Rewritten History (Hamilton OCs Collection)

A Revolution and the Tailor

Jane's POV

Days passed as I gained more and more knowledge on the upcoming issue. A messy heap of books lay on the desk I was currently sitting at: a kind librarian offering it to me for being a (quote-on-quote) 'loyal customer.'

From all the books and news I've read, there was one strong statement I had gathered: the UK are abominable douches, and America want freedom.

I empathised with America; the unquenchable thirst for something more than the sorry life layed out infront of you.

What Britain has done to America is dreadful: I can't even bring myself to express the great amount of sorrow and shame I feel from the upcoming facts surrounding me.

I cannot ever repay them the despair my country did.

I was sorry.

But another thing became clear in my mind, something that scared, yet also excited me (a, quite frankly, very dangerous combination): I wanted to help.

I wanted to be a part of this mess.

I wanted to be a part of history.

I could make a difference, I could be known; be praised.

Or I could lose. Be the traitor that sacrificed everything to stop her home country and did not even succeed.

But the shadows were never a thing to bother me: I might as well try and fail then not try at all.

And then another thing occurred to me:

I'm a woman.

I heard a slow clap in the back of my head, a few wolf whistles and a 'you don't say.'

God I hate myself sometimes.

Still, women can't fight in the army. It's unfair, but true.

And I could argue with you all day long about how it isn't fair, trust me, but now's not the time for squabbles.

How could I get into an army despite me being a girl?

My brain ticked away, there had to be some way I could get in - some way.

And I'm not giving up until I find that way.

As if a lightbulb has appeared over my head, a sudden thought stopped my constant pacing.

I could pretend to be a man.

How, you ask?

Easily, really. Well, easily when you consider that my friend's a tailor.

...

"Harriet! I need your help."

I burst into her small shop, the door slamming a tad louder than it should have.

What can I say, I'm over-dramatic.

"Jane, long time no see- oh dear god, what happened to you? You look like you slept through the world's ending, then woke up and realised all your ice-cream's melted and you can't go to buy some more because all the shops have been destroyed."

"That's... odly specific," I let out a nervous chuckle.

"Had a nightmare 'bout it once," she replied with a shrug.

"Well," she spun around to face me, "what do you need?"

"I, uhm... don't laugh," I started as she put her hands up in defeat, "I need men's clothing. And make it cheap, I don't have money to waste and I don't want to stand out-"

"Men's clothing, huh?" she smirked, a smug look in her eye as she raised an eyebrow, "who's the lucky guy?"

"You- you blithering imbercile. No-one."

"Mhmm? Well, what are his measurements?"

"Uh," I didn't know how to answer that without giving anything away, "about the same as mine."

"Well, he must be a dwarf then. You're a midget and that's on women standards."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," I seethed. I've always been insecure about my height, and she knows it.

"Right, well, I've got your measurements listed down here already, so it probably won't take that long. Come back in four hours, and send your special guy my love."

With that, she ushered me out of her shop, stopping me from adding any further comments on how I don't have a special guy.

... yet.

Okay, I'm smart, I'll give you that, but my pride's way too high to acknowledge that I'm a hopeless romantic.

Well, sort of one, anyway.

I have always wanted a man, but my mouth seems to be... a tad too big for most men's required tastes.

But I'll meet a man who doesn't mind me talking back someday.

Someday.

Written by yours truly XD