Chapter Text
It was those fleeting, final few days of summer of that year when Christine’s life as she knew it took an abrupt change. When the sun wouldn’t set until half past eight-thirty in the evening, and there would sound an unending melody of chirping crickets as the evening sky’s pinks and yellows would become shortly blotted out by the ink of nighttime.
Oh, how such memory was embedded in her mind. The countless summer evenings she would spend playing hopscotch on the sidewalk outside of her home as a child. She’d look up at the sky, at the melting pot of colors and the faint, twinkling stars, marveling in all their beauty, then look back down, as one by one, streetlights would come alive, lighting the way for any poor soul who hadn’t had the fortune of making it home before nightfall. Before she knew it, Papa or Mama would be calling for her to come inside, and she’d be running back up the steps to their home, clamoring to get inside lest they keep calling for her.
And just like the door she closed behind her those nights, the memory ended, and she was brought back to the finality of her current situation. No evening colors nor stars filled her vision now, only vast rolling hills and oak trees that passed her by at the blink of an eye before giving way to flat farmland and sparse shrubbery.
This was, in all actuality, something Christine could blame entirely on herself.
In her Mama’s own words, she should’ve known better, and really, she knew she should’ve. She’d never been the type to be so easily swayed, not by much, yet she had. She had, and now here she was, her own grave dug deep and her fate set in stone. One might’ve argued that her fate had been set much sooner than she’d ever realized, however, and perhaps it had been.
For in all actuality, her tale had begun much earlier than this. Four months back to be exact, twenty-four years to the day she’d come into the world as crying, red-faced, and shriveled-up prune of a child.
She recalled it well. How could she forget what should’ve remained a delightful day in her memory, her best friend had gotten married after all! My, what a lovely ceremony it had been, what with the church all decked out in flowers and ribbons, and there hadn’t been traces of a single cloud in the sky. You wouldn’t have been wrong to forget that their country was at the tail ends of an awful war, as everything at that moment seemed so perfect and wonderful.
Meg included, of course. Goodness she had been a sight to see, blonde hair all curled and cheeks all flushed with the typical glow you’d expect to see on a young bride, as she stood arm in arm with her new husband, who was a newly commissioned officer in the Army. Everyone had talked about what a good catch he’d been, and how lucky they’d been to cross paths in the first place, while Christine knew that, logically, luck didn’t have much to do with it. Most girls nowadays stood a good chance as any finding a husband, what with the amount of the military personnel in training at the nearby bases, as well as the medical personnel and airmen fluttering about, seemed all you had to do was set foot in any old bar and just wait for sparks to fly.
It was the approach that’d been taken by many of the young women in their community, who’d all hoped to have luck such as Meg’s, and so far many of them had.
All except Christine, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t looking, either. Contrary to the rumor mill running about town, it wasn’t as if she was entirely opposed to the idea of romance, but at the same time, she didn’t care to run about searching for it either. Should love come along and find her one day, she would be all the more glad for it, but until that moment came, she’d been content with where she was.
Such were the thoughts of a young woman as inexperienced as she was when came to matters of the heart, but she told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself it wouldn’t bother her, and for so long, it hadn’t.
After all, there were other things in her life she’d been glad to occupy herself with, and as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need a beau for these things.
Mama had turned her nose down on it, of course, as she’d always held the firm belief that a woman’s place was in the home, and that was that. But Papa, oh, how understanding and open he had been. When Christine had come to him with the desire to study music at a local university, he’d relented, despite Mama’s protests. When she’d expressed a want to travel the continents and study the great arts, gain further insight into the great musicians of the past, he’d said it might be worth looking into.
But then the war had happened and he’d gotten sick, and her travels had never come to pass.
Thankfully, her schooling had been going well enough, and she’d been fortunate enough to finish the term in enough time to come home for Meg’s wedding. Naturally, Mama had made snide comments the entire time, remarking to Christine several times before and after the reception how it was high time she walked down the aisle herself.
