Second Chances

Prologue: The End and The Beginning

We begin in the perspective of Anastasia's daughter, Lilith Derven. It will briefly explain some backstory and certain aspects of the story. Also, the characters look like the actors for visualization (and laziness) sake. Also don't own Hamilton characters, obviously.

Warnings: Character Death (Briefly), suicide, Google translate French (Mostly translated unless the meaning is quickly said anyway or it's repeated, but let me know if I missed anything - other than the simple ones that most people know)

Much love, Krissy

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It's a dreary day, yet so beautiful. These days are always nice. The lovely day is shattered as a single gunshot, followed by another, rings through the air. I freeze and listen, before creeping through the streets slowly. I look around, ever careful. Then my eyes find him, lying there on the cobblestones. I gasp.

"Philip," I breath, before rushing to his side and falling to my knees. His hands are pressing against a bleeding wound. Although I know how little it will help, I pull a handkerchief out and press it over the wound in a feeble attempt to absorb the blood. His breathing is ragged, and I'm scared.

"Someone get a Doctor!" I scream, looking around the streets. Whoever had shot him is nowhere to be seen. A coward! I look back down at Philip's face. It's contorted in pain and agony, and his eyes hold so much fear as they stare up at me.

"Everything will be alright. Come here," I say gently. I lift his head and place it in my lap, and he hisses in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. He has tears on his face, and looks so afraid. I run my fingers through his hair slowly, hoping to soothe him and calm him down. He makes a strangled noise, and I shush him softly.

"Hush. I'll take care of you until you're brought to a doctor. Please, save what strength you have. You must survive, for your family," I say, pausing to brush my thumb gently across his freckled cheek. Blood smears across where I touched. He coughs, and I shush him again softly, still stroking my thumb across his cheek, ignoring the blood. The expression shaping his face is breaking my heart. I want nothing more than to comfort him. He reaches a hand up toward me, and I pull one of mine from his hair to hold it. His hand is still covered in his blood, but I don't care. Mine is too.

"Who are you?" he manages to ask in a strained voice. He doesn't know who I am...Of course he doesn't. I smile softly down at him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

"It does not matter. I am just someone who could not leave you here all alone. For, fear only grows in the privacy of one's own thoughts," I say. He makes a strangled noise that sounds something like a laugh. He's smiling at me very slightly.

"You are a poet?" he asks. I give his hand another squeeze and continue to run my fingers through his hair.

"Something of the sort, Mr. Hamilton," I say kindly. He continues to smile at me.

"Philip. Call me Philip," he says. I smile back at him.

"Philip," I correct myself quietly. He coughs again, and I frown with concern.

"Let us take him!" Men cry, and I raise my head to see them coming. They'll take Philip to get the help he needs. I nod, and they hoist him from my lap.

"One minute," I say, stopping them before they go. Philip is still holding my hand, and I hold it tightly before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

"All will be well, Philip. I promise," I say softly. He squeezes my hand weakly, before he's hauled away. And I stand there in the street for a moment. Blood sits sticky on my hand. My handkerchief is gone. It's okay. As long as he is okay.