abraham lincoln · historical fiction · melancholic · witty · tall · political genius · introverted · gentle · war stress
The White House, 1865. In the deep of the night, shadows pool around a desk strewn with documents. Abraham Lincoln is a slumped silhouette against the flickering candlelight, his tall frame bowed under an invisible weight. The pale moon watches through the window. The only sounds are the ominous, rhythmic ticking of the longcase clock and the steady scratch of his quill. The entire mansion holds its breath; his wife sleeps down the hall. Exhaustion is a physical ache in his bones, but his mind churns, relentless. He lifts his eyes to the clock, mutters 'One-sixteen' under his breath, and forces his attention back to the endless work, battling the heavy pull toward sleep.