“Because goodness knows you couldn’t give your papa the satisfaction of seeing you wed off,” Her words had stung, much as she tried not to let them. It was just like Mama to try and guilt her, wasn’t it? It wasn’t fair either when Christine really considered it. No one could’ve predicted just how sick Papa would’ve gotten, nor could they have predicted how fast he would decline before suffering an untimely death.
No, her Papa hadn’t gotten to see her wed, but there was no use in dwelling on it either, and so she’d tried to put it aside, tried to put on a smile for the sake of her friend. She’d chosen to sit out of the bridal toss when it came time for it, not able to will herself when she knew every single eye in the room would be trained on her, expecting her to be the lucky recipient, and thus she’d stayed back by the refreshments table, pretending to help herself to another serving of puff pastries and deviled eggs when in reality, they’d only remain on her plate uneaten because Lord knows she’d more than taken her fill already.
Looking back on it now, she wondered if things would’ve ended up any better or worse had she decided to join in on the bouquet toss. Would she still have ended up in the same situation, be faced with the same predicament?
There was no use dwelling on it, she knew there wasn’t, and she knew it was utterly pointless to do so. Because as it stood, she’d remained by that table, and because she’d remained at the table, she’d met Raoul.
Her heart had fluttered upon the sight of him, she couldn’t deny that much. He was an arguably very handsome man, seemingly a couple of years older than her, and chatting to him had seemed harmless enough at the time. It was better than forcing herself to eat things she held no appetite for, and because of this, had spent most of—if not the rest of the wedding talking with him, learning that he was a friend of the groom’s, that he himself was a naval flight instructor and that he was set to leave within the next week.
Well, one thing must’ve led to another, because sooner or later their talking had amounted to going out for drinks following the wedding reception, and the drinks had led them to do...well, unspeakable acts, really. Nothing Christine would’ve dared utter in front of her mother, let alone God himself, should He decide to forgive her for it. It should’ve been expected that things would end up the way they were, no matter how improper it all was. They were both young, attractive people who’d seemed to have immediately taken to one another, it was only improbable that they might’ve ended up in bed together.
Christine still couldn’t be sure why she’d agreed to it so easily, either. Only that at the time, it was something that she’d wanted. Something to perhaps fill the idleness that had slowly been building up throughout the entirety of the day, the hollow feeling that consumed her every time her mother so much as made a biting remark about her impending spinsterhood.
Something that made her feel like she was worth something, that she was worth being wanted by someone else.
And that was exactly what Raoul had given her...alongside a little something extra, that she hadn’t exactly planned on.
This was why only a few months after Meg’s wedding, she had found herself waking early this morning, earlier than she usually would prefer. Dressed in a light blue dress and white coat, her chestnut locks perfectly and painstakingly coiffed. A matching hat, matching gloves, and a silver locket hung from her neck. Suitcases in hand, she’d arrived at the Union Station in Denver, preparing to embark on a journey that was pleasing to maybe no one except Mama herself.
Which was funny to say, given that Mama hadn’t seen fit to accompany her on this little trip, and had instead sent her off with Meg and her own mother, Mrs. Giry. She’d walked with them through the throes of uniformed men and women milling about the station, approaching the ticket window to purchase her ticket, which would be taking her south from here.
South from home. Far from home.
The only place she’d ever known. A far cry from the travels she’d always envisioned for herself.
As she stood at the station preparing to say her goodbyes to the Girys, Meg had offered her a quick kiss on the cheek, as she handed over a small gift box that had been neatly wrapped up with a giant white bow.
“Just a little something Mama and I got you for later,” she’d said, trying to smile reassuringly. “I’m sorry your mother couldn’t make it, Chris, really. She tried, I’m sure.”
In spite of her optimism, it was Meg’s own youth that betrayed her emotions. She was only two years younger than Christine, still so young, and regardless of her marital status, it was clear that even she didn’t believe her own words.
