[ it's not often that he's struck without words, and it hardly ever happens around eliza. no, eliza inspires him to talk more, and inspires him to write poetry, and write her endless love letters throughout the day in order to ensure that she knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he loves her. but it's in quiet moments like these, being told this, that he can't help but watch her in a quiet sort of shock, if only for a moment.

home. family. stability. quiet. calm. all of these things are foreign, but here is eliza, who honestly couldn't care less if they were poor or rich, so long as she had him. that amount of love and faith is daunting, sometimes -- what if he lets her down, or hurts her. but he had promised that he would never, and alexander intends to keep that promise. ]

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee... the more I have, for both are infinite.

[ it's murmured, quietly, absently -- a remembered verse, from a shakespeare play he devoured and discarded a few days ago, as he rests his head against hers, his throat tight. but alexander pauses before he huffs a soft laugh to himself. ]

You're too good for this world, Eliza. [ it's soft, but no less fond, as he allows phillip to curl his tiny fingers around his own again ] I may have survived a war, and written a dozen treatises, but you're the one who created a life. Look at him. [ soft, gentle ] He's perfect, and you created that.

[ that, truly, is a miraculous thing ]