SillyCookie

Right away Christine could tell that Raoul was more fidgety than normal; he was tightening then loosening his tie, he ran his fingers through his hair which was already a perfect amount of tousled, and he was avoiding eye contact. All of which made Christine even more excited as their dinner dragged on, the question of when he planned on popping the question lingering in the back of her mind.

After seemingly forever dessert came— two chocolate lava cakes that Christine prodded relentlessly for a hidden ring— and the longest conversation of Christine’s 22 years. Regardless they finally got the boring ‘how was your week?’, ‘did you see that new movie?’, and ‘I can’t believe they got back together!’ out of the way making plenty of room for the question.

A waiter even came over to refill their glass of champagne, prompting Christine to raise her flute and make a toast. “To us, a perfect evening for a perfect couple.”

“Christine,” he began to say, her heart pounding so loud she almost couldn’t hear him, “there was a reason I wanted to bring you here tonight.” She nodded her head. “I wanted to talk about our future— what it holds for us.”

Trying to hide her excitement, Christine said, “I’m open to having such a discussion,” while she was full on freaking out on the inside.

Raoul loosened his tie for the tenth time that evening. “I think its great we’re having a lot of fun right now, but I’m gonna be going to Harvard Law which is a totally different field— a different sport, really. I need to start getting serious.”

”Of course,”

”You know my dad and my brother did great things— still are— and they all expect a lot from me. You also know I plan on running for office one day.”

Taking the formal and statistical approach, I see Christine thought to herself. “And I fully support that dream.”

”So the thing is, if I wanna be a senator by thirty I gotta stop ‘having fun’. Settle down and establish stability, that’s what people look for.”

”And I completely agree,”

”Christine—”

This is it!

“I think it's time for us to—“

It’s finally happening!

”break up.”

”Yes, a thousand times ye—.” His words finally caught up with her. Did he just say? No, it couldn’t be. “Sorry, I must have misheard,” she tried to explain.

He was nervous and almost flushed as he spoke, “I’m real sorry, but I—“

”You’re breaking up with me?!” Christine couldn’t help the slight unhinged shriek of her tone. Even worse she began to tear up. “I thought you were proposing.”

Now his face turned from embarrassed to baffled. “Proposing? Christine, if I’m gonna be a politician I need to marry a Jackie, not a….Marilyn.”

The cogs started to work overtime in Christine’s head as she was still working out what’s has happened along with this new statement. “So, you’re breaking up with me because I’m… too blonde?” Her stunned voice matched the disheartened way she felt.

“That’s not exactly—“

Within seconds Christine’s sadness turned to fury. “Is it my boobs, are they too big? Or is my ass too perky?”

”Christine, plea—“

Then his previous statement about settling down hit her like a truck. “So you just saw me as a toy? Did you even mean it when you said you loved me?” She wasn’t sure her heart could take anymore smashing.

Raoul tries to reach for her hand but she retracts it from the table. “I do love you. I just… can’t…marry you. You have no idea the pressure they’re putting on me; I have five generations of senators to live up to. Not to mention my brother just married a Vanderbilt and is set to graduate from Yale this year. Please, Christine, try to understand.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was asking for her to pity him and magically forget he lead her on the past four years?! No, she was going to make this as painful for him as it is to her. Without much trying Christine breaks down in a— pretty cathartic— meltdown of tears, running mascara, the works. She also made sure to draw some attention to them, which wasn’t hard seeing as how most of the patio had been eavesdropping the entire time.

With some effort, Christine pushed her chair away and left the restaurant in an angry huff. She was unsure how to get home but felt it was better than sharing a ride with him. Unfortunately her adorable Prada heels burned her every step on the sidewalk as Raoul and his stupid sports car offered her a ride; which she reluctantly accepted.

That night, as Christine lay in her pajamas while watching soap operas and eating her weight in ice cream, she had an epiphany. It was when a woman appeared on screen, wearing a skirt suit holding some papers and had a stylish brunette bob.

That was the kind of girl Raoul was after! A law student!

If she could show Raoul she was a serious law student, he’ll be begging for her to come back!

It’s a completely brilliant plan!

The very next day she met with her advisor who didn’t really believe her when she said she wanted to go to Harvard Law. But after a few weeks Christine had turned in an amazing video admissions letter, excellent professor recommendations, and a score of one-seventy-nine on her LSATs. It was official,

Christine Daae was going to Harvard!

After packing up all her things— with the help of her loving sorority sisters— Christine moved into her dorm, which definitely improved once she redecorated. On move-in day everyone acted like they’ve never seen the color pink before! Granted Christine did pack everything she thought she needed, which included twelve pairs of shoes, but regardless her caravan was nothing to gawk at. If anything it showed how well prepared she was for the educational uphill she was about to endure.

It was the small attraction brought on by her luggage that alerted Raoul of his ex’s presence. Christine maintained that it was by pure coincidence that the two should ‘run into’ each other, but even so she made sure he would catch her wearing a figure hugging pink polo sweater vest over a white button down matched with a white shirt short enough to grab the attention of the jury. Walking down the walkway into the sign in table in her adorable baby pink pumps, Christine knew her look was killer due to the amount of staring and cheers from her fellow classmates. After signing up— with her favorite fuzzy pink pen of course— she turned around to see the one person she was hoping to find.

”Christine?!”

”Oh! Hi, Raoul.” As if this encounter were the most normal thing in the world. Raoul however, was not buying it.

”What are you… doing here?” His tone was suspicious with a dusting of surprise.

Perfect.

”I totally forgot you were going to school here! Small world, huh?”

Although she was trying to maintain her air of nonchalance, Christine found it hard to not smile as she could smell the smoke coming from how hard his brain was working. “Wh- so you’re not here to see me?,” his disbelief was palpable.

She gives him a genuine laugh, “No silly, I go here.”

Raoul’s eyes scan the surrounding area. “Go…where?”

”Here! Harvard Law!”

As if it was possible his disbelief continued to grow. “You got into Harvard?”

Christine scrunched her perfectly groomed brows, “Why? Is it hard?”

Saving himself from further embarrassment, a bell could be heard which Christine took as her leave to go. “I should really go find my dorm. Catch up later, ya?” She left that interaction feeling better than any rejuvenating massage ever has; in fact Christine would put money on it that she was positively glowing.

I guess Harvard was hard.

In her first class Christine got kicked out for not having read the summer assignment. She didn’t even know about it! And to make matters worse it wasn’t the professor who told her to leave, but a fellow student. And a girl at that! Whatever happened to sisterhood? Something like this never would have happened at Delta Gamma.

First some guy— who took a great interest in how her purple buttoned cardigan fitted her upper torso— told her to sit in the front row which was apparently known as the ‘hot spot’ since the professor liked to call on those students for answers. When Christine was unjustly asked a question about the reading she admitted she didn’t know about it, which to her was honorable since you can’t lie under oath so why should you lie in the classroom? But no one else saw it that way, especially not the girl who the professor called on and questioned if not reading the summer assignment was punishable, to which she said yes! This red haired, blue argyle sweater wearing, pearl necklace owning girl said yes and effectively got Christine kicked out of her first class at Harvard.

She was so angry that she left the classroom and stormed her way to a bench that wrapped around an old oak tree that was probably only a sapling when the school was first established. Christine sat there and huffed, arms crossed and thoroughly angry; at that girl, at the professor, and at herself. A real law student would have been more prepared for the classroom than for her social events.

“Rough morning?”

Christine had to bend forward a bit to see who had asked the question. It was a guy, couldn’t have been much older than herself, and seemed to be grading some papers. He was cute— in a dorky kinda way— with long legs, pale skin, and a grey-blue sweater that looked like it had seen better days. Of course she also noticed his face wasn’t quite ‘normal’ looking, then it dawned on Christine that he was wearing a mask or half of one. The right side of his face seemed a bit harder than the left, but the flesh tone was remarkably accurate to his hue. Because she was raised to never judge a book by its cover— and because she herself has been victim to stereotypes— Christine continued their conversation.

“Do they always put you on the spot like that? In front of everybody?”

His somewhat awkward body tension was a sign to Christine that he wasn’t used to speaking to strangers, probably one of those shy people who need some time warming up. “The professors?” She nods furiously, powered by her embarrassment. “Yeah, they like to call it the ‘Socratic’ method. Choosing students at random instead of the one’s with their hands up.”

“And they just kick you out if you don’t know the answer?”

He smiles, a cute little side-smile, barely a quirk of his thin lips. “You have Giry. She’s a… tough one.”

At his admittance Christine was hopeful that maybe they could bond over a shared experience. “She kicked you out too?”

His sharp features winced, “Ah, no. But she did make me cry once.”

Christine gasped and covered her mouth with her manicured hand. “That’s horrible!”

“Well I’m proud to announce that I waited until I got to my dorm before the tears fell.” He smiled a bit at the memory, then upon seeing Christine’s downtrodden face added, “Don’t worry, it’ll get easier. Who else do you have?”

Searching her pink designer bag for her schedule, Christine then handed it over scooting closer which made the boy stiffen up even more. She could smell his woodsy warm cologne.

Scanning her classes he began to give her some helpful advice on the professors. “Speak up in Reyers’ class; he likes people with opinions. Find a seat in the back for Andre; he tends to spit when he’s giving a passionate speech.” This news caused Christine to make a disgusted face, which made her companion smile again.

He continued on, “For Firmin’s class make sure you read the footnotes. All of his exam questions come from there.”

”I’m glad I met you. I doubt I would have made it the first week.” Sticking out her hand towards him she said, “I’m Christine, oblivious freshman.”

Shaking her hand with his own colder one, he introduced himself as Erik. They talked for the remainder of that first period block where she learned he was currently a third year student who was also working as a teaching assistant, hence the grading papers. Just from their talking Christine could get a sense that Erik wasn’t someone who had bought their way into Harvard with their daddy’s money, but rather someone who got here on pure academic merit alone. This really endeared her for some reason, she almost got the feeling that the two of them aren’t so different despite their backgrounds. Hopefully they’ll get to see more of each other since the end of period bell could be heard, and swarms of students began to trickle out of the buildings; one of which was a sandy blonde who happened to be coming her way.

”Christine, hey.”

At the sound of Raoul’s voice Christine’s mind seemed to block out everything else and focused purely on his presence. “Hi!,” She said, rising from her seat and began to follow Raoul so they could talk. Christine suddenly realized how rude it was of her to leave her new acquaintance, so she said, “Thanks again, Erik!,” and continued to follow Raoul like a puppy.

Now the has-been couple— hopefully to be reunited again soon— stood in an empty gazebo as students hurried by them to get their next class. Raoul stood with his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the next, clearly a bit uncomfortable. “Sooo… how did your first class go?”

Again being reminded of her torturous morning, she lamented, “I wouldn’t know since this horrible girl made me look like a fool in front of my professor.” Shaking her body free from the bad mood, Christine changed her tune to a happier one. “But who cares. Now you’re here, so it doesn’t matter.”

For some odd reason Raoul kept looking around as if afraid of something. He was so distracted that he didn’t even answer Christine when she asked him what he did over the summer. Then possibly the worst thing in the universe happened; the redhead from class who got her kicked out came walking up to them and snaked a French tip hand around Raoul.

”Ah, hey, have you met Carlotta yet?”

”Unfortunately,” Christine responded.

The girl— more like gorgon— extended a hand to formally introduce herself, but Christine refused. “Carlotta Giudicelli; my family is one of the biggest makers of dry pasta in the country.”

Of course.

If carbs are the enemy, then she must be evil incarnate.

“So you two are… dating?”

”Well—”

”Actually, we’re engaged!”

Christine’s whole world felt like it was falling apart. “I’m sorry, I think I blacked out for a second. What did you say?”

”We used to date in prep school,” Raoul tried to explain, at least attempting to look sorry, “and we reunited over the summer.”

