Peter Lytton was the cousin of Alexander Hamilton and James Hamilton Jr (...) he had purchased many of Alexander's items at the auction of her estate and took custody of James and Alexander Hamilton.
---
There's a few things I found out about this place.
The first thing I noticed was the complete lack of electricity. I've looked far and wide, but there was nothing- no lights, no sockets, no electronic devices. There are several candles in the corners of each room to substitute the lamps.
"(Christ, how far from civilisation are we?)" I muttered sourly, switching my phone to power saving and then powering it off. The boy watches my actions, looking at my phone with caution, but he doesn't say anything.
I also realised that this house didn't have a water supply, which really caught me off guard. What kind of house doesn't have a water supply, like, come on. The only thing in the house I could find was a basin with murky water in a desolate room. It seemed to have been used for bathing, but I didn't see a toilet anywhere. "Technically a bathroom, I guess."
The house was reasonably large, and it was definitely meant for more than two people, which only makes me wonder where these other people are. The house was by no means empty, but seemed to have been abandoned, the only resident being the boy that has taken keenly to following me around.
Oh, how he has been following me around.
Surprisingly, the sickly boy didn't hole up and hide away from me, instead sticking to me like a shadow. He's as silent and timid as shadow, too- I don't notice him half of the time, as he just hovers around me, always in the same room, but never really there with me.
Even as I look at him now, he is gazing into the distance, a cloudy look in his eyes. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of his. I've never really met anyone like him, I couldn't take a guess of what he's thinking about- actually I could, scratch that, but it doesn't really explain anything to me.
I'm not really in touch with emotions. But I don't have to be to give the boy food or tell him stories in the evening. By a candle that I lit, we ate stale bread I found and I told him of fairytales and legends that I remembered- of Gediminas' Iron Wolf, of Eglė the Queen of Serpents and her tree-turned children.
He listened intently, leaning in with intrigue- but he never spoke to me. Not once. I don't even know if he understands me, as my English isn't the best, but he seems to listen. He always seemed to listen, even as I was walking around, taking to myself. Maybe he didn't understand me- maybe he just prefered the sound over the empty room.
I didn't know that he could speak English until they found us.
"Lord almighty! We leave for a trip abroad and it seems like everyone has vanished!" Both of us had been asleep when an unfamiliar shout had rung out in the house, waking us both from our dreams. I blinked drowsily, looking around in confusion, before setting my eyes on two complete strangers. "Alright, children are here, why are they not with their mother-?"
They were both wearing clothes I've never seen before- frankly, they all looked outrageously out of fashion. Both men seemed to be concerned about something, one being more obvious about it. Soon, to my confusion, they leave to check the other rooms.
"Hey," I nudge the boy softly. He groans, opening an eye. "Do you know these people?" I knew by the suddenly petrified look that he didn't, even as they reentered the room we were in.
"Blasphemy, that's what this is." One of them mumbled, redirecting their attention on us. His icy glare landed on me, flicking to my chest for a second, making me feel insecure.
Yes, I'm fucking flat, I wanted to say, get over it, but I kept quiet. He kept looking at me as if he knew something I didn't. "What are your names, boys?"
"I'm-" not a boy, but I never managed to say that sentence.
"Alexander and James Hamilton, monsieur," the boy replied, very strained and rushed. I blink in surprise, looking at the small boy before me. His voice was rusty, as if unused, but loud nonetheless, tainted with an emotion I couldn't put my finger on. "Nous... live with... mother."
So he doesn't speak English well.
I recognised the name 'James Hamilton' from somewhere, but I was too busy gaping at 'Alexander'. It was so strange to finally put a name to his face.
One of the men grimaced in digust, looking him up and down."You reek. When was the last time you've bathed?"
Alexander didn't answer the question, his body tense. His oily hair fell over his eyes, hiding his face. Soon, the man's gaze fell onto me. "Wash your brother thoroughly, as he seems to be..." he eyes Alexander again. "... Incapable of doing so himself."
"I- okay, yeah," I mutter, noticing how the room is extremely tense. I don't know why I'm not correcting them that I'm not his brother, but it seems like I'm the only one who doesn't know what's going on. Alexander looks terrified, so I pick up my Backpack and say "Come on, Alex."
Both of the men stare strangely at me as I walk past, Alexander gripping my jumper and following me. I swear I heard a "... Ridiculous, the Hamilton's have less manners than I've last seen them."
We walk to the washroom, and my mind is somewhere else. There's still a part of my brain that's in a haze, that doesn't allow me to react properly. I wonder why he lied about who I was. Surely, he could have had me arrested for what I did. Did he have a reason for doing that? Surely-
A small splash of water disrupts my thoughts, and I spot Alexander in the tub. His naked shoulders seem to be so thin and fragile, his body frail and weak from something other than lack of food.
Maybe it's the same thing that took his mother.
