Rewritten History (Hamilton OCs Collection)

In on This

 "Good evening, beautiful dame," King Fat-Arse - I mean King George bowed down, taking my hand.

My face scrunched up in disgust.

Well, I either die on the inside, or die on the outside. Whoo, so many great opportunities.

"Good evening, your Royal Highness," I curtsied, trying my best to hide my displeasure.

I, not to brag or anything, have always been a magnificent actor.

Now, you may be asking: how did I get myself into this situation?

Well, thank you for caring. I really take it to heart.

And my name is Jane Laura Johnson. You may have heard of me; you may have not. But none of that matters, for that is the past, and here's the building blocks of my future: being treated as nothing more than an object by a person who you aren't even allowed to complain about. It really is great being a woman in the 1700s, I'll tell you that.

"Whom do I owe the pleasure to for uniting us, dove?"

I physically gagged at the pet name.

Keep cool, don't let them see past your false complexion.

"The pleasure is all mine, my King, and it was my father - John Wilkes - that brought me here."

On cue, my father stepped into the room to save me from any more suffering - my father saving me from suffering, that is new.

"My King, it is a pleasure to see you again," my father bowed.

"A pleasure to see you too, my good friend. But it really is much more of a pleasure to know what a lovely," he dragged his eyes over me, "daughter you have there."

"Why, yes, I have been told she is quite special," my father slightly adjusted his suit.

Well, the first complement my father ever gave me was really less of a complement and more of a 'my daughter is nothing but something to look at and own.'

I could see a girl creep out from behind the shadows - she seemed around the same age as me.

Men and their stupid slaves. She's not even legally an adult yet, the poor thing.

"Sir," she said, completely calm and composed.

Well, like the saying goes, you get a new role model everyday.

Or, something along the line of that.

"Your tea."

She placed a tray infront of him.

Why couldn't he do it himself, you ask? Because he's a lazy a-hole, that's why.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Carrie, my dear."

I locked eyes with her for a moment: she smiled, I smiled back.

The King shooed her away.

She seemed nice. It's truly a shame all the nice people are slaves.

"What are you thinking about, dove?" the Royal Highness placed his hand on my thigh, moving it higher and higher until it was uncomfortably close to my-

I stayed silent. I let him.

Tears formed in the corners of my eyes.

I don't want to stand down - this isn't right.

It shouldn't be normal.

It shouldn't be.

My thoughts only added to my anger, my hand slightly fidgeting next to me. Perhaps I could...

I lifted a finger. No-one seemed to notice. With that, my hand was raised in the air, more than ready to-

The slave-girl from before - Cathie, was it? - swiftly rushed in, grabbing my arm and ushering me out of the room.

"You're insane, you know that? I've never met anybody who even dare thought about hitting King George," she stared at me with wide eyes once we were out of the room.

I opened my mouth, but I didn't really know what to say.

"I'm in," she cut me off.

"In on what?"

"In on whatever this is - women's rights, maybe? That's it! Women's rights!"

"Hm," I nonchalantly smiled at her, "nice to know I've got an ally."

Heyy guys, I've written this part, hopefully you like it :)