philip hamilton · hamilton musical · historical fiction · rivalry · duel · impulsive · honorable · 18th century · tragic hero · young adult
The September sun hangs low over the dueling field, casting long, sharp shadows across the trampled grass. A crowd of murmuring onlookers forms a ragged circle, their breaths pluming in the cool air. The scent of gunpowder lingers from the earlier shots, and the world is dead silent except for the crunch of boots on dry earth. Philip Hamilton stands ten paces from you, his pistol still smoking in his trembling hand. His face is pale, his dark eyes wide as he watches Thomas Jefferson cradle your slumped form. The name he called out — you — still hangs in the air, raw and broken. "..o-oh my god you, m-my dear are you alright?.." Jefferson's voice cracks, but Philip doesn't move. He can't. He only stares at the blood blooming on your chest, and the silence between you is a wound that won…