To add literally insult to injury, Carlotta tucked a piece of L'Oreal Paris shade R48 Intense Deep Auburn behind her ear and not so sneakily showing off her quarter sized diamond ring. Christine wanted to scream, cry, maybe dye her hair brunette, but all she could do was stand there and let the hurt spread through her body.

No

She couldn’t even do that. With a mumbled, “Excuse me,” Christine left the gazebo in a hurried pace, then started to jog until she safely made it back to her dorm where she collapsed into a helpless bundle of tears, not caring how her makeup ran down her cheeks.

What am I going to do?

“Not only is it a Halloween party. You have to come dressed as your favorite defendant.”

“That is genius, Carlotta!”

Christine was in a bad mood after her attempt at infiltrating Raoul’s study group backfired. Apparently their little group had already been established with outlines assigned to everyone so despite her best efforts they— mainly Carlotta and her friend Pia— refused to allow one more. On top of it all they said it was for ‘smart people’ as if she didn’t pass the same tests they did to get here!

Even worse she had just gotten a phone call from her friends back west and it turns out that Meg had gotten engaged to her Italian stallion. When she had asked what the status with her and Raoul was, she lied and said the ring was on its way.

Feeling deflated she spent her time studying and moping about in her room, hiding from the world for a while. That was when she heard the two girls talking about a party. Christine could hear them in the hallway, so she decided to pop her head out and inquire.

“Law students actually know how to party?” She was excited to hopefully make some friends by Christmas, but her face fell the moment she saw it was just Carlotta and her goonie.

The two girls turned to look at her, eyeing up Christine’s Victoria’s Secret pajamas. “No. You must have misheard,” Carlotta said, the two girls chuckled amongst themselves.

“Guess you’ll have to spend Halloween alone,” Pia told her in a condescending voice. The two walked off laughing at Christine and her nonexistent social life.

But if Christine knew anything it was that sometimes deliberately ignoring what someone says can lead to the best outcome. If she had listened to Vogue, she never would have tried on those faux leather pants which made her ass look amazing!

After a quick shop for the perfect outfit— it was a costume party after all— Christine found herself walking through the freezing Cambridge air wearing a pink corset, tights, heels, and a clip-on collar with bow tie. She topped it off with some matching bunny ears and a little white cottontail.

She knew it was a mistake the second she walked in the door.

Everyone looked at her like she was an alien; not because she was sexy as hell, but because she was the only one wearing a real costume. The other party goers wore dumb name tags and half-assed costumes; one guy had nothing but a tennis racket and called himself a Menendez brother. Really Christine should have felt proud of her efforts, could have won a blue ribbon, if she were at any other party on earth. Here she was gawked at and made to look like a fool, stares burning into her like she was on the Santa Monica beach and forgot her sunscreen.

Christine caught the urge to run back home with her tail between her legs— literally— but instead chose to let her anger carry her through the house and confront the redheaded heathen who chose to make a fool out of her. After successfully finding Carlotta, casually conversing with her friend, the sight of Christine made her partially spit her drink out.

“Oh, sweetie,” her phony sugar voice sounded, “dress up is for kids. In case you couldn't figure it out; we’re adults.” She emphasized her point by swirling her wine glass in front of Christine, almost getting a nasty red stain in the process.

“Oh, didn’t you hear,” Christine began, choosing to fight fire with fire, “the convention for new witches is in Salem. You don’t wanna be late for that.” Then she turned around, much to the leer of her male classmates, and went about looking for Raoul. He wasn’t hard to find, standing by his usual spot near the bar along with a couple other students who were gathered around a glass fishbowl of folded paper.

As she got closer Christine could hear them talking about someone, making bets as to how long they will last. “I give her two weeks,” one of them said while placing a dollar into the bowl.

“Make it two-and-a-half,” another said.

“Hi, Raoul!,” she cheerily said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

When he turned around Raoul’s eyes practically doubled in size at the sight of her, making Christine feel very proud of her outfit. “Wow, yeah nice to see you too.”

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all these past weeks,” Christine laced with her most flirty voice.

”Yeah, well,” he scratched his neck, “I’ve been spending most of my time studying or reading cases.”

”Ugh, tell me about it. I don’t even want to think about doing all this on top of Giry’s internship next year.” For the most part Christine was pretty happy to be making such casual conversation, secretly hoping to steer the discussion into something more sensual to get him back on the hook.

“Christine, c’mon,” he scoffed, a not very pleasant sound to her ears. “You don’t really think you’ll have the grades to get a spot, do you? You’re not smart eno—.” Apparently he had said too much.

”Really? Because the last time I checked, I took the same test as you and everyone else in here to get admitted, not to mention taking the same classes as you.”

Feeling obligated to say something, Raoul confessed, “I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up. You know how bad you feel when it doesn’t work out.”

Then the awful truth— the one she had never wanted to admit— hit her like a brick. “I will never be enough for you,” she quietly said more so to herself but it was easy to guess that Raoul had heard based on his guilty expression. As if the whole night was just a nightmare to make her feel inadequate, Christine finally noticed the writing on the fishbowl’s front: How Long Will Lawyer Barbie Last?

Christine— now filled by a new anger, one that couldn’t be smothered out so easily— hurriedly walked through the party, down the porch steps, and back up the freezing sidewalk until she found herself sitting on one of the campus's wooden benches. Yes, still in her Playboy outfit.

She didn’t sit alone in her thoughts for very long as she could hear footsteps coming down the path. Great, maybe a serial killer will put me out of my misery— then stupid Carlotta can defend him in court.

“Christine?” She turned to see Erik who looked like he was just leaving a night class. “What’s up…doc?” He couldn’t resist. Unfortunately, neither could Christine.

Feeling awfully defeated, she just let the tears that she’d been suppressing all night flow free. They stung against the cold autumn air, but at least she felt something other than crappy.

“Really what’s wrong?,” he asked, taking a seat.

So, she told him. Christine told Erik that the only reason she even applied to Harvard was to try and win back Raoul, and the reason she was feeling so terrible was because she not only discovered how dumb others believe her to be, but she uprooted her entire world for some dumb boy who didn’t even give her a second thought once he found a new beau. During the lamenting Erik gave her his jacket, having noticed how she shivered against the wind.

“That is pretty stupid,” he agreed.

“I know,”

“The fact that you could even make such a spontaneous decision proves what a rich, romantic world you came from.”

“Malibu has that effect on people.”

“I mean, that is one of the stupidest reasons I have ever hea—.”

“Then why did you come?” Christine asked him, kinda getting irritated by his constant criticism of her choices.

Erik seemed to be taken aback, not having guessed she would ask such a question. But he had to admit it was only fair after she essentially spilled her guts to him. “Well, I grew up in the slums with my mom and whoever she brought home that night. Not to mention my face which, no you may not get a peak at,”

“I wasn’t gonna—,”

“I busted my ass through law school by working two jobs and never missing a single class. It wasn’t easy but I made it out, so excuse me if I don’t shed a tear at your story.”

“Ya know not all of us have a chip on their shoulder to spur them on,” she attempted to defend herself but it just sounded like a mockery.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need. Something to push you into working hard in an area where money won’t save you. I promise you, it will all be worth it after you win that first big case.” A daydream look encompassed Erik’s amber colored eyes— Christine doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone with that color before. “Though I suppose you could buy your mom a house on the Cape anytime you want.”

After deeming their time together that night had ran out, Erik raised from the bench and began to leave. “I want that sweatshirt back by Thanksgiving,” he tossed across his shoulder.

Then an idea struck her. “Wait!” Christine ran after him as fast as she could in her heels. “Can you help me? I’ll do whatever you say, follow every rule, just please help me prove it to them.”

He seemed to think on it for a moment, then said, “Miss Daae, you have yourself a deal.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake, a part of him not believing she would actually take it. Much to his surprise she did, the two shaking on their agreement. Although New Year’s wasn’t for another few months, Christine felt reborn.

They were going to see just how valuable Christine Daae could be.

The first boy to enter Christine’s dorm helped pick up her clothes, not throw them on the floor.

But according to Erik one’s bedroom is the representation of one’s mind, which made sense since hers was littered with red bull. Once they successfully organized her mess— not to mention clear off her desk that she had dubbed a vanity— Christine’s room was starting to look like that of a law student. With the added pink accessories.

Within weeks of hard work and dedication Christine’s grades went from sinking to smooth sailing. She wasn’t close to the top of her classes, but Erik could tell there was definitely potential within her. This new routine didn’t come without it’s sacrifices; Christine chipped a nail when writing her torts class but she had to soldier on rather than jump in her car and go straight to the nearest salon for a refresh. She even stopped planning her outfits two weeks in advance to save time to work on her assignments; after all three hours dedicated to clothing coordination was a bit excessive. Speaking of saving time, the amount Christine has gained since Erik told her stop fussing about her hair so much and stick to a simple everyday do means she can grab a quick breakfast before class; which was wonderfully better than sitting there with only Red Bull in her system.

Erik’s help has certainly had a positive impact on Christine, for which she was great fun, but there had also been some bumps in their tutor-student relationship.

The first and possibly biggest was right before Thanksgiving break when Christine was excited to be getting away from the ever chilling New England air and back to Cali for some well needed sun. It was right as she was packing up some stuff that Erik came strolling in, as he had become prone to do, and almost single handedly destroyed Christine’s will to live.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s a suitcase, silly,” she jokingly explained to him, “I’m going home for the break. Aren’t you?”

“Well technically I can go home anytime,” was his response. “And for you, with how your grades are going right now I predict you’ll definitely pass…”

“Yes!”

”—at the bottom of your class.”

”What?”

”Hey,” he raised his hands up in defense, “you’ve gone your whole life being the prettiest and best dressed. Maybe being mediocre is what you need.”

Christine thought long and hard about what he was saying. But she missed the sun, ocean and sand so bad; and yeah her parents and friends too. She was visibly torn and didn’t know what to do, to which Erik helped sway the vote.

”If it helps, you can take all the vacations you want over summer break. Ultimately, the choice is yours.” He began to pick up his open laptop that he had set on her desk and walk away.

”Wait!,” she called out to him. Christine relented that she did need to do better, not only remembering that she’s doing this to show up the others but to prove to herself that she is not a dumb blonde. “Why do you always have to be right?”

They studied over Thanksgiving break going over Latin terms and phrases that were frequently used in the courtroom, and which Christine had gotten significantly better at remembering. Over Christmas break they went over class readings that would be discussed in class once lessons resumed. The topic was about a sperm donor who had been found to be stalking the family that received his DNA; the assignment was to come up with a reasonable argument for class that either he was indeed stalking them, or just fulfilling his parental duties and following up. Christine was so wrapped up in reading and highlighting that she didn’t hear the little bell she put up by her door.

”Knock knock,” who else but Erik said as he carefully walked into the room. Christine got up from her bed to greet him, surprised by this unprompted meeting.

”What are you doing here?”

His eyes shined bright like two puddles of amber. “I know it’s not great having to spend Christmas break away from your family,” true emotion in his voice.

Christine just brushed it off, “They’re not even home, they’re on an Alaskan cruise getting sunburnt in twenty-degree weather.”

She could tell he still felt sorry, maybe more so after saying that. “Well, regardless, no one should go the holidays without a present.” From his hoodie’s pocket Erik pulled out a wrapped gift that he handed over.

“Oh, Erik, you shouldn’t have!,” she said whilst ripping the paper off. Christine looked at what he had given her.

“It’s shampoo and conditioner in one,” he told her proudly. “It’s a total time saver in the shower.”

”You really shouldn’t have…” Christine’s tone less enthusiastic the second time she said it. Even if she was in law school she willed her every bone to not convey the cringe and horror that wracked her frame. I’ll save that for later.

Soon New Year’s came and went and before she knew it Christine was back sitting in her unassigned-assigned seat, listening to Raoul defend Mr Lattimer; aka the stalking sperm donor. He was trying to make the case that he wasn’t ‘stalking’, that he was clearly within his rights to ask for visitation. He even brought up famed case ‘Russel vs. Sullivan’ which was about a man in Texas looking to integrate himself into the child that was conceived of his sperm. Of course, he had cited it wrong, and even if he didn’t Professor Giry brought up the fact that Russel was known to the mother, in this case Lattimer was a complete stranger to the woman who received his donation; which Christine already figured out before Raoul stopped talking.