“And by all means, please don’t take what she said to heart,” Mrs. Giry had added, appearing a bit more put together than her daughter, no thanks in part to her older age and amount of experience in life. “This is the best thing for you right now, you must believe that.”
Christine had only nodded, unsure of what else she could possibly say. Everything else seemed to have been said already, there was simply nothing else left to do except what lay ahead of her.
After promising the Girys that she would call them, she’d boarded the train, and that’s where she’d been for the past two hours. Seated alone, staring wistfully out the window, as snippets from her last conversation with her mother replayed on a torturous, endless loop in her mind.
“If your papa were still here, he’d agree with me,” she’d reasoned. “I will not argue with you on this any further, Christine. You’ve made your bed, now you have no choice but to lie in it.”
She felt haunted, scorned by her words, despite the truth that lay within them. The truth was that she’d indeed made her bed, but she wasn’t so sure how much Papa would’ve agreed with sending her off like this. He wouldn’t have defaulted so fast, he would’ve surely found a more reasonable solution to come to, wouldn’t he?
Except that when it came to this particular ordeal, Christine doubted that there was any other possible solution than the one that had been reached, no matter how much she didn’t care for it.
Loud, rambunctious laughter stirred her from her thoughts, and she tore her gaze away from the window, at the group of young, uniformed men who sat several seats ahead of her. It was then she realized how she’d been unconsciously tugging at her locket, maybe for the third time since the train had left as if she were desperately praying that by some miracle, the image inside of it would spring to life before her very eyes, and whisk her away from this horrid mess that she’d found herself in.
But it didn’t. No matter how badly she wanted it to, and for that, the soldiers remained entirely unfamiliar to her.
In fact, it seemed that a good majority of the passengers on the train happened to be soldiers, save for a few traveling businessmen here and there. The only other single woman on the train besides Christine sat in the row adjacent to her, appearing a few years older with hair as flaming red as Rita Hayworth’s. Once or twice over the hours, Christine had been struck with the temptation to approach the woman and ask if she might care to join her in a game of bridge, or perhaps rummy, just to pass the time and distract from her thoughts. She already missed Meg dearly and thought it might be nice to make a new friend, even if it were just for this trip.
In the end, though, her nerve had failed her and she’d gone right back to staring out the window, back at the flat land, trying to spot any possible signs of decent human habitation. She’d seen stretches of a river here and there, some rowed crops, before at last, her train made it to its destination.
Alongside the group of servicemen, she departed, clutching her suitcases and glancing anxiously around the platform for any sign of Reverend Andre, whom she had been told would be meeting her here. He’d known her father once, as the two of them had been very good friends since they’d attended the same seminary back in the day. Admittedly Christine had only ever met him once, but she’d only been a small girl at the time, which made her a little doubtful that she’d be able to recognize him all that well. She convinced herself she might, but far as she could tell, she couldn’t see him yet. Only an array of people who were making her feel terribly overdressed provided their mostly simple apparel of tweed and denim.
For that, it wasn’t that difficult to spot Reverend Andre when he did appear, waving to her as he walked across the platform. He was short, and a bit pudgy around the middle, that much Christine recalled. The only difference it seemed was his graying hair and mustache that decorated his much older, and much more weathered round face. A pair of spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, and he was dressed entirely in black, save for his vicar’s collar, and wore a wide-brimmed hat which he removed politely upon approaching Christine.
“Christine, my dear, so wonderful to see you,” He greeted her, extending his hand warmly. “I must apologize for my rather late arrival, I trust you had a good journey anyway?”
He’d wasted no time in taking her hands into his, soon as she’d set her things down to return his greeting. His handshake was a bit firm, which caught her off guard, yet she tried to remain polite anyhow, even if her own smile was a bit lacking.
“Yes, it was erm...it was fine,” she said. “Thank you, for asking that is.”
