‘Cause all of me Loves all of you Love your curves and all your edges All your perfect imperfections Give your all to me I’ll give my all to you You’re my end and my beginning Even when I lose I’m winning…
I decided to become an artist when I was about your age. I liked to draw so much, I almost hated to go to bed. And then one day, all of a sudden, I couldn’t draw anything. Everything I drew, I didn’t like. I realized that my art up to then was a copy of someone else, things I had seen somewhere. I decided I had to discover my own style. It’s still difficult. But then, the results… They seem to be a little better than before. It’s nice to be a witch, isn’t it? I like the idea - to be a witch, to be an artist, to be a baker… It’s an energy bestowed by the gods or someone, right? Though thanks to it, we do have to suffer at times.
The girl on Eliza’s porch shuffles her feet, twisting the cloth of her skirt in her hands anxiously and looking everywhere except at Eliza.
“It’s quite alright,” Eliza tells her neutrally. “Although I don’t believe we’ve met? Eliza Hamilton.”
“I know,” the girl blurts, before cringing. “My name is Maria. Maria Reynolds. It’s nice to meet you.” It clearly isn’t.
Still, Eliza smiles. “How can I help you, Miss Reynolds?”
Maria shrinks even further into herself and mumbles, “Oh, no. I really- I don’t want to bother you, really, I just- I thought-” she stops abruptly.
Eliza isn’t an idiot. She knows what Maria thought. She knows what a girl is thinking then she shows up on a man’s doorstep, wearing a dress like that, looking shocked and scared when his wife opens the door. And she knows the reputation Alexander had, before they were married- and the rumors even after they were, the ones he swears they aren’t true. Eliza believes him, for the most part.
She tries to, at least.
Maria’s very young. Barely a few years out of her teens. At least a decade younger than Eliza. Under that flashy red dress, her shoes are worn. There are worry lines on her brow and a mostly faded bruise encircling her wrist. Her eyes are just helpless.
No, Eliza’s not an idiot.
“I’m afraid my husband isn’t home,” she tells Maria, not unkindly. “But would you like to come in anyway?”
Me, someone who doesn’t think everything happens for a reason: oh no, he’s about to say everything happens for a reason.
Harry: I think ‘everything happens for a reason’ is a difficult one because there’s a lot of shit happening in the world right now that is so unfair. So it’s hard to look at that stuff and think, 'Well, everything happens for a reason.’