”But without Mr Lattimer’s sperm,” he tried to justify, “the child in question wouldn’t even be born.”

Prof. Giry pointed her pen at the young man, “Now you are thinking like a lawyer. Anyone have any rebuttals to Mr DeChagney’s claim?”

Students looked to one another to see if anyone was brave enough to go against an argument backed by the professor. Christine Daae however was anything but afraid, upon raising her hand and being called on she responded, “While Mr DeChagney makes an excellent point,” she could see his stupid face contort with a smirk, “but one question has to be asked: did the defendant keep a record for every sperm emission he made throughout his life?” The classroom was filled with whispered questions, everyone clearly confused why she was bringing this up.

”I don’t believe so,” she answered, “why?”

”Well,” Christine began with a confidence in her voice that only came out when she had caught a store selling a knockoff Louis Vuitton. “Unless he attempted to contact every sexual encounter he had during his life to see if a child resulted from those donors, he has no parental claim over this child. Why this sperm?”

”I see your point,”

”And by Mr DeChagney’s already declared standards,” now Raoul was beginning to squirm in his seat, “every sperm released through masterbatory emissions, which were not seeking an egg to fertilize, would be considered reckless abandonment.” Christine felt better than every mani pedi combined, confident and glowing.

Prof. Giry, with those eyes known to pick apart your insecurities, looked at Christine. “Miss Daae, I believe you’ve just won your case,” she rewarded her with a thin smile.

Although no one clapped, it was frowned upon, Christine could hear every sorority sister back home performing a full cheer routine. While she was nowhere near over yet, she finally felt like she was carving her pace in this ancient school’s history. After class she packed up her stuff with the rest of the room, but stopped short before leaving.

”Miss Daae, a word?” Christine walked up to the professor’s desk, scared to think she might want. “ You were excellent out there, you’ve come very far since your first class.” She smiled, happy to see that her effort was not going wasted. “I just wanted to remind you that my internship deadline is approaching; I surely hope to see your resume in the pile.”

”Actually,” Christine said, opening her bag and withdrawing a pink lavender scented piece of paper and handed it over, “I have it right here.”

Prof. Giry took the paper, the light roses color slightly clashing with her fondness for a darker palette. She scanned the document quickly then turned her attention back to Christine. “Not the usual way students complete the form,” now Christine’s insides were twisting, “but I think it’s high time for some color in the legal world.” Again the older woman graces Christine with a smile— however foreign it may look on her face.

”Thank you professor. Oh! And MAC’s matte lipsticks have always been my favorite too,” she added before leaving the classroom, and a pleasantly surprised professor behind.

In the hallway she caught up with Erik who had seen the entire debate. He was very proud of her and how far she’s come, especially when she’s kept true to herself the entire time. Christine, who was overcome with joy and appreciation for his friendship, gave Erik a tight hug which he reciprocated albeit cautiously.

“I wouldn’t have gotten here without you, Erik!” Christine told him, then relieved him of her hold and took to the hallway for a well deserved caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream.

Left standing behind, Erik put his hands in his pockets and tried not to think about how nice her hug felt, or the way he couldn't keep his eyes off her as she put Raoul in his place. No, those things were definitely not good to think of.

He didn’t want to get his hopes crushed.

Today was the day.

Everyone was crowded around Prof. Giry’s office, the hallway filled with anxious students who prayed to every god there was that their name would be on the intern list. There were only four spots— Erik, who was already the teaching assistant, was automatically selected— so five interns all together. Still, that didn’t stop him from accompanying Christine to offer support, though he doubted it would be needed.

The two of them pushed and nudged their way through the crowd, only a few students away from the bulletin board that still remained empty. Christine wore a pink tweed jacket, white pleated trousers, and a gold belt: dressed for success regardless if her name was on that list.

Within minutes of their arrival the door to Prof Giry’s office opened and out came the woman of the hour, her presence causing an anxious quiet to spread throughout the crowd. She held the list within her hands and told them, “It was not an easy task. To those of you who did not make it, do not let this interfere with your studies. Continue to work hard and make a name for yourself; I’ve seen plenty of my former students not make this list and went on to open their own practice. To those who did make it, I will be emailing you our first meeting time. Thank you for all your efforts.”

She pinned the paper on the cork, then retreated back to her office to avoid the chaos of emotional or distraught students.

The second her door shut, the huddled masses surged forward— some jumping to catch a glimpse. Slowly the students started to leave, after they checked then double checked the list and still did not see their name. Before Christine got a chance to sneak a peek, she could hear the voice of a certain redheaded heathen.

“Babe, we made it!” Carlotta cupped her hands around Raoul’s face, bringing him in for a kiss. Unfortunately for Christine, by the time she managed to get through the bodies her first sight was the nauseating couple’s victorious moment. Thankfully they were pushed aside by other students desperate to see the list.

“Holy Shit!,” came the voice of another classmate, neighborhood lesbian Jamie and subsequent list member. Christine was starting to get doubtful she was even in the running.

Finally it was her turn to see the list and—

Ohmigod

”Ohmigod!,” she said. Her name, Christine Daae, written in cursive as number two of the lucky four. She did it! Elation ran through her body, but before she could jump up and down and squeal like crazy, Christine looked for Erik. ”I did it!”

”Congratulations,” he told her, suddenly caught off guard as she encompassed him in a tight hug.

”I couldn’t have done it without you.”

After the two released each other, another congratulatory event was taking place. Christine turned her head just in time to see Raoul get on one knee whilst opening a small black box.

”Carlotta, I can’t think of a better day than this to ask you. Will you marry me?”

She gasped in an incredibly cringey manner, “Of course!” The two embraced and kissed as several of their classmates clapped on.

“You okay?” Christine could hear the voice of Erik ask beside her.

”I am,” and for the first time since arriving at Harvard Christine could actually say she couldn’t care less about Raoul. She was building herself a new branch to the person she thought she knew, and one thing she knows for certain is…

She’s not doing this for anyone anymore.

This is for Christine.

Apparently, the reason for Prof. Giry’s sudden need for first year interns was due to a high-profile client she’s been asked to defend. The second the client was revealed to the interns, no one really knew or cared who she was, but to Christine she was,

”Only the most influential home workout coaches to ever grace the digital media! Sorelli Laurent was a Delta Gamma! Not my pledge or year, but to us she’s like the workout messiah. The energy in her classes were off the char—.”

”So she was a gold digger?” Carlotta interrupted to ask the professor.

”Not likely seeing as how her famed workout videos built her a small fortune, but her husband was three times her senior.” Prof. Giry told the group.

She continued to brief them on the other facts of the case. There were two witnesses; the victim’s twenty-seven year old daughter and the pool boy, both of whom saw Ms Laurent standing over her husband, Giles Andre, who lay in a pool of his own blood. The rest of the group— save Erik— tried their best to ostracize Christine at her declaration that there was no possible way Sorelli was guilty.

A few days later the group went on a little field trip to visit their client at Boston’s high security prison. They asked her to recount her story, along with many questions, all through the comfort of a wall of plexiglass. Sorelli maintained she did not kill him, even letting it be known that she had a rock solid alibi which made the group very happy— for a total of three seconds. When asked what the alibi was she refused to give it, leading to a very frustrated Giry. Deciding they were done questioning for the day, everyone started to leave with Christine trailing behind.

Sorelli had remembered her from the many classes she took at school, Christine honored to know she’d been noticed. It was clear that Sorelli instantly felt better upon learning one of her representatives was from her own sorority, so much so that she told Christine her alibi.

Liposuction.

As a fitness queen.

If news of this got wind to any media outlet, Sorelli’s entire career would be ruined. Once Christine weathered through the initial shock of her confession, she made a Delta Gamma promise that she would not tell a soul about her alibi. Although Christine knew the reason, she couldn’t tell any of her fellow interns nor Prof. Giry. This further put Christine on the outside as they felt she was withholding valuable information; even after Raoul tried to charm his way through to her, yet she remained strong and refused to answer. Funnily enough, Carlotta had watched this interaction with a glimmer in her eye that showed she was rethinking her previous accusations.

With their trial date coming up, Christine was more sure than ever she could prove Sorelli’s innocence.

It was currently Friday, the last day of the first week of the trial. The courtroom was packed due to Sorelli’s fame and dedicated fans, all of whom served as audience to the drama that unfolded during questioning.

First— and arguably most notable— was when Julio the pool boy had been brought in for questioning. His recounting of the events leading up to Mr Andre’s death seemed to match that of daughter Josephine and the police report, much to the disappointment of Prof. Giry and her interns. Christine took careful notes during Julio’s testimony after something ticked her off that he wasn’t being one hundred percent honest; maybe his silk patterned button down shirt, or his hair that seemed a bit too meticulously styled. All the while he continued to maintain he was having a sexual relationship with Sorelli. It wasn’t until he made a comment on Christine’s shoes that it hit her.

The clock just struck three pm and the judge let the room out for a brief recess. Preparing for another few hours of testimony Christine got up from her seat and entered the hall in search of the water bubbler she saw earlier. In her rush to get to the courthouse on time— after finding the will to put on the boring lawyer clothes she recently got in an attempt to be taken seriously— she left her water bottle with little encouraging words written on the side. The side effects of her forgetfulness started to show an hour after lunch, so this break was a welcome relief.

Unfortunately she hadn’t been the only one yearning for a drink. Christine waited behind none other than Julio the lying pool boy, who was taking his sweet time enjoying his refreshment. Frustrated and hoping to get at least a drop of water in before recess has ended, she began to tap her foot. Julio stopped mid-drink and turned around to face Christine telling her, “If you’re gonna stomp your foot at me, at least wear a shoe that’s in season, Miss Prada.” The audacity! Christine stood there gapping at him as he walked back into the courtroom that she almost forgot why that comment was the final piece of the puzzle. She took a drink then quickly hurried back to her group to share the news.

“Julio is gay!”

“What?”

“Or maybe bisexual, but he definitely didn’t sleep with Sorelli.”

Out of the group only two people believed her; Erik, who agreed he had a certain fruity flair, and surprisingly Carlotta, who agreed with Christine that she couldn’t see him and Sorelli together. The others maintained he could just be European— even after Christine asked Raoul what shoes she was wearing, which he replied black, proving the point that only a gay man would know what brand and season of shoe she was wearing. Despite being shut down by Prof Giry, she still allowed Erik to ask some questions of his own.

After court resumed session Erik took the floor and began simply by asking Julio if there was any evidence of their affair; his reply was lackluster. Apparently the love he claims to have held for Sorelli didn’t count. Erik then asked several questions in rapid fire.

Had he ever taken Ms Laurent out on a date?

He had.

To where?

A restaurant in Oakland.

How long had he been sleeping with Ms Laurent?

Three months.

What’s your boyfriend’s name?

Henry.

Not long after the entire courtroom erupted in gasps and murmurs, causing the judge to bang his gavel. Erik sat back down and grinned at Christine, who was smiling triumphantly at her helpful intervention of the trial. As Erik and Christine were leaving the courthouse for the night, Prof. Giry gave Christine a compliment for her work. Even later she got a late night visit from Carlotta. At first she stopped by Christine’s dorm to borrow one of the depositions, but stayed to admit she also didn’t believe Julio and Sorelli had been together. She also said how she found Christine’s refusal to disclose the alibi as a very noble thing, Christine happy they didn’t have to go on hating each other and put the case at risk.

Things were really starting to shape up for her.

Today was the final day for interviews, and who else but Josephine was to be sworn under oath. Christine could tell she was a girl who came from money, but money can’t buy you style and this girl desperately needs it. For such a formal occasion the effort was put in— with a blue blazer and white blouse— but her head of curls almost made her look like a woman from the eighties.

