, pouring out of him in a relentless stream.

The hours passed without him noticing, and soon it was the dead of night, long past the hour when a person should be asleep. But Alexander was still at his desk, his fingers flying across the page as if they had a mind of their own. Finally, though, his body betrayed him. His eyelids drooped, then closed, and he allowed himself to collapse into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He awoke some time later, his body heavy with fatigue and his mind still clouded with fog. He blinked, trying to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. Then he heard a voice, whispering softly in the darkness.

"Alexander, my love," the voice said. "It's time to rest."

He turned and saw Eliza standing there, her silhouette illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. She had come in some time ago, after he had already fallen asleep, and had brought a blanket with her. Now she stood there, gently folding it over him, her face soft with concern.

"Alexander, you've been working too hard," she said. "You need to take a break. You need to rest."

He nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Eliza kissed him on the forehead, and he closed his eyes again, letting himself drift off into a dreamless sleep.