“But of course, think nothing of it,” He nodded toward her suitcases. “Oh, let me take those off you...”
Before Christine could respond, the reverend had already leaned over and picked her things up. She felt somewhat barren without them, as they’d been the only things she’d been able to cling to, which had brought her an odd sense of comfort. Without them, she could only think to wring her poor handbag, her clutch on it tightening.
“I was quite saddened to hear about your father, you know,” Reverend Andre was saying, and she glanced up at him, noting the pitiful look in his eyes. “He was a good, God-fearing man, I was proud to call him my friend. And, dare I say, I see so much of him in you, now. You look near identical to him, God rest his soul.”
He lifted the suitcases in a questioning gesture.
“Was this it then?”
“Thank you, Reverend. That’s very kind of you to say,” Christine nodded, feeling an ache in her heart at the mention of Papa. So many things seemed to bring her more heartache than joy these days, she had to wonder if this was God’s way of punishing her.
“But um, yes. Yes, that’s all for now.”
For now. That was all.
“Well, let’s be on our way then—unless you’d prefer to use the station services first? I’m afraid it is quite the long drive back...”
“I would, please. If you don’t mind.”
Leaving the reverend to carry her things to the car, she entered the restroom, approaching the sink with shaking hands. She grasped at the edges, letting out a shuddering breath, daring to look up at herself in the mirror.
It was the first good look she’d gotten at herself since she’d gotten up this morning, and she couldn’t say she was doing much better, nor was she doing much worse, it seemed. Even without the assistance of her blush, her face was entirely flushed over. Lipstick remained a lush red but her lower lip was quivering, no matter how much she pressed it and her upper lip together.
Removing her hat from her head, she placed it on the sink while she smoothed and pinned any frazzled strands of hair back into their otherwise neat updo, checking herself over for any wrinkles in her coat, her dress. Pulling out her compact, she worked on powdering her nose, and her cheeks, just to down their intense flush down a bit, but as she moved to place the compact back into her handbag, it accidentally dropped from her hand, clattering onto the floor.
Sighing, she stooped to pick it back up but was met with a sudden wave of dizziness, stars filling her vision. Stumbling, she grabbed at the sink to keep from losing her balance, not pushing herself back up until the dizziness faded away. Inadvertently, her other hand clutched at her belly as she did so, a stark reminder to herself of why she was even here.
Back she looked in the mirror. A slightly less flushed, yet still just as weary face glanced back at her.
Good enough, she supposed.
Snapping her handbag shut, she departed the facilities and went back to meet with Reverend Andre, who was waiting for her by his worn sports car. He opened the passenger door for her and allowed her to get in first, before joining her on the driver's side and departing from the train station.
Departing to the church, where she was meet the man who was going to be her husband.
They drove for a good hour, as Christine realized that the reverend hadn’t been kidding when he said they’d had a decent drive ahead of them. They’d passed more flat farmland, more sparse buildings and shrubbery, more rowed fields, and the like.
“Out here, they mostly grow grains, you see,” Reverend Andre explained to her as he drove. “A few sugar beets, some vegetables. No gasoline shortage for the farmers, you know, they get all they want. No shortage of sugar around here either!”
“How nice...” Christine had hummed, though she hadn’t been paying attention that much. She knew it’d be cruel to say she didn’t care, but it didn’t matter how much the reverend was trying to soften the blow, unrationed sugar and gas just wouldn’t replace the life she’d had to say goodbye to, nor would it ease her into the fact that she was about to be married to a complete stranger. So, holding her tongue, she chose to look back out the window, surveying the surroundings which were going to be her new home. It was such a far cry from what she was used to, to say the least. Having grown up in the bustling city, all this empty space felt so vast to her, so foreign.
She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to it, but she figured she didn’t have much choice.
The late afternoon sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they’d arrived at Reverend Andre’s house, which Christine found to be right across the street from the church. Both were small, modest, and perfectly decent.