Evidently from her good work yesterday, Giry had told Christine that if she had anything she’d like to question or bring up that she wouldn’t be shut down, her word finally meaning something. Erik sat beside her for support as the two watched the testimony begin.

Josephine recounted how she came home and went straight to take a shower. It was during this time that her father was allegedly shot, the sound of the gun drowned out by the noise of the water. When she got out she claims to have seen Sorelli standing over her fathers bloody, dead body; but no gun as she believes it was stashed during the tented minutes she was in the shower. After being asked what she did earlier that day, Josephine recounted she got up, went to Starbucks, then the gym, went to the salon for a perm, and finally came home.

Instantaneously Christine signaled Giry, who was currently on the floor, to come over. At her arrival she told her professor that she was lying, but before she could explain her answer too much Giry told her to continue the questioning herself. At first Christine was frightened, but then she remembered the rush of joy she got when she put Raoul in his place during class. This would be like that, but the joy would come from proving her client and sorority sister innocent while proving why she continued law school for so long. Slowly, she got up and smoothed down her skirt then entered the floor.

Christine remembered from class that you should use the energy of standing in front of the courtroom by walking around, so she paced a bit through the space. Wearing a matching skirt suit that fitted her body perfectly yet respectfully— in pink of course— the scene caused a bit of a laugh for the audience. Taking a deep breathe, Christine gathered her thoughts then began her line of questioning.

”Ms Andre, have you ever gotten a perm before?”

Her question must have seemed redundant to most, including the witness; but Christine knew she was on to something. “Uh, yeah,” Josephine confusedly answered.

”How many, would you say?” Christine asked, trying to use her best serious voice.

”Two a year since I was twelve, so a lot.”

Smiling, Christine couldn’t help herself from sharing, “You know, back east there was a girl in my sorority who got a perm. We all told her not to do it, curls didn’t work with her bone structure— unlike you,” she tried to compliment the witness. In turn Josephine didn’t show any signs of having heard Christine. Regardless she carried on, “Well thankfully that same day she signed up for the house’s wet t-shirt contest, she was hosed down from head to toe.” The courtroom did not seem to be following Christine’s point, the judge even asking where this was going.

“Miss Daae, will you be gettin to your point soon?”

“I promise I’m almost there.” Then back to Josephine, “Josephine, can you tell me why Heather Green’s curls were ruined when she got hosed down?” Christine feigns a questioning look on her face.

”Because they got wet,” she replied.

”That’s right!” Christine agreed, “Because isn’t it the first rule of perm maintenance that you are forbidden to get your hair wet the first twenty-four hours after getting a perm for fear of the ammonium thioglycolate deactivating?”

Josephine’s face visibly paled, even Erik could see it. “Y-yes…”

Although Christine could stop, she had a theory and she was going to prove it. “Wouldn’t you, someone who has had upwards of thirty perms in their life, be well aware of this crucial rule?” Josephine was beginning to squirm, “And if you were, in fact, not washing your hair— due to its curly appearance— would you not have heard the gunshot? If you had heard the gunshot, then Sorelli Laurent couldn’t have had time to hide the gun before you got downstairs. Now wouldn’t that mean you had to have seen Ms Laurent with the gun in her hand? Or else your story falls apart.”

”You know she’s younger than me,” Josephine was beginning to crack. “How would you feel if your father married someone younger than you?”

Christine pushed on, “You had time to hide the gun, didn’t you? After you shot your father?” That was the final straw.

”I-I didn’t mean to shoot him,” she confessed, then turned and pointed with fire in her eyes at Sorelli, “I thought he was you!” Her admittance to the crime caused pure pandemonium to erupt, the judge trying to maintain order by again pounding his gavel.

Christine looked to Erik from across the room. “Oh my god,” she said to herself.

”Oh my god,” he laughed quietly.

As the trial ended and everyone was released, outside the courthouse swarms of reporters and photographers gathered waiting for Giry to give a comment. “All I can say is this case wouldn’t have had the same ending if it wasn’t for Miss Christine Daae, only a freshman but a whole career awaits her. I think we all aspire to be as smartly profound and well dressed.”

The group of law students waited inside for the press to leave before they tried getting out. As Christine kept receiving business card after business card from several lawyers and associates, she caught a glimpse of two of her classmates having a row. She couldn’t make out what’s was being said, but from the looks of it it appeared that Raoul— with his hand stretched out to a very angry Carlotta who took off her engagement ring and harshly placed it in his awaiting palm— were breaking up. After Christine was free from the lawyer pit, Raoul came sauntering over to her fiddling with the ring.

”You know, Christine,” he began to say, her arms crossed waiting for the stupidity to pour from his mouth. “I’ll be honest, I made a huge mistake dumping you back in Cali. Christine, I wanna be with you forever.” His smile started to bring her back under his spell, but then she remembered where she was and how she came to be here.

”Raoul, I want to be with you too,” she told him.

”Really?”

”In the courtroom. On opposing sides.” She glowed from the confidence within herself, “I want to make a career beating you in every case I take on.” She shot him a last smile, then walked off.

Before leaving, she stopped by a certain older student she had on her mind, but her phone pinged. It was a message from Meg; her and the girls back home watched the trial and saw Christine win. Meg especially said how proud she was and it warmed her heart. Christine looked up to see just a guy she wanted to speak to.

”I think this is going to put your name on the map,” Erik told her. “You’re probably going to have a better law career than me.”

“Well, all you really need is a good tutor. Maybe I could help you sometime. Study date?” She cheekily smiled up at him.

”That sounds wonderful.”

The pair walked out of the courthouse in time to catch the sunset. Christine was more happy than she thought she could ever be. Even if she never intended to come to Harvard Law other than for love she found it all the same.

Every one of her new mother’s promises had turned true, except for the marriage. At the age of twenty-one Christine felt her aspirations were far different than those of her sister, Meg. Where she was every bit the social butterfly and more than excitedly awaiting the day that a suitor— preferably rich and handsome— would ask for her hand in marriage, Christine would rather wait for a suitable gentleman whom she loved deeply and respected just as much as he respected her. Aside from their marital aspirations, the two girls also had significant differences in their personalities: while Meg found enjoyment by practicing her needlepoint or gossiping about fellow townsfolk, Christine much preferred the company of a well written book and intellectual conversation. Despite these differences the two had a bond most would agree is stronger than those who were joined by blood, many nights spent whispering about their dreams while the stars twinkled above.

Another reason she has had such few suitors was due to her self-proclaimed wit and expectations for a man. Her sister generally could not care if her husband knew any current literary work or could hold a conversation about anything that required energy, but Christine needed a companion who held her interests and refused to settle for someone she did not wholly see herself with. The thought of a mediocre marriage— not to mention one simply for profitable gain— was beyond her comprehension. If one was to be married they should be filled with love for one another, a love that will stand the tests of time, and if Christine never found such qualities in a man along with not putting a burden on her dear adoptive mother she would have no quarrels but to die an old maid.

—————————————————————————————————————

Sir Nadir Khan was quite the handsome fellow— and his mind certainly not the barren landscape Christine had at first imagined— his added charm of well learned manners made his character amiable and seems to have easily become one of the most popular men in town. In the simplest of words, he was a fine individual for whom a future bride will be the town’s envy. Christine herself, however likeable Mr Khan was, found him to be a bit too pepper for her taste in a man as he was surely enjoying the night’s festivities far more than she was.

The ball itself was a splendid affair; the great assembly room was brightly decorated with fresh flowers from the garden, candles lit up every corner of the room, and the crystal chandelier above shined its own dance in time with the dancing couples. Christine— who busied herself by examining one of the many paintings in the room— wore a yellow-cream dress and had her hair pinned up by a comb her mother allegedly wore before her passing. It was the only thing Christine had to remember her, having been too young to remember her features. As the live musicians began to descend their sound, Christine turned her attention back to the dance floor.

Immediately she spotted Meg—beautifully dressed in a peacock blue gown with pearl pins in her hair— dancing with who else but the man of the hour; Mr Khan. Christine smiled to herself, happy for her sister who would surely bring about a shared discussion as they danced. Her smile grew when she remembered that this was not their first dance of the night, but their second, remembering how just a few months ago she still acted as a young girl admiring the uniformed soldiers. While Christine would have been happy to partake in the festivities herself, she had never found these social moments her favorite.

Against the backdrop of a pianoforte player, who decided the night’s atmosphere was in need of the same playing that a young child just learning to dress themselves would play, Christine thought about the book she had left unfinished at home. Hoping for the night to end swiftly and soon, as there was little enjoyment to be found here.

And to make matters worse Christine had just made eye contact with the one person everyone has been avoiding since his arrival.

A man of roughly double her height and half her weight— which was already thought to be slim to none— stood at the edge of the dance floor acting like the affair was a bore. Introduced as Sir Erik Destler, owner of Rosewood Manor, came by the request of the ball’s very own honoree. For the first time in seemingly ages, Christine had the same questioning thought as the rest of the room; how on earth could two such polarizing gentlemen be on friendly terms? Nonetheless, he came by the behest of his friend and chose to accomplish the bare minimum of making an appearance.

And what an appearance he had.

As one of the tallest men in the room, Mr Destler drew the attention he seemingly wanted nothing to do with. While it was common for the men to wear their regular suit jackets and trousers, Mr Destler somehow made the regular black look even darker then the rest of his peers. Most likely it was the sharp features and keen, observant eyes that made their place upon his face. Although the gentleman was simply watching the festivities take place, his eyes made such a simple act look as if he was scrutinizing the crowd (and quite possibly the room they inhabited as well). He was a most handsome person— if not in the opposite ways of the soft and warming manner of Mr Khan— but there was an allure that existed around him. It was an air of mystery that Christine had never seen before, one she had only ever read about as a foreboding to certain characters.

His mask, of course, was the most striking thing about him. It was stark white, covering the entirety of his right side, but left a gentle contour of his cheekbone trying to blend in with its flesh twin. The mask was the greatest warning for most women to stay away should he dare to leave his shadows and ask the hand of a woman to dance, and in this way Christine felt some empathy towards the man. In the similar way his mask told those around him something not said with words— a certain message sent out that marked him before getting the chance to introduce himself properly— Christine was marked by much the same message being an orphan.

Ms Giry did her best to welcome her into their family, but Christine knew that she would always come last when it came to most everything. Should Ms Giry pass away before her sister was married and well, she would be last in line for any scrap of an inheritance. Along with this, if she wasn’t as close in size to Meg as she was, Christine would be made to wear the dresses handed down from other girls of her stature who had outgrown them. It wasn’t so much an insult as it was a harsh reminder of how the world takes care of those who lose their guardians before they have come of age to be married off or sent to the militia.

Perhaps it was a poor idea to absently think of the curious stranger whilst gazing in his direction, for Christine had found herself staring across the dance hall at the very gentleman who occupied her thoughts. What was worse was how he stared back, slightly surprised yet not quite angry at her acknowledgment. Feeling utterly mortified, Christine ducked her head down and focused on the detailed wood flooring as she felt her cheeks felt aflame. Even more terrifying was the man’s voice— that could be heard just outside her view— addressing her.

“Miss Giry, may I have the honor of the next dance?”

Turning her head towards the man’s voice— one she had not heard before— and was once again staring at the one who had taken residence in her head. Before her, Mr Destler appeared to have grown even more as her head barely made his chin, and his eyes bore into hers when she realized why they had the affliction they did: their color was a deep yellow. Still dazed from the fact that he was standing before her, Christine would not realize until later as she recalled the night’s events that he knew her name without ever having spoken to her before.

After shaking herself from her reverie— giving Mr Destler an affirmative answer— he held her hand and led her towards the center floor, quite stiffly she thought.