A shiver goes down my spine, lowering my gaze to the floor. My brain cannot keep up with what's going on. Time seems to be moving so strangely, and yet nothing- except me- seems to be out of place. Alexander (is his name really Alexander-?) seems to be tense, but not scared or confused.
I'm the lost one here. I hate that feeling.
I can feel him staring at me, as silent as a mouse. I lift my head up and my eyes meet violet ones. What a unique colour. Maybe he's some kind of wizard in disguise. I chuckle to myself, looking back at him. I don't know why, but the fact that he's naked doesn't faze me in my usual embarrassment. Usually I'd be running out of the room if someone is bare, even if I couldn't see them, but something has sucked out my rational thinking. That haze hasn't fully left yet.
"Euh..." Alexander starts, but doesn't finish when my head snaps up to look at him. Quickly shutting his mouth, he looks away and shrinks into himself.
He must be a really quiet person.
Knowing that just sitting there would be awkward, and that I'd rather not go out to see those other men again, I offer to wash his hair. He looks at me, as if trying to figure something out, but eventually nodding and handing me a bar of soap. Let me repeat- a bar of soap.
A sigh leaves my lips. "Do you have shampoo somewhere?"
He just looks at me and blinks. I can't be bothered to elaborate.
"Okay, I guess this will do."
I had to wet his hair by threading wet hands into his strands. Oil and grime seemed to be sticking to his hair, slipping off simply from the water. I didn't know that his hair was this dirty. I shouldn't be surprised, really.
Alexander curls into himself when I pour water over his head. His expression is blank. That's okay, I'm used to him like that.
"Who's James?" I finally ask as I try to lather some of the soap into his hair. He relaxes against me, quiet for a few moments.
"Mon frère," he answers quietly, not revealing anything else. I hum, another question already on the tip of my tongue.
"Where is he?"
"He... gone." No no that's not right something's wrong he should be here why isn't he here they were supposed to stay together why would he leave he was supposed to stay with-
"Oh." My headache worsens.
---
Alexander continues to stick to me even when we're around other people- wait, no- especially when we're around other people. He's as quiet as a mouse as we go through some kind of auction, and he hovers near me when some strangers dressed in pompous outfits discuss who will take custody of us two.
For whatever reason, I decide to not tell them that I'm not his brother. Maybe it's because I have nowhere to go, as I have no idea where I am.
But maybe it's because Alexander seems to have nothing else in his life. It's fine, I can act like his brother for the time being. I'm surprised that none of them figured out that I'm female yet.
Maybe that's because I'm taller than most of them. Heh, my Middle-eastern European traits are showing.
Alexander seems to be interested in finance, listening closely to the discussions of money, a concentrated, yet frustrated look on his face. I had quickly figured out that he could only speak English in broken sentences- the very basics, and way less than. I often wonder what goes on in that head of his- he speaks rarely, clearly aware of his disadvantage.
I'm dressed in a suffocating outfit. I feel like I can't breathe, especially with the temperatures here. Alexander is dressed in the same thing, but he doesn't complain- he doesn't even seem uncomfortable. Christ, how much has he been through to not be fazed by this?
A whirlwind of events pass by- and now I'm sitting in a carriage with Alexander, riding off to our new 'home'. We sit in silence- Alexander is absorbed into a book- he has been for a few hours now, switching between a dictionary of sorts and writing translations on the side- his brows furrowed as he slowly read the sentences. I noticed that he took to muttering when he read.
This journey to our 'home' has taken days, maybe even weeks. Sometime during the final ride, I leaned against Alexander, using his shoulder as a pillow. His red hair (His hair's copper, a stark difference to my initial assumption) tickled me slightly, but he gave no reaction, continuing to read the book.
When I woke up, Alexander was the one laying against me, the book laying on his lap. After checking that he was asleep, I took the book, examining it. Unlike the many scribbled sentences in French on the side, the book is in English- and that confirms that we're going somewhere to Britain or the US. I've heard that the British have rural villages, but I've never known it to be so large scale.
Or I've travelled through time.
I want to shake away such a ridiculous thought, but it makes sense- well, as much as time travel can. I was deemed male simply because of my height; they speak weird, even weirder than normal English speakers; there's no electricity at all. But then that raises other questions- why am I in- well, wherever I am, and why?
What are the consequences of time travelling? Am I in some kind of simulation? Is this an alternate universe? What do I do if I meet someone important?
No. That's stupid, time travel doesn't exist. Maybe I'm in some kind of simulation. Science people do that sometimes, right?
I grip my backpack, which has become the only link to home. Surely there must be some kind of reason I'm here.
---
The house is dull and cold, the owner of it even more so. His grey eyes revealed nothing- he just looked us up and down, asked for our ages and if we were literate. "Yes, sir." I said. "We can both read and..." I looked Alexander up and down, and just had a feeling that he could write. "...write, sir."
Our apparent cousin just nodded and walked away, muttering that our room is somewhere on the second floor.
"Write?" Alexander suddenly asks.
I make a movement resembling writing. He nods, quickly taking out his notebook and jotting something down.