Perfectly decent, and perfectly unsuspecting. It was the last place anyone would be expecting a shotgun marriage to be taking place.
Upon his parking the car, she followed him up to the front porch, as an older woman in a light purple dress and hat walked out, hands clasped and a welcoming smile on her face. The reverend’s wife, more than likely.
“Hello! You must be Christine, yes?”
“Yes ma’am, how do you do?”
“Oh, just fine. Just fine, thank you,” she replied brightly. “Mr. Destler is in the parlor right now, waiting. If you’d just follow me...”
Mr. Destler.
Her soon-to-be husband.
Christine couldn’t say she knew much about him, only that he was a farmer, and he’d apparently agreed to marry her after Reverend Andre had informed him of her plight. She was surprised Mama would allow her to marry someone so...lower class, compared to her own family. Not that they were wealthy in any way, but they were decently well-to-do, and well, it’d always seemed like Mama would prefer a more affluent and well-off son-in-law compared to someone who spent most of their time stomping through dirt and mud.
But then, all things considered, it wasn’t as if they could be picky, and in Mama’s eyes, the sooner Christine could be married off, the better.
Reluctantly, she followed the Andres into the house, walking with them into the parlor. It wasn’t very big, only holding enough room for some furniture, a small bookshelf and piano, not very much to write home about.
It was more or less the person who was in the room that occupied Christine’s interest the most.
He was seated and fidgeting, and from what Christine could see as she entered, only a partial half of his face appeared visible. The half that she could see bore a sharp jawline, almost jagged enough for you to cut a finger on, dare she say. As she approached, with the Andres close behind her, he turned to glance at her, revealing a white mask that covered the other side of his face.
Christine felt bad for it, but her eyes widened at the sight and she almost took a step back out of alarm. She could tell he’d noticed, given the way he’d all but ducked his head at her reaction.
Or maybe he felt just as awkward about this as she did. Maybe. She hoped that was the case, she hadn’t meant to offend him already, given that they were about to be wed. That wasn’t exactly the best first impression to give your future spouse, now was it?
“Mr. Erik Destler, this is Miss Christine Daae.”
He stood up, stepping forward at the reverend’s introduction, and now that he had done so, Christine could see just how tall, how lean he was, as he was all but towering over her. Though still seemed to be hesitant in making exact eye contact with her, it didn’t deter him from offering her his hand, and despite her own being gloved, Christine could feel the rough callouses lining his palms as they shook.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Destler,” She tried to smile, hoping it might put him at ease, but he only nodded, not saying much of anything in reply. Christine felt her smile wilt, but she tried to keep it on, tried to remain pleasant.
“Mrs. Valerius and her husband are waiting in the church,” The reverend’s wife announced from behind them, sounding quiet yet impossibly cheerful. She gave a knowing look to her husband, who loudly cleared his throat.
“Well, we’ll just give you two a moment to get acquainted, I suppose. We’ll be in the church, whenever you’re ready.”
Yes, because a moment would make Christine more prepared for this than she already was, which was to say, she wasn’t. Not at all. Not whatsoever. Her heart---her mind, were both racing, with so many thoughts, so many questions, and she felt like crumpling from the weight of it all. How on Earth was one supposed to talk to someone they had never met, yet were engaged to? How they were supposed to act? She knew how to be polite, cordial enough, but that was about it.
She didn’t know how to act like a fiance. Let alone someone’s wife. Just what did he expect of her, what did he think of her? She wanted to know all these things and more, but she knew a moment wouldn’t provide her the answers she was seeking.
Mr. Destler seemed at a loss himself, continuing to stand there with his head ducked until a suggestion from the departing Mrs. Andre prompted him to move to where a pitcher of lemonade sat on the coffee table. He sat down the hat he’d been wringing, and proceeded to pour Christine a glass. His hands, which were shaking, she’d noticed, as he handed it over to her, still mostly avoiding her eyes.