The two danced and followed the rest of the crowd through the appropriate movements. His dancing was of high quality which, when coupled with his manners and propriety, affirmed the suspicions that he is of a noble and wealthy household— evidently the one shared aspect of his and Mr Khan’s friendship. But the hope for a light or casual conversation with her dance partner was lost as he chose to remain in amicable silence rather than partake in a meaningless chat. It was clear after Christine tried to engage him by bringing up usual topics such as the weather, or the ball itself, but was instead met with Mr Destler’s curt replies. One thing that would plague her mind for far longer than she would care to admit, was how his eyes seemed to shine with something akin to excitement when she commented on the ill playing of the pianoforte.

His response of, “If they had done the job of tuning the ancient thing the room would be a different hue,” was the longest of his replys. Choosing to honor his wishes for silence during the dance, Christine instead let her mind wander to his appearance— using their proximity to her advantage— and was surprised by what she saw. His mask, for example, what she once thought was nothing but a barren landscape of white in fact had the softest of pinks dusted on the cheek, the color bringing some life into the object. It was such a small detail but it stuck to Christine’s thoughts and for what reason she could not say. Perhaps because it made him appear less like the ghostly figure he is seen as from afar, and more like the human man that wears it. But to her dismay she shifted her gaze back to his eyes— somehow glowing from the candlelight— and saw within them a kind of sadness that reminded her of when a friend would betray your trust and sell your secret.

Finally the song ended and, after making an abrupt courtesy to Mr Destler, Christine once again found herself at the dance floor’s edge, only this time happy to be alone. She tried desperately not to wince at the thought of how embarrassing she had been to Mr Destler. Within her ranking of her family, tonight it seems she went from being a spectator of the humiliation they caused to being declared the winner of a sport she wished had never entered the room. This solitude was fleeting however, as Meg came strolling up to where she stood. Her eyes were distant and her lips in a crescent, clearly having enjoyed what Christine found to be a dismal evening. To anyone looking on they would see two young women chatting, when it was entirely Meg talking Christine’s ear off about her budding feelings for Mr Khan. She spoke of how he kissed her hand, held her waist, even stared into her eyes until she felt she would never breathe again— at the very same time, the very two gentlemen of whom the sisters were reflecting began to start their own conversation a mere few feet behind her. With her sister still going on, Christine tried her best to eavesdrop on the two’s conversation without coming across as overly eager.

“My friend, of all your worldly travels, do you not agree that Meg Giry is by far one of the most beautiful creatures there ever were?” The voice of Mr Khan could be heard asking, but Christine dared not think of who he was chatting with. Though rather than hear Mr Destler say anything, he simply hummed in bored approval. “It would do you good to have a delightful evening,” he continued, his voice giddy by his blossoming romance. “Why not a ask a young lady to dance? Meg’s sister, Christine, she is quite a pretty girl, no?”

As she awaited to learn his response, Christine found herself holding her breath, a fact of which she would deny to herself later.

“She is tolerable,” he began, “but it takes more to entice me. She seems to offend far too easily for a girl of her societal order.”

Christine stood there, aghast that such a man would have the audacity to say such a thing about someone he met once and who refused to speak with while dancing. A dance which he inquired of her for, further proving the fact that Mr Destler was but a avaricious man who couldn’t stand to hold a conversation with a well-read woman. As a woman she could not stand by and let his opinion go unchallenged.

Before Mr Khan had the opportunity to call out his friend about his chosen words, Christine left Meg to her juvenile prattling as she swiveled her body’s position to be facing her intimidator. Mr Destler bore an unreadable expression— though even if he showed true shame it still wouldn’t have qualed Christine’s hurt— while Mr Khan appeared to have taken interest in her arrival.

“Ms Giry—“ He tried.

“It amazes me you still speak, Mr Destler, for you’ve already insulted me in every way possible,” she told him, “and if you must address me let it be known that I use my late father’s surname, Daae, a name that this lowly orphan hold with pride,” and with that left the two men gaping in her wake. Christine could not dare to spend another minute in that ballroom, so despite her sister’s calling of her name, she continued walking until she found herself staring at her carriage’s door.

And thus was the end of an abysmal evening.

_________________________________________________________________________

Meg had fallen ill.

Since the night of the unfortunate ball, many things had happened: the once budding— now properly blooming— romance of the eldest Giry daughter and Mr Khan continued to grow, while the relation between Christine and Mr Destler was at a placid standstill. There were few, yet eventful, parties that were thrown come the weeks following— at which became the plotting for certain occurrences.

For example, during the small gathering held by the Lucas’, it was of no surprise that Mr Khan chose to dance with Sorelli more times compared to the other ladies. At this same gathering, Mr Destler seemed to be actively listening to a conversation involving Christine and the host about a young autheress seeking fortune through writing. She had been speaking of the positive aspects that came from a woman having made her own means of finances, away from her husband, when she noticed Mr Destler watching and listening to her words with more attention than she imagined he possessed. It struck Christine as an oddity, yet she could not understand his actions besides which to later mock her for such thinking with his more wealthy colleagues.

There had also been two instances at the Bingley’s home gathering. The first was the bewildered request by Mr Destler to Christine for a dance, which was most out of character; both after what happened at the meeting hall as well as Mr Destler’s custom to socialize as little as possible and certainly not to seek out the hand of a lady. Then there had been the dinner party at the incredibly stuck up Guidicelli’s home where luck would have it Christine was seated next to none other than Mr Raoul DeChagney, an officer of the royal militia. He was a devastatingly handsome young man who seemed to take interest in Christine, choosing to lean in multiple times to whisper into her ear— for which they were scolded by their host. When questioned about his lack of presence at the multiple balls held around town, he admitted that his work and training had kept him occupied.

Not only was he quite a companion to look at, but it turned out that he and Christine had a shared foe; one Mr Destler. A few years ago Mr DeChagney’s father had unfortunately passed, leaving he and his siblings a substantial inheritance yet when he requested Mr Destler— the son of his father’s employer— for his share, he refused to provide it. This went directly against his and Mr Destler’s father’s wishes, and when asked about it he received no explanation for such a cold action. Mr DeChagney also admitted that this quarrel, and therefore Mr Destler’s presence, was a leading reason for why he chose not to attend the social gatherings.

For Christine, this revelation was anything short than surprising, yet she still found herself gaping at how such a man can do something so soulless to an already grieving son. It was easy to push Mr Destler further into the much disliked— bordering animosity— portion of her opinionated mind.

On a crisp spring evening a letter arrived at dinner asking that, if she so wished, Meg could spend a day at Foxwood Fields and enjoy the company of Mr Khan along with some friends. A few mornings later and she was on her way to the manor with the Giry’s horse Caesar, a plan that Ms Giry believed to be genius as it was set to rain later that day. Due to her lack of coach Mr Khan— believing that he is a proper host who takes care of his guests and their needs— would subsequently ask Meg to spend the night at Foxwood, prolonging their time and thus strengthening their relationship and prospect of engagement.

Unfortunately their plan had worked a bit far too well, for the midmorning’s downpour left poor Meg with skirts soaked to her knees and had caught a cold. After receiving the letter that her sister had fallen ill Christine chose to go and tend to her until she was well enough to come home. Rather than herself take a carriage, Christine chose to hike through the fields with the calming knowledge that there was to be no rain forecasted that day.

Her embarrassment began the moment she stepped foot into Foxwood, as the guests— which included the Khan’s and Mr Destler— continuously stared at her dirty stockings and sweat ridden brow. At the moment, she was certain that the entire household, including the dog, held her in contempt for wearing and walking about in soiled clothing.

After being shown to where her sister resided, Christine began to take on the role for which she was sent for. She would wash and replace the cold cloth to lower her fever, she helped un then redress Sorelli her dressing gown, and once the more laborious tasks were completed she kept her company by reading to her. At present she had fallen asleep, so Christine quietly walked out the room and closed the door to give her a restful sleep. While wandering the halls of the house a maid told her that dinner was being served in the dining hall, so Christine thanked her then made her way to rejoin the rest of the company.

Dinner was awkward to say the least, though Mr Khan tried his gentlemanly best to keep conversation light and pleasant given the circumstances, choosing an optimistic view of Meg’s hindrance as its own invitation to another guest. By his insistence Christine was to stay the night lest she become ill for having traveled back home by foot in the black of night; her presence also deemed nourishing for her sister’s chance at a quick recovery. Their host was as amiable as the man he presented himself as outside of the manor, yet Christine found herself still suffering from her earlier actions. Mr Destler had set about making her time at the manor as uncomfortable as possible, choosing to steal as many glances towards Christine as he could, making her resist the urge to squirm under his eyes. Despite this she still did not regret having told him off after what he said the very first night they met.

Mr Khan had made a claim that while he found Meg to be the loveliest Giry, he believed her loveliness must stem from her household and its residents— making a show of nodding to Christine. Surprisingly, Mr Destler added that a family’s wealth did not dictate how well mannered or taught a person becomes— though he shortly conceded by saying he himself would never allow his sister to traverse such an expedition nor found a family lacking certain resources adequate for marriage. After his words, Christine chanced a glance of her own and caught the look of something simmering in his eyes, taking note of how his mask emanated a glow from the above lighting. It made her think of the moon peeking behind a cloud in an otherwise absent sky.

After eating the guests made their way to the parlour room, each one having chosen a different place to settle as the conversation segued onto what made an accomplished woman. It was at this moment that Mr Destler decided to join the conversation, claiming that, “There are far more than skillful hobbies that make a woman accomplished.” His timbre from where he stood by the pianoforte brought the room’s attention to befall on him— something he disliked by his sudden shift to a stiffer frame.

“Well,” Mr Khan said, trying to rope his friend into the exchange, “do tell what those attributes are?”

Mr Destler stretched his impossible height even more, unaccustomed to the attention of guests— however few there may be— especially after Christine found such a moment to attune her scrutiny towards the gentleman, unnerving him further.

“For a woman to be laudable for even half the title of ‘accomplished’, she must excel in all things that make one a successful conversationalist. She cannot pick up a talent for a fortnight then abandon it once the true challenge starts, similarly with her schooling, languages, worldly knowledge and news; anyone who is not well taught in all fields should not even be considered ‘accomplished’. Notwithstanding, I believe besides her intellect an accomplished woman is one who possesses a certain air about her; she collects the gazes of everyone she encounters, something alluring in the way she walks, talks, smiles, as well as her general being. A woman, of valuable accomplishments, is one who is effortlessly capable of discussing any topic while simultaneously not boring those listening with her grace and elegance.”

“I’d like to know in which world such a woman of knowledge, talent, and allure united into one being lives,” Christine muttered, unaware that her companions had heard.

“Ms Daae,” their host began, turning the focus on her, “what say you? ‘An accomplished woman.’”

Christine thought for a moment, turning her attention to a painted vase that had been placed on the pianoforte, of which she stood beside. “I, as a woman, believe that one of my sex is to be considered accomplished when she herself feels herself has gained an accomplishment. It depends on what one finds to fit the criteria; if a mother who just gave birth for the first or third time, that to her is very well an accomplishment. Should a girl who just completed her years at a seminary, now well taught in the areas of needlework, music, and languages,” she made a point to glance at Mr Destler— who stood opposite her of the instrument, “her completion, rather than her newly acquired skills, becomes her accomplishment. Or if a woman who chooses to abstain from marriage, childbirth, and every aspect of domesticity in want for an independent existence and career, such a woman should be permitted to declare these things accomplishments. What really matters is what each woman wants from her life, and what challenges she’s gone through to achieve it, that determine how accomplished one is. More so, the question is not, ‘what makes an accomplished woman?’, but rather, ‘what accomplishments has this woman already achieved by her account?’.”

The room fell silent— for the briefest of moments— as each person let the gravity of Christine’s words set in. Once it had been absorbed by the group, Mr Khan was the first to break the silence. Against her better judgment, Christine chanced a glance across the pianoforte at her opponent, finding a sincere look upon his face; something which Christine hoped meant her proclamation had made an impression on the obstinate gentleman.

“Well,” he brought a closed fist to clear his throat. “As much as I do agree with you, Ms Daae, that one’s accomplishments are only decided by oneself, if I remember correctly this question came about in relation to said woman being a wife; and as far as the concern for whether an accomplishment is salient to a wife, I must agree with my friend,” Mr Khan conceded, lifting his glass in the direction of Mr Destler, “but let it be known any suspicion of any prejudice or bias is purely fictitious.”

