1A/N: merry christmas eve! here's some angst! this fic is entirely self indulgent and inspired by the short story, a little sacrifice from the book the sword of destiny. I wanted to explore christine's mindset dealing with the time after the events of the main story. as for my other fic, no I've not abandoned it. I've just literally had the hardest semester and my health has been kicking my butt and just now I actually have time to breathe. also the story's so huge in my head it's hard to write it down. but anyways, onto the angst!
please leave a review if you enjoyed, I love hearing your thoughts :)
When she was a girl, Christine imagined her wedding day. She thought of music and laughter and blooming petals tossed about in the air. She dreamt of dancing and stories told and a love so strong others would whisper for her secret and she would just smile.
Her papa often told her of how beautiful her mother looked with flowers braided into her golden hair. Then he would play a song of a dance her feet would twirl her round until her head spun. Christine laughed and asked if he would still play at her wedding, even if he was old and his fingers were brittle like ice.
Her papa just smiled and told her a little sacrifice was well worth her joy and happiness.
When Christine was older, she imagined her wedding to be a more intimate affair. With papa in heaven and her friendships few in numbers, but love still held strong in her heart. She imagined her angel there, singing to her, watching over her. And on some brazen nights, she imagined herself as his bride, devoting her body and soul to him and their music.
Her first mockery of a wedding night had everything and nothing right. He remembered how she loved the smoothness of silks and the freedom in a flowing dress. Her angel was there and she was his bride but fear gripped her heart, not love and everything was wrong, wrong, wrong.
A little sacrifice, she thought. For this would calm him, soothe him. It was all he wanted.
The first kiss was for him. The second was for her.
She was his bride and would stay with him, eternal, and that was okay because a little sacrifice was well worth the joy and happiness of the man she loved.
But then he sent her away.
Christine could not describe the sorrow she felt at leaving him behind - his own sacrifice for her, she surmised. And Raoul, kind, sweet Raoul had only thought to offer her the world. He could never understand that this new life where the only music she'd have was when she sang like a caged bird at parties with other dignitaries was a prison of her own design. And how oddly they looked at her, the Swedish girl with songs flitting about it in her head. She was not meant for this, she told herself.
But those were just excuses, for the memory of misshapen lips still burned in her mind.
When she came to him again, she imagined a small ceremony in a chapel with whispered words and many tears, for her angel always seemed to weep when it came to her. She would wear flowers in her hair and he would sing to her as he did the first night he came to her as a man. It would not be everything she imagined of her childhood, but she would be happy and she would be loved. That, her papa would always remind her, was what mattered.
It was untraditional to have the wedding night before the ceremony itself, but when had they ever bothered with propriety? The room was dark but his breath was hot and she finally flung that damned mask across the room. She felt his lips curl against her neck and he teased her about being careful before she brought his lips to hers once more. Everything, she thought, everything, was worth it for this moment.
And when he joined with her, tears pricked at her eyes for she never thought she could be this happy and safe and loved. His name fell from her lips again and again. His hands gripped her hips like he was molding her flesh, shaping her anew into a woman reborn. Their fingers intertwined above their heads and she never thought that two souls could be so joined. After, she curled into him and whispered words of love and home. He wept into her breast like a newborn babe and she could only caress and soothe. It was not long before he kissed her once more and they fell into each other again.
She did not know what journey awaited them. She did not know if they would stay here or flee Paris or even France. For it did not matter. She wanted this forever. Any little sacrifice was worth the joy her angel could bring.
When she finally fell asleep, once they had worn their bodies to exhaustion, she dreamt of their wedding and all the possibilities a life with him could unfold. She would follow him anywhere.
Her wedding day was meant to be happy.
On the day of her wedding she awoke to a cold bed and no note or token or any message of where he had gone. She had sworn her love in what she hoped was to be their marriage bed. She bore her soul to him, gave herself over completely. And he abandoned her.
Dumbly, she somehow found herself back at the de Chagny estate. The servants there fussed over her and she lamely made halfhearted excuses of an early walk to clear her head.
She did not see Raoul until the ceremony itself, where she had been rushed to the cathedral in a big billowing gown. She did not think of the gown he had made for her, how different it was from this. She did not think about if, were he here, he would mock its gaudiness and complain about how wealth could not create true beauty. She did not imagine upon exiting the carriage to find that her driver was him, come to whisk her away.
She did not imagine, for there was no point. He was gone and she was left behind.
Christine wanted to hate him. Would he not offer a little sacrifice? He, who claimed to love her, could not brave the light of day for her? Was it his cowardice that drove him away? Or perhaps he never loved her at all. Perhaps he took his fill and was done with it, with her. Perhaps there was nothing to sacrifice for at all.
But she loved Raoul, still. She knew now it was not as a wife, but that was what he needed and that was what she could be. A little sacrifice, her mantra began. She could do this for him. She would. For it was not as if she had any other choice.
Later, Christine could not recall much of the ceremony. Her mind wandered at every turn and the angels at the cathedral seemed to be out there solely to mock her. She, who gave herself to a man who walked away like she was nothing.
Raoul loved her. He would protect her. He was still very much the same boy who had run into the sea. Wasn't this what papa wanted? For her to be safe and loved?
He wanted you to be happy.
When Raoul grinned like the sun after their vows, she felt a similar smile stir at her lips. For this was all he wanted, a kiss, a touch, a small sacrifice to make him happy. She could do this, she could.
But after, in their marriage bed, she gripped the sheets and turned her head towards the flame. She tried to find it in her heart to echo his words of love. For she did love him, the kind-hearted man that he is. She'd done it before, so what did it matter? She could lie, as a wife, and say that she loved him. A little sacrifice was all it took.
She tried so hard not to cry.
For what did it matter, because Raoul's touch was warm and lingering, not cool and electrifying, sending sparks to ripple across her skin. He smelled of fresh coffee and the sea, not of ink stains and rose petals. His hair was a golden crown atop his head, not a rush of black tethers to be tugged at and pulled. Raoul's eyes were kind and soft and a gentle sky-like blue, not a deep golden, blazing fire that held every depth of his every emotion. After, Raoul would turn away from her with a sweet, doleful blush. He did not embrace her with hands and lips that caressed her skin. He did not whisper her name like a reverent prayer. He did not match her melody in a perfect duet. He did not lift her soul to heights she had never before been. Because Raoul…
Raoul was not Erik.
And that is why she could not offer a little sacrifice. She could not find it in her heart to offer those three little words, not in the way he longed to hear. Perhaps one day, in time, for this was now her lot in life. Perhaps with a babe to soothe her aching heart. But for now, Christine curled against the pillow and gazed into the fireplace.
She would have a clearer head in the morning.