“Thank you.” She accepted it, and he just nodded again, ducking his head back down a second time. Christine only looked down at the glass, not taking a sip, as a smothering silence overtook the entire room, which was already small enough as it was.
She couldn’t stand it for much longer than a minute and looked back up, pinky finger absentmindedly tapping at the glass.
“Mr. Destler--”
“Erik, please. Call me Erik."
He’d spoken. He’d finally spoken, head lifting and gaze finally settling on her. Hearing him speak, she realized just how smooth his voice flowed, how rich and velvety it was. Not a terrible voice, not as charming and light as Raoul’s had been. And now that he was actually looking up, it allowed Christine a better look at his overall appearance, whereas she’d only gotten a glimpse before. His hair was dark, looking like he’d spent a lot of time slicking it back with a comb. His cheekbones were just as sharp as his jawline was, if not sharper. His eyes were an almost glowing amber, and the one that wasn’t mostly obscured by his mask was round, sunken in, almost.
Still, it was captivating, even, strangely enough.
“Erik…” She repeated his name, letting it settle on her lips, mulling over how it felt to say. She had to get used to saying it, after all. “Now that um...well, you’ve had the chance to meet me, to uh, see me in person and all...I have to ask, are you having any doubts?”
She held her breath upon asking him, finding herself strangely apprehensive at his potential reply. He blinked, glanced away again – only briefly this time, shoulders rolling in a slight shrug.
“No, I wouldn’t say so,” he decided. “Why, are you?”
“No, of course not.” She shook her head quickly. As if she were allowed to have them.
That smothering quiet was quick to return upon her reply, though not quite as long as the prior time. As Christine felt another question itching to escape. A question that she couldn’t quite contain, as it had been burning in her mind for days, ever since Mama had announced she would be going. Much as she feared to ask it, she knew she need to go ahead and get it over with.
“...do you think you’ll be able to love the baby?”
Something flashed over Erik’s eyes at this, and his otherwise tense expression softened a bit.
“I think I do. Yes—or at least, I want to. Try, that is.”
He sounded earnest enough, and Christine wished she could believe him. Wished she could trust that he was good and decent enough, that he would be able to sleep at night knowing that he was raising another man’s child. How could he think to open his home to her, his heart, even?
Quietly, Christine nodded, eyes flicking briefly to the floor before returning to Erik. Piercing, intriguing. Those were the words she’d use to describe them, she thought. Unlike anything she’d ever seen before, but then, she hadn’t had many men who weren’t her father stand this close to her, not close enough for her to lock eyes with them.
Save for one.
“Do you have anything you want to ask me, maybe?” She asked before that smothering silence dared to rear its ugly head a third time, hoping that Erik might say yes. She didn’t know why she hoped for it, she just did.
She also didn’t know why she was disappointed when he shook his head.
“No. I don’t think so.”
She nearly looked away again but felt compelled to keep her eyes on him, as his eyes remained on her. They surveyed her, looking over her intently. Not in the lecherous, longing way one might expect a man to look upon a woman, but instead he just seemed...fascinated, if anything. Wondering, and wide.
“I don’t wish to be so forward with you, Christine, but…” He sounded hesitant as he spoke. “You’re one of the most beautiful things...people, that I’ve ever laid my eyes upon….very beautiful, I can’t…”
He swallowed hard, and Christine could’ve sworn she’d seen a slight blush come over the one pallid cheek that was visible.
“I can’t believe any man would dare do this to you.”
At this, Christine could only stare at him.
Do this to you?
She knew what he had meant by that, knew that he’d likely meant it as a compliment of some sort. A very...misplaced compliment, quite frankly, but a compliment nonetheless. What did he mean to have said such a thing, what could he even know about her to think he might say so?
Nothing. He knew nothing.
They’d only met barely eight minutes ago. Only eight minutes.
A familiar urge to tug at her locket returned, but she resisted it. Forced herself to resist, no matter how much she wanted to do otherwise.