For Christine after the arduously long day she’s had, any last piece of friendly debate had dissipated, finding herself fatigued and frustrated and in want of a dreamless sleep. “Then I suppose, gentlemen,” she began to say whilst moving to the door, stopping at the frame to turn around, “that such a woman would make a most desired wife and social companion, and I wish you both luck of finding such a woman. Good evening.” And with that, Christine left the parlour room now consisting of a nonplussed Mr Khan and one Mr Destler— who found himself feeling something he dared to regard.

________________________________________________________________

My, what a fortnight can bring.

In little less than two weeks poor Meg’s world came crumbling down by the arrival of a mere letter. During Tuesday’s breakfast— the start of a rather gloomy day— a letter came addressed to Meg from who else but Mr Khan. She became quite giddy, her joy bringing smiles to Christine and Ms Giry’s faces, each lady hopeful that somewhere in that letter was the long-awaited question. Alas, there was no such question but rather a depressingly long explanation for Mr Khan’s absence from the recent balls and gatherings. In excruciating detail Meg read aloud that Mr Khan had returned to the city for the time being, hoping to make a return soon. It was by this time that both Ms Giry and Christine had taken it upon themselves to reassure Meg that Mr Khan must be in the city to pick the perfect ring for her, an engagement on the horizon as soon as he stepped foot back in town.

Sadly this hopeful sentiment was but a dream, for by Friday that week another letter arrived for Meg. This one was by far even worse than the first as it claimed that Mr Khan’s stay in the city was— as written by his steward— for the time being prolonged. Once again there was no date or even mention of a season in which his presence was expected to return. For Meg— who couldn’t even finish the letter without tears welling up in her eyes— that inked piece of parchment had all but destroyed any hopes she had of finding someone of whom to love and marry. She felt betrayed and mournful of the life she would have lived, in combination with her anxieties over every little thing she said or did when she and Mr Khan were together. As the week concluded and seamlessly merged with a new one, unhappy Meg spent her days combing through every conversation the two had for the slightest hint of uncomfort from Mr Khan but, as she lamented to Christine, she could find none.

What’s more as Meg’s mood turned from mournful to melancholy, Christine was baddleing a fight of emotions as well. She knew, somewhere deep inside, that Mr Khan’s sudden absence was the work of Mr Destler: by her logic she believes the masked man discouraged his friend from proposing to Meg due to her class, as was custom for him. It burned Christine in a way no other crossing has ever managed to make her feel, she longed for nothing but to see her sister happy and to watch her have such happiness stolen from her— by means of a letter no less— made a bitterness for both men grow within her.

The next morning Christine needed a break from the constant state of distraught her poor sister was in, so waking up early and quietly dressing she left her sister to sleep in while she went for a leisurely walk. While moving through the gardens and the dew embellished grass she could not rid herself of the words of her sister— could it be possible that her expectations were too high for marriage to be possible? The last thing she wanted was to drain the resources of Ms Giry or her sister, and yet she has found no man of intellect, wit, and whom she truly loved and respected. For Christine the thought of marrying for security in finances was close to inhuman; it was especially against what she believed the sanctity of marriage to be for.

Amidst the gardens was a nearby stone temple modeling those of Ancient Greece where Christine chose to sit and reflect. She thought of the past weeks ever since Mr Khan’s arrival with his contemptuous friend of polarizing traits and how both of their presences have altered the lives of at least one household in their once quiet neighborhood. And if these thoughts could not have tormented her enough, the very vice that taunted Christine came walking right into the same gazebo as her.

Refusing to speak, she merely watched as his behaviour escalated from odd to concerning. Mr Destler’s added presence at once soured her mood, but this annoyance turned to amusement as she studied him further; he at first sat down on the stone bench across from her, then abandoned his seat in favor of standing. But he couldn’t stay still for long as he leaned on one of the pillars with an arm raised above his head, only to once again change positions and walk a bit away as if pretending to gaze out unbeknownst to Christine’s attendance. She could see his face— the portion not hidden by the mask— and saw there in his features a kind of inner battle he seemed to be fighting. Whether the fight was won or lost would remain a mystery as he chose the moment to speak.

“Ms Daae,” he began, no mention of his previous unsettling. “I hope your health has improved since the last I saw you,” the words rushed out of him at defying speeds. After Christine realized what he had said, she answered him with a cold civility. His position and face changed now standing with his entire person facing her, again showing a sense of vulnerability in his unmasked side. He looked to be taking her in, closing his eyes before again speaking only this time in an agitated tone.

“I would be a liar to admit I have not wrestled with my vanity.” His voice, the very same velveteen notes, sounded to shake. “I do not wish to remain that way. From youth I have been taught to honor my feelings and to not suppress them and as a man I have found this to be true. As such you must know how deeply my admiration and love for you is. Despite my fears for expressing such emotions know that I am going against not only my own but the expectations of my family, my friends, and most every other person of high regard. Even against these better judgments— knowing the differing circumstances of our families is as it stands— it cannot be helped that from the moment I first made your acquaintance that a respect and positive regard formed against my rational wishes.” Mr Destler stepped forward bending a knee right before Christine, their eyes locked. “I beg of you to end my torment and agree to be my wife.”

Christine sat there unmoving as her mind continued to race. He— this cold and uncaring thief— was in love? With her? The absurdity was almost too much to bear, and yet she found her mouth speaking as she remained befuddled.

“Usually in cases similar to these there is an expectation of duty to be performed and agree to such a question,” she said, her tone containing the evenness her thoughts were absent of. “But not I. For you are of the few whose opinion of me I never cared to hear, and yet you certainly choose to believe I am all the better to have heard it. I am sorry for any and all pain that I might cause to anyone, however unseen by me, and I hope that it will be a quick recovery for all involved.”

Now it was Mr Destler’s turn to stare absently, Christine noticing a similar sense of shock as she too had felt. He again rose from his knee to his full height, then retreated to the opposing bench so as not to seem intimidating. With an unearthly calmness— one which was suspected to be forced— he asked her, “May I ask as to what do I owe this rejection for?”

“Then I may also ask why you insist on declaring your likeness for me only by stating it is against your will! I have every reason in the world to believe you are a man of bad intentions. Does your well rational mind think I am to wed a man you drove away all happiness from my dear sister? Are you even in such a position to deny you have?”

It was clear that Mr Destler was clenching and releasing his jaw whilst Christine spoke. “Well?”

“No, I do not deny that I tried to steer my friend, who has been like a brother, away from your sister. Nor do I deny that I did not celebrate the success of his departure. I have been kinder to him than I have to myself.”

Christine, undeterred from his involvement with her sister’s unrenounced engagement, continued on. “It is not only my sister’s engagement that have shown me your character. My dislike for you stemmed from the very first ball you attended and insulted my name, only growing once your history of the wrongdoings to Mr DeChagney,” his head popped up at the name’s sound. “Pray tell, how does one defend oneself for such offense?”

“For fear of insulting your good name again, I warn you to not take every word of that sir for truth.”

Christine’s brow furrowed, now more angry at his belief that she is an uneducated waif who knows not the difference between a lie and the truth. “It concerns me how anyone with knowledge of his mistreatment can not feel his unjust position, least of all someone who put him into the state of poverty he resides in! Not only this but you add to his pain mockery and disdain!” Thinking far too quickly with her heart in charge, later to regret she adds to injury, “And do explain why a man of dignity and respect,” she spat, “should feel the need to wear a mask? For further intimidation, perhaps?”

There is a moment’s silence between the two, the air thick from resentment. “So, that is how you see me? A cold calculating man who only wishes to bring forth unhappiness and misery to all he encounters?” His eyes— amber from the sun— shine with a hurt Christine believed was there for very long but only now came to surface. “That I don a mask to hide the identity of an ill some being whilst traversing the land like some angel of death?”

Feeling angry but now wishing she had discussed things further, Christine began to feel weighted by a sudden sense of pity— no, of empathy. Within his eyes she saw what she for some time thought to be present but had been held hostage by fear of vulnerability: for within Mr Destler was an immense amount of hurt that Christine felt only she could relate towards. Hoping to relieve some pain— however unfeasible— she tried to make amends, “Mr Destler—,”

He held up a hand that slightly shook, “Please, you have said plenty, madame. I understand your feelings towards me and am in only the position to feel contrite over my own.” Mr Destler looked her in the eyes once again, now with a watery smile, “Please accept my well wishes towards your health and happiness, and forgive me for wasting time in your presence. Good day, Ms Daae.” He gave a gentlemanly bow before leaving the stone structure, carried off by long strides.

Still aghast to what just transpired, Christine sat with her thoughts and emotions for what felt like years— allowing any and all tears to flow freely— until finally she began to soothe her own damaged pride.

__________________________________________________________________

The next day Christine awoke to find a letter waiting for her at breakfast. The envelope sat at her seat, her name written in a thin, messy cursive. As told by the ladies maid, the letter was hand-delivered by none other than Mr Destler. Her day seemed to be destined for another angry and embarrassed soirée as she had spent most of her night tossing and turning as she remembered every single word that was said the day prior. Although she did not yet know it, Christine would soon come to regret these thoughts.

“Dear Miss Daae,

Do not be alarmed by the contents of this letter, as there are no repetitions or reiterations of my statements said previously which you expressed were offensive to you. I hope my words cause you no pain, as you are in no need of further hurt, nor am I to write for sake of humbling myself, for it is not my character to do so. Rather I hope to alleviate your perceptions of me as told to you through actions and the words of others. If you should continue to read the words which are written contain only the truth, for which I deem highly, even should there be portions that I do not feel proudly of.

“Two of your aforementioned objections that I wish to express the full truth. In regards to the estrangement of Mr Khan and your sister, which as mentioned I do not deny my involvement, but there was plausible reason to do so. During each and every encounter between the aforementioned couple I sensed no attraction whatsoever towards Mr Khan by your sister. Perhaps I had misjudged her nature as uncaring and unwanting of my friend’s attentions, and his persistent asking for support of a possible marriage from me was impossible to give: I spoke of how I felt her calm, reserved demeanor was due to her having no strong attachment for him and I said as such. It was from these incorrect sentiments, for a friend whose happiness is equal to my own, that I urged Mr Khan to retract from your sister and hold off an engagement. For this I give both you, your sister, and Ms Giry my utmost apology.

In the regards of Mr DeChagney I understand him to be a pleasant man with no morals to his character in addition to a resentful and covetous attitude. By contrast to Mr DeChagney’s account I must assert that in no way did I deprive him from any inheritance and in fact procured 3,000 pounds for him to study law at a city university. Alternatively he chose to use the money for means which I am not certain of, but can guess were in acquaintance to a gambling debt. After this loan was squandered Mr DeChagney tried to receive more money from me and, after I refused, he attempted to elope with my younger sister, Ayesha, in an effort to obtain her inheritance. Should this matter still remain questionable to you, which you have all rights to, I would ask you to speak with Mr DeChagney’s older brother, Philippe, a man of great integrity and morality even when it comes to matters of his brother; matters which he is already aware of.

Finally in terms as to why I wear a mask, which I must admit is my least favorite topic of discussion, I was born with a facial deformity that has driven many away and even more into disgust. My mother, a high aristocratic woman who held title and influence above all else, handed me off to her lady’s maids to be raised and taught, refusing to show any ounce of affection or care for me. Much the same can be said for those in charge of my schooling and development, withholding themselves from abandoning my family only because my father, a highly respected military commander, paid them handsomely to keep quiet.

It was not until my sister was born years after I that my lonesome days changed; her spirit was palpable throughout the home, and yet her choosing to love and look upon my face as it was a normality was what won her my brotherly affection. No amount of punishment from my parents could extract the humanity from her as she continued, even now, to treat me as she would any other gentleman whose blood she shared. Later my small circle grew to allow a few more while in school, once it was decided a mask would at least hide the deformity from my peers, and Mr Khan was one of the only brave enough to approach me. His friendship throughout the years, from schooling and beyond, have given me more joy than I ever could have imagined.

