It had been months; at least, Christine was quite sure that it had been months since her capture.
One doesn’t realize they take the sun and moon for granted until they can no longer see them to keep track of the days and nights that pass.
It feels like months, she thought to herself, as she stood in the kitchen and worked on making a pot of tea. Such a trivial, mundane activity was something so blissful to her, now that it was one of the few normal things she could still do in her prison.
Even a prison can become a home if you’re there long enough.
Over the months — or however long it had been — things had gradually changed. She was by no means happy, but she had learned to adapt to her new life as Erik’s bride. She had started out rather quiet, forcing pleasantries from her lips when her husband would bestow gifts or the occasional kindness; now she was confident enough to speak before she was spoken to. She would mention if she were hungry or in need of entertainment, and sometimes they even could carry on small conversations.
Conversations in which she still tread carefully in fear of angering him, but she was far less tense than she used to be. She didn’t cower from him unless he had an outburst, though she was nowhere close to being the same strong, defiant girl that she once was.
Her only defiance now rested in her current act of sneaking off to the kitchen to make some tea. In this ‘defiance’, she still had a feeling he knew where she had gone, and she still poured two cups of tea to make up for it.
“Ange- Erik?” It didn’t take her very long to realize how he hated that name — his body language told her enough — but she still had the occasional slip of the tongue. Perhaps because she longed for the days when he was her angel and nothing more.
She set both cups of tea on a tray with the pot, picking it up and walking out of the kitchen. “Erik, where are you? I’ve made some tea, if you are thirsty at all...”