Burn (chapter 24.)

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Elizabeth Hamilton (née Schuyler)... I haven't had a fun fact about her yet... have I? So fun fact: Elizabeth and Alexander pretty much adopted... even while having MANY kids of their own. (Also, Hello_Im_Crazy279 did a much better job with this song in her one shot book, I recommend greatly.)
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"Stan... I," she starts.

"I saved every letter you wrote me," I say.

I smile at Ike, who kicks his siblings out of the room before going after them.

"From the moment I read them I knew you were mine," I say.

I can't help smiling at the memory.

"You said you were mine," I say.

The smile disappears.

"I thought you were....mine," I say.

My voice has a hard time getting through the sentence.

"Do you know what Kyle said... when we saw your first letter arrive?" I ask.

"He said," I say.

"Be careful with that one, love. She will do what it takes to survive," I say, hearing his voice say it with me.

"You and your words flooded my senses," I say.

How can something beautiful be harmful? Well, like this, like every-single-letter.

"Your sentences left me defenseless," i say.

This was supposed to be two equals, she said she'd respect me.

"You built me palaces out of paragraphs," I say.

But that's all a huge falsification of the truth... of course it was! How could it not be?

"You built cathedrals," I say.

I respected her too much, she respected me... in a way that shouldn't be possible. When I put someone on a PEDESTAL and act like she's a fucking God I shouldn't be met with..... met with all she's done.

"I'm re-reading the letters you wrote me," I say, after a moment.

I just..... I'm hopeless.

"I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line for some kind of sign," I say.

The slow cold feeling is taking over, it's the realisation of.... does she even care? If she could do this all the while sending me lette—she wanted me away...... oh of course she wanted me away! I would have asked! She used her writing against me........

"And when you were mine the world seemed to," I say.

I sigh.

"Burn," I say.

Now it doesn't burn and if it will start up ever again, the flames don't reach this high, they never EVER will.

"You published the letters she wrote you," I say.

"Stan, it wasn't—."

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