I am sorry that, much like my facial covering, the irony of which his not lost on me, my character has been predetermined for you by those who I’ve crossed and still hold a grudge for, along with my own poorly conceived ideas of those whose temperament in public is not always to be believed as their true self. If your heart allows it, I only ask that you do not think of me with hate, but with the neutrality of an acquaintance. May these words bring some comfort, if not to you than for your family.

Health and wellbeing,

Erik G. Destler”

——————————————————————————————————

It has been an unusually long few weeks since Christine had received Mr Destler’s letter. After she had read it multiple times, she began to realize that— in conjunction with the conversations she’d had in the past month— his account had to have been true. In addition to coming to this conclusion Christine brought up the information with Meg, the two debating on whether or not to relate Mr DeChagney’s true character to the neighborhood, but had thought better against it as they did not want to be perceived as gossiping children.

While Meg did indeed appreciate the apology from Mr Destler regarding his involvement in Mr Khan’s decision to leave for the city, it seldom helped relieve the pain that remained from the lack of engagement. As this was so, she chose to stay at home when her mother’s sister, Ms Carrier, and her husband came around to ask if the girls wished to join them in taking a tour of the countryside along with some of the homes. The carriage departed with the Carriers and Christine, as the scenery would be a good change for her clouded head after so many days cooped up to avoid the heat, amongst other things.

Somehow the greenery of the grass and foliage seemed to take on a more pleasant tone, easily making Christine more calm and enjoying the sun’s golden rays shining upon all things living. At times they would leave the carriage in favor of walking around the properties and making light conversation of the architecture and gardens, soon treading offley close to Rosewood — the manor of Christine’s once thought hated acquaintance . Against better judgment they agreed to tour the home, barely soothed by the fact that the house's master was not in.

Whilst they walked through the manor it started to become apparent to Christine that her opinion of Mr Destler was beginning to change, for if not how was it that she was so easily able to question herself what would it feel to be Rosewood’s mistress? Her breath was continuously taken away as Christine saw artifact after artifact that she was unable to find in a manor that was supposedly owned by what she had believed to be an arrogant and unrespecting; there were countless statues of Greek figures, most of which she knew of, crown molding to resemble foliage painted gold grew into every room, crystal chandeliers hung from almost every ceiling. What was most notable, and what Christine found to be a kiss to a wound, was the music room of Mr Destler, for it was by far the most beloved; instruments of varying sizes from the pianoforte— it too painted in gold leaves— a harp standing off center, a violin resting on a chair, a cello that occupied a corner, and a lute situated on a tufted bench. It was one of the most beautiful sights Christine had ever witnessed, comparative to that of a sunset.

As if the manor itself hadn’t already told Christine who Mr Destler truly was, the words of his staff surely did. The head maid, Mrs. Reynolds, showed the group portraits of Mr Destler and Mr DeChagney, speaking very highly of the latter and claimed to have never heard him say a cross word to anyone within the home. She also divulged that, as a child, he was known to be a very generous and kind-hearted boy which brought a smile to Christine’s lips without her noticing. They were also a portrait of Ms Destler— of whom was almost made the pawn in Mr DeChagney’s foul game— and with the knowledge she possessed, Christine could not help but feel an appreciation for the young gentlewoman, for it was she and her kindness that gave her brother a less forlorn adolescence.

Soon the group made their way outside, whereupon Christine was sure to have angered a very powerful god for who else but the home’s master was just climbing the steps to where they stood. Rather than requesting the trio to leave his home and never return he instead asked if they would like a tour led by himself— another tick added to the box of uncharacteristic behavior by Mr Destler. Although it was starting to become more and more clear to Christine that the gentleman’s true character was unknown to her, what she was currently seeing from him warmed her.

Mr Destler shows them the gardens— all of the expertly groomed trees and shrubs, with perennials blooming of the home’s name sake and many benches along the grounds made of stone to appreciate them— and all the while is as polite and gentlemanly as anyone would expect, maybe more so. As for Christine, his kindness to her relatives and herself evokes the harsh sting of shame everytime she remembers their last encounter along with every other encounter they’ve had over the course of the past few months leaving her to trail behind the others. Back at the manor’s front steps where they began the group was ready to disperse but Mr Destler— who seemed to know exactly how to make her heart race— stayed back with Christine as her aunt and uncle prepared the carriage.

Before he could even get a word out Christine striked the moment and began to apologize profusely for her being there, recalling to Mr Destler how she was told he would be out otherwise she never would have gone. He spoke to her in such a tender voice that her shoulders sloped from the calm that overshadowed her immense embarrassment. Mr Destler told her how he had merely come back to Rosewood in order to prepare his home for a group of guests, making sure to add that Mr Khan and his sister were sure to be accounted for. Then he paused, as if thinking of something, then asked Christine if she would like to meet his sister— which she replies in the affirmative whilst feeling a great gratitude for his chivalry.

Ayesha was a very sweet young lady with a shy and quiet demeanor that nonetheless took away from her pretty features. It was obvious to Christine where the resemblance lied between the two siblings, but her surprise at watching Mr Destler’s solicitude for his sister while they chatted— more or less as the young girl barely spoke but a few words— sparked an affinity within herself that she realized had only grown tenfold since first reading his letter.

After saying their goodbyes, Mr Destler took it upon himself to see Christine to the carriage door, going so far as to offer his hand while she climbed the coach. What’s more is that Christine looked back to his retreating form and caught the sight of his hand— the one that she held— flexed then contracted, a vision that would plague her the whole carriage ride home and into the night. Unbeknownst to their niece, Mr and Mrs Carrier shared knowing looks that told the other to expect more than one wedding from the Giry household in the future.

___________________________________________________________

The morning was bright and warm as the late days of Spring and early days of Summer had begun to overlap and create a beautiful mix of the two seasons. It was on this Friday morning— just as the three Giry women were sitting down for their breakfast— when the front door had a determined knock. One of the lady’s maids had gone to see whom had it had been only to come back to the table and announce,

“My lady, Mr Khan, is requesting your presence,” Martha’s voice declared, causing all three women to look at one another with plain shock in their faces. It was Meg who stood up and, dazedly, walked down the hallway to meet her caller; soon followed by Christine and Ms Giry.

He stood there on the door’s step with his hat in his hands and an apology at the tip of his tongue, lamenting to Meg how he had wrongfully told her and her family of his departure in a letter that he himself did not write along with the lack of return date. Mr Khan also admitted to being persuaded to rethink his affection for her due to status, but while in Paris he could not stop thinking of her and how he wished her to be with him there. Then—surprising all the women— Mr Khan reached into his coat’s pocket and proceeded to ask Ms Giry for her daughter’s hand in marriage, to which she straighten replied positively. They hugged and held each other as members of the staff happily cheered, Christine too was happy but felt there was more that would lift her spirits, a visit beginning to come to her mind; her plan to bee seen as a welcomed one when Mr Khan said to Christine a good friend of his had encouraged his return causing her to smile.

_____________________________________________________________

Only a day and a half later Christine found herself in a carriage ride alone heading towards what she hoped to be the right decision. All the while she thought that— however implausible the notion was— should Mr Destler ask for her hand again she found herself wanting to say yes. She must force acceptance upon herself for after having refused him once he would not do so again; but the idea that they are to always avoid the other’s gaze did not feel right with Christine and thus the purpose of this trip.

Once again at his home, Christine began to feel anxiety build in her stomach even after Mr Khan’s statements that of all the visitors she would be the only one he would not turn away. Slowly she began to climb the steps to Rosewood’s door, lifting the handle and knocked timidly. Her arrival was met by Mrs Reynalds who— after greeting her with a hearty welcome— told Christine that her master was currently out in the gardens but that he would be most pleased by her being there.

After a few instructions on how to get there Christine trudged arduously to the house’s back to find her destination. Following the stone path she found the hedge and green door that acted as the secret entrance, unlocking the latch and cautiously walking through.

The door’s hinges squeaked alerting the suited gentleman of another. “Mrs Reynalds,” he said, turning his head towards her “I have already told you I—.” His voice stopped short at the sight of Christine, her presence causing him to stand from his seat.

Unsure of what to do now, Christine clutched her skirts while saying, “I hope I am not intruding on sacred ground.”

“Such sanctity has been absent… Please, enter.” He gestured with a sweep of his hand.

It was only until now— after her nerves have diminished significantly— that she could see the true beauty of this hidden wonderland. There was a small pond with lily pads surrounded by bushes of hydrangeas and marigolds, the entire area hidden by a tall hedge and overhead tree branches to escape the sun; to Christine it felt like heaven in a garden. She offered the seat Mr Destler gestured to, almost regretting her choice once it appeared he too would be sitting leaving the two of them on the bench looking towards the water. The soft trickling from the waterfall brought a serenity to the air.

“This was one of my favorite places growing up. Sometimes I would compose a poem or aria. In the Springtime ducks have been known to bring their young to the pond.” He spoke with a gentile that nearly brought Christine to tears knowing the added history of his lonely childhood.

“I came to apologize,” she began with a soft voice that was too weak to not break should she raise her volume, “for many things. For my actions towards you, not only within the past week but since our first meeting. I must also ask forgiveness for all the things I never said but rather thought, how they were misconstrued by others who meant you ill will.”

“Ms Daae—“

“And I undoubtedly regret, having now the information I did not then, how I treated you during your proposal, as any woman who knew your true intentions would have no choice but to accept. I also came to thank you for what you told Mr Khan—“

“I was righting a misjudged wrongdoing—“

“—as his return not only brought my sister a happiness beyond belief but the promise to marry her and share a home of love for each other—“

“Christine,” he adamantly stated, boldly taking hold of her hand nearest to him. There were three things, of which she’s certain, that were the reason for her ended rant: the first was his holding her hand, the subtle heat of hers mingling with the coldness of his drawing her senses; the second was his use of her first name rather than surname, a sound which felt too good on her ears; and third was what she felt after saying the word ‘love’ while sitting directly beside someone of whom she was beginning to fall deeply for.

Mr Destler took her hand in his own and held it closely, “I grant you forgiveness,” he said, speaking lowly and whilst staring into Christine’s eyes. “But I must ask you for yours.”

Puzzled, she asked, “What for?,” in a whispered tone that matched his.

He lifted her hand to his lips, Christine holding her breath and watching every muscle, “I am sorry that I cannot let you go, and will ask for your hand in marriage until the day I either succeed or die knowing I attempted a more than worthy endeavor.” His words were a warm whisper over her knuckles, placing a kiss just on the peak.

Christine swallowed, nervous of what she dared to say. “Mr Destler—“

“Please, call me Erik,”

“Erik,” her tongue tested the letters, a fit which she found most appealing and he too for his lips quivered in what could only be surmised as the first smile he has granted her. “I cannot marry a man whom I cannot see fully,” she admitted, her eyes leaving his to focus on the white mask of his right side.

Now it was he to swallow anxiously, “Please do not ask that of me,” he begged, “no courtship has and to lose you now would surely kill me.” Despite the fear in his voice, he watched with golden eyes as her hand left his to hold his unmasked side.

“If I found love for you now,” she said, moving her other hand to his mask, “then I shall love you then, too.” With one motion, gentle so as not to scratch him, Christine removed the white plaster.

What she found was not to be expected, but so too could be said for the tormenting past few months of their acquaintance. His skin was surely scarred, with a portion of his upper lip more swollen than the rest, puckered and red, his eyebrow more sparse and a small hole where half his nose ought to be. Yet despite this, Christine gently cupped his face which urged him to emit a long-held gasp that screamed of a wanted touch and loving gesture. He opened his eyes— too afraid to see her run scared to never return— and saw Christine smile with the glimmer of love in her eyes.

“Is it true?,” he asked her.