The room that we got was as dull as the rest of the house. It was small, barely furnished, with only one bed and a desk. But I knew that I had no right to complain- I did take someone else's identity, if I didn't I have a feeling that I would be kicked out to the streets.
That would be the worst thing that could happen, because I have no idea how this world works. The only thing I know for sure is to follow Alexander- despite being quiet and walled off, he seems to know what's going on- or, at least, more than me, despite the language barrier he seems to have. And it's not a hard thing to do- for some reason, he sticks to me as much as I do to him.
We didn't see Peter Lytton when we explored the house, room by room. Alexander clung to my sleeve, leading the way as we walked down empty hallways. Several of the doors were locked, which was strange, considering that Peter lived alone.
"It's looks like an office to me," I comment as I look into the room, noticing a lot of blank sheets of paper. Alexander quickly took a few sheets, an excited look on his face. Does he like writing? Maybe drawing?
Either way, the office was now ransacked of paper and a few feathers- pens, I think. Alexander turned to go back to our room, looking back to see if I followed.
Why does he care so much about that? It was almost as if he thought I'd run the moment I had the chance.
I followed him back. The moment we entered, he dashed to the desk and started scribbling on a piece of paper. I looked over his shoulder, but I quickly sighed in irritation.
It's French, followed by old English. Fucking old English. I read the first sentence, not understanding a single thing. I'm fluent in English- well, more or less- but I'm not that fluent.
At least his handwriting looks nice, unlike mine.
So I sit down on the floor, eyeing the feathers on the desk. Maybe I could write something. Why not? After all, it's not every day you're thrown into... A simulation, I guess.
I take out the empty notebook from my backpack. It was decorated in a cute cat pattern, which made me smile. After checking once more, I can confirm it's empty.
"Can I get a- uh, plunksna?" Shit, how do you say it in English? I rack my brain for anything as he looks at me like I've grown two heads. Realising that I have no chance of knowing, I just give up and make a writing motion.
He lifts his pen-thing in question and I nod. "Yeah, that."
"C'est un quill," he says with a hint of amusement and hands me one and a pot of ink.Yeah, like I'll remember that. "Thanks, Alexander," I say and start trying out the 'kwil'. After half a minute he hums and turns around to his own work.
And so, we spend many days like that. Sometime during the second day, Alexander wordlessly offered to use the desk with him, and so we worked side by side. Though I'm sure that he felt bad for me on the floor, I'm also sure that he wanted to peek at my writings. Every time his 'pen' stopped, I could feel him reading whatever I wrote. There always seemed to be something on the tip of his tongue, but he never said a thing.
Who is Dania?
After coming back from a toilet break, I found that little sentence on the top of one of the pages. I raise a brow at the boy, who just ignores my gaze, continuing to write.
M̶y̶ ̶b̶f̶f̶ A good friend
A few minutes later, he replies.
Where is she now?
Oh, so he was reading my writing! I'm surprised that he was interested in the many times my friend moved cities, or maybe he's just being polite. He also seemed to be much more fluent in English on paper than verbally.
Kaunas Lithuania. You probably don't know where that is do you?
No. Did you live there?
No I live in Vilnius
Alexander was much more talkative on paper, I realized. When I was allowed to take a peek at his papers, I was surprised at how much had been written. The parchment seemed to be littered with a mix of French and English. I could understand half, and it told me quite a lot.
In a stray piece of parchment- A letter to someone- I read that he was amazed by British technology and warfare, which left a strange feeling in my gut.
I feel like I'm missing something. Something important- and it's right there, and I just can't put my finger on it. I got that feeling whenever Alexander stayed up late writing something, or whenever he got really passionate about certain subjects. That flame in his eyes resembles someone so clearly, and I hate myself, because I can't remember who!
It clicks when that Peter guy finally talks to us, offering us a job in his business-company. I know that he's using us, but Alexander's eyes lit up in a way I've never seen before. Oh yeah, he did have an interest in business. As the elder sibling, I was left to decide. Guilt-tripped by the hopeful look on Alexander's face, I accepted.
"Great!" Peter Lytton clapped once, sealing the deal. "I'll inform you when I need help, Hamiltons."
The name didn't slip from my mind this time. We walk back to our room, Alexander with a bounce in his step. Hamilton. Hamilton. Where have I heard that name before..?
'When America sings for you~'
Oh. Oh.
I put down my pen, shakily staring at my writing. I really am stupid, am I not? The haze that covered my mind for the past few weeks seemed to have completely vanished, leaving my head clear and racing.
Alexander fucking Hamilton looks at me from his evening prayer, concern clear in his famously violet eyes that Dalia never stopped gushing about.
"I- I need a minute," I say weakly, standing up and basically running out of the room. Hamilton looks confused and hurt, but it doesn't matter. I need to be alone, maybe then my thoughts will make more sense. Why him? Why me?
"James!" I didn't hear him, the only sound in my ears being my heartbeat.