Her smile increased, “It is. Only, my love has not remained but grew tenfold more.”

Apparently, simple was never meant for Erik.

Standing at five foot six, one hundred sixty-seven centimeters according to his “friend” Nadir, he wasn’t exactly the tallest of his male counterparts. When he was younger, Erik would envy all the other boys in his classes for many things— their normal faces, healthy skin color, and above all noses— but height was one of the things he deeply resented not being granted by his poor genetics. Realistically he could handle not being extremely handsome, beauty only got one so far, and plenty of people suffered from skin conditions, but his short stature was always something he thought would come unto him. He was always told this by teachers, parents, and their friends— especially at the age of six when he was the tallest of his peers— but little did they know that his growth spurt wouldn’t last. By thirteen he averaged out with the others, and by sixteen he was one of the shortest in his grade.

The only other thing he had besides looks, was talent.

Music, every kind of genre and instrument, Erik was extremely gifted. A prodigy, they called him. It filled every missing piece of confidence he lacked due to his physicality, being told he was a genius and was going to go places far beyond the others in his school just by doing something he loved. No one in the thousands of crowds cared what he looked like— thanks to a fairly life-like mask that was given to him early on to not frighten other classmates— nor his height, seeing as his position on stage skewed the audience’s perception. Sometimes when he was asked to perform as a guest to a symphony or orchestra, his shortness was a bit more apparent when he would walk by the standing conductor (which he didn’t find very fair since they always stood on a box) and that tell-tale murmur would spread through the audience. But once he started to play, no matter the instrument nor the piece, he shut them up and held their attention all at once.

By his late twenties Erik had resigned himself to his solitary life, having hardened his heart long ago at the realization that he would never find a romantic partner who would want to share his bed without being paid to. Really it wasn’t even the sex that he longed for, it was the casual hand-holding, the spooning in bed on cold winter nights, the gift of smelling their perfume every morning, getting to cook and share a meal with them, every piece of domesticity that he only ever dreamed about. It wasn’t until after a performance at the London Royal Opera House did he dare to open that box of forgotten dreams again.

The performance was a great success—due to be one of his last on the stage after accepting a residency as lead composer and conductor for the New York Philharmonic— leaving the packed house’s energy electrifying. Afterwards there was a small party that was thrown in his honor, open only to high paying patrons, opera house staff, and current musicians. He was given a very special goodbye from the beloved company, having had many milestones and successes over his career, but that night would be his best. It was just after an encounter with one of the patrons— who sang their own songs of praise and honeyed words as usual— when an older gentleman approached him to give his thanks. His name was Gustave, he had said, one of the orchestra’s violinists, and wanted to say what a delight it has been to work with such a true artist for the past years and what a role-model he was to younger performers, such as his daughter. The man then turned and called to a young woman by the bar to join them, and it was then that Erik’s heart had finally stopped. Or only just began, he wasn’t quite sure.

She introduced herself as Christine and shook his hand with all the ease and gentleness in the world; which normally wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, but for him (a short man who wore a mask) it was everything. The first thing he noticed about her was her unwavering beauty, both on her face and in her mannerisms, like how she talked to him and acted like his height and chosen facial wear was normal. The second thing, he was a man after all, was how her dress’s slit seemed to make her legs look like they went on for days. In truth it took a few moments and careful staring to realize he hadn’t drunk too much champagne, but in fact the gorgeous woman before him was at least half a foot taller than him.

She was practically an Amazonian.

Needless to say, he was smitten.

And after practically falling head-over-heels (quite literally) trying to ask her on a date, Erik was prepared for the inevitable humiliation that followed when he tried to make his affections towards the opposite sex known. But instead of getting laughed at by the goddess Christine, he was met with a very sweet ‘yes’ accompanied by a blush that spread over her cheeks; which soon became his new favorite color. And after hearing her laugh at some dry-humored joke he made, her laughter became his new favorite sound, only to be replaced by the heavenly song she sang for him on their seventh date, after navigating how to accommodate their height difference (which he has since dubbed the ‘Bedroom Sonata’) knowing his were the only ears that she sang for, his hands the only way her body would play for him.

He got to learn everything there was to know about her, where she grew up, her schooling, her love of music and how she loved her current job as a pre-school ballet instructor, but had always wanted to go back to school and study music, voice especially. And in turn, Christine got to learn all about Erik, even the parts he was surprised with how comfortable he was to tell her like his facial deformities, his love of composing, and his many adventures traveling the globe performing with only the very best musicians. Their bond made during those few weeks between their first encounter to Erik’s departure for New York had changed the two of them for the better, so much so that Christine gave an emphatic yes when he asked her to join him. Though it was difficult at first for her father to accept his daughter’s wishes, he trusted Erik to take care of her, even more so when he gave Gustave a two-way ticket set for any date if the older man ever wanted to visit her. When the day came to say goodbye, Gustave gave his daughter a tearful hug farewell, going so far as to include Erik in a friendly embrace too.

Back in the US, their union continued to flourish as they began to decorate their shared apartment, learned how to live with each other, and started to engrave a new routine and life together in the city; Erik enjoying his position as lead composer and conductor of the philharmonic, while Christine— now a proud owner of a bachelor’s degree in vocal studies— is interning at the Metropolitan Opera.

It hasn’t always been easy, especially in the beginning. As luck would have it the two not only faced the challenges of their contrasting personalities, one of their friend’s favorite topics to joke on, but their very opposite physical appearances. While they had mostly spent their courtship in London to each other, there were the odd looks and glances at the couple whenever Erik tried to take his beloved out to a fancy restaurant. At the time, be believed them to be pointed at his mask, or else their sheer devotion to the other. But as time passed on and the couple moved to the states, he started to realize it was much simpler than that. Whenever he was accompanied by Christine at galas or fundraisers for the arts at his work, he would receive numerous comments about their difference in height, not to mention the grating passive-aggressive questions that aimed to break their strong connection.

“So, you’re kinda like her personal armrest, yeah?”

“Which one of you will get carried across the banister?”

“How do you keep up with her on the streets?”

“At least she never loses you in a crowd.”

“How does it work…in the bedroom?”

“You’re like, really short.”

It was bad enough to hear the seemingly never ending list of ‘jokes’ that others would try to make, as if he wasn’t already aware of his stature. Over the years he’s learned to listen and politely respond or just flat out ignore them if possible, but it still took a hit at his confidence. Regardless of the number of concerto’s he’s performed, or the countless awards and accolades he’s received, there was always something that ate away at him inside whenever they brought up his height. Maybe it was trivial, it was definitely unimportant, but Erik almost felt less than a man when his appearance was watered down to a short man with a messed up face. It especially hurt when a young child— who Erik knew full well was not to blame for his insecurities— would point and ask his mom why he looked like that. He tried to tell himself it was due to the way he dressed, his all black ensemble having become a staple for his closet.

But he knew.

At least for every bad moment he experienced from outsiders, there were smaller joys he found usually with Christine. Sometimes when they were in public and it was busier than usual, Erik’s hand would find its way to Christine’s so they do not separate; of course this can sometimes come across as a child with their mother. Of course he received an endless amount of forehead kisses, for which he can find zero problems with, and the same can be said about borrowing some of Christine’s t-shirts. While there was a brief workaround for the couple, sex soon became much more adventurous when they started to use their different body lengths to their advantages; some positions better suited for them than others. There were also the everyday downsides, like clothes that fit too big unless they came from the adolescent section, not being taken seriously, or else getting labeled with a “Napoleon Complex” for merely expressing his frustrations. Or the countless photos the two of them would try to take, only for Erik’s bottom half getting cropped out, or else his beautiful Christine’s face would be cut off, so really that trade wasn’t too bad.

Once, after a particularly grueling day of work after hours spent dealing with the new lead coloratura who had the attitude of a donkey, he almost lost his most treasured possession. It was a cold, rainy afternoon when Erik—still fuming after being called a ‘talentless sewer goblin’— came home and discarded his mask by the front door, hoping to alleviate the day’s misery through a nice hot cup of tea with a drizzling of honey. Unfortunately upon opening the cabinet door, Erik discovered his mug to be far too high up to reach without assistance, distantly remembering Christine placing it there after removing it from the dishwasher. In absolutely no mood to ask for help he decided to do what most undersized people in such a predicament are inclined to do; he started to climb.

It wasn’t until his fingertips were practically brushing the mug that a manicured hand easily grabbed the mug away from him. He turned around, still perched like a tree frog, eyeing the form of his partner behind him with the mug in one hand and the other on her hip.

“Erik, how many times have I told you not to climb the counter! You could hurt yourself!”

After the day he’d had, along with the never ending torment of being less than average height, this was the drop that broke the dam. Uncharacteristically, Erik started to fly into a rage, his anger only matched by the— downright terrifying— look of twisted features on his unmasked face. He tore into his poor, sweet Christine, saying awful things about how he is just as much of a monster as he looks, that she should never have treated him like any other man, finally saying to the crying girl that she should find a new man to share her life with.

And if it wasn’t for the added, “maybe someone taller, handsome”, she would have walked out of his life for good. She had started to retreat to their bedroom, most likely to pack her things, when his mumbled admittance seemed to have struck her.

“Erik,” she began, her back still turned to her aggravated boyfriend, “I don’t care about your height.” That, that simple and soft-spoken statement was all that she needed to say for Erik to come crashing back into the moment.

Of course, he still felt like a petulant child, so he told her, “Oh how would it not,” in that disbelieving tone of his. Instead of succeeding in driving the last good thing to have come into his life away for good, caring and patient Christine came back over to him. She slowly, telling him he can retract at any time, reached her hands to his face and gently cupped his head, angling it so his eyes met hers.

“What happened?”

Ah, and that was all it took for the floodgates to break open, tears of frustration and pain spilled down his gaunt cheeks while he voiced his terrible day and how it reminded him of all the years he’s spent trying to make up for his body’s lack of good genetics. And by doing so, it opened a new kind of gate, one that was blocked by a vulnerability that neither of them knew was there. During Erik’s emotional breakdown, he told Christine how he has always felt less than a man whenever they were out in public together; how no matter his talent or notoriety, his height will always be a hindrance on how others perceive him. He told her how his face could at least be somewhat normal with the mask, but unless he wanted to walk around in stilettos and risk breaking one or both his ankles there was no masking it.

“My poor, sweet Erik,” she had said. “Do you know how unwomanly my height makes me feel?” At this, Erik was at a loss for words, too selfish to truly understand how his angel’s tallness might have made her also feel like she stood out. Now fully aware and wanting to sympathize, he stayed silent and listened as Christine told him how she too has been made to hate her height. She told him about the years spent in school when she wouldn’t stop growing, and soon became taller than all the boys in class, including some teachers. Even in university people asked if she played basketball, how much she weighed, overshadowed people at the cinema, and never fit comfortably in compact spaces. Not to mention how many times she was forced to either get a dress or outfit from a specialized store, or else settle for whatever fit from a regular shop. Of course it had its perks, but mostly she felt embarrassed and wanted to shrink into nothingness after the amount of guys she tried to date would leave her due to feeling emasculated at not being the taller one in the relationship; which was why she was so happy to be with Erik and his care-free attitude towards how tall he was.

They stayed like that, hugging each other in the kitchen as rain pelted their outdoor flower boxes, until their emotions sobered up and they realized how they must have looked. Once again due to their half-foot difference, Christine had to stoop a bit over to fully embrace her love, likewise Erik was almost standing on the tips of his toes to return his angel’s embrace. He caught a glimpse of them in the window’s reflection, causing a sudden chuckle to bubble forth. Christine— who at first thought Erik had truly lost his mind— followed his gaze and looked at the window, soon joining his laughter at the absurd sight.

After they calmed themselves down from the laughing, both of them felt ten times lighter with the very last of their individual insecurities being laid out for the other to see. In turn, they each saw these negative opinions and took them with love and compassion, ready to spend the rest of their lives reassuring them of how their actions and expressions are far more important than their earthly body and all of its flaws.