Title: Good question, because I have no idea
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me would be a waste of attorney fees. But anyway, I don't own anyone major except Lucie DuBois and Amelia Doyle. All the rest ::tear, tear:: belong to Mr. Lurrhman and those guys in dark suits in Twentieth Century Fox's headquarters
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it, which I encourage greatly
Part One
February 14th, 1900
~ Dupont Sanitarium, St. Germain, France
Using all of her strength, Satine rubbed her sleepy eyes and took a few struggled breaths. The consumption had made breathing a chore nowadays, and the mornings were especially rough.
After properly preparing her sensitive eyes for the harshness of the sunlight filtering through the barred window, Satine let her arm rest down at her side and blinked as she looked at the colorful painting hung above her bureau. Toulouse had painted it for her the day before she left the Moulin Rouge.
Her reverie of the vibrant colors and japanisme was broken when the drab nurse Hilda entered, her mouth in its customary downward, sour curve and her eyes quick and angry.
"Good morning, Hilda." Satine volunteered, determined not to let her bring her mood down.
"Yes. Sit up, girl." She instructed. Satine groaned inwardly as she pulled her body upward into a semi-sitting position. She looked down at her swollen abdomen, trying to remember when it had been washboard flat and thin.
"Sit straight, girl. I have to check the baby's heart-rate too." She said, placing an ice-cold stethoscope in the center of Satine's stomach. When Hilda didn't comment, Satine frowned.
"Is the baby well?" she asked worriedly. Hilda nodded.
"Yes, the little thing is fine. Heart rate's a bit high, but that's only because delivery time is nigh. Now, stand up and let me check your lungs." Satine obeyed, standing with effort. As soon as she did, the familiar tightness in her chest returned, and her knees buckled, causing her to fall in a coughing fit.
Hilda clutched Satine's shoulders and just kept her from falling onto the cool floor. She moved her carefully onto the bed. When the violent choking ceased, Satine gasped for breath.
"Just relax now, girl. Just a coughing fit is all." Satine shook her head.
"Oh, Hilda, I just wish this wasn't true. I wish I was still healthy and just a normal mummy." She whimpered. Hilda, with a flash of almost pity for this ailing, unwed, mother-to-be, sighed.
"I will go get you some tea now, and return later to finish my check up." As soon as her footfalls were out of earshot, Satine was sound asleep.
***
Harold Zidler cursed softly at his aching back as he stepped off the poorly suspended carriage, with an arm-full of flowers and letters.
He trudged up the steps of the Dupont, his eyes stinging with tears. Visiting Satine here, so frail and vulnerable, was tearing him apart. He was the closest thing she had ever had to a father, and he had used her to make money. Now that she was slowly slipping away, he felt somewhat responsible, as if maybe she hadn't been forced into being a courtesan, the consumption could've been prevented.
"Monsuier Harold Zidler to visit Mademoiselle Satine DuBois." He informed the clerk gravely. The young woman nodded and handed Harold a facemask and pointed him down a cream-colored hallway.
***
"Oh, Harold, it's just wonderful to see you." Satine greeted Harold as they hugged. Her voice was perky for her condition, but still held an air of sadness. Harold smiled.
"Yes, my duckling. It's wonderful to see you too. Up and about, as well." He said, inferring to her surroundings, which was the lounge area with a small radio, two couches, and a few tables. She smiled.
"Yes. I've been up and down on this roller coaster, and I'm feeling a little better now." She told him, omitting the part about her sudden and fierce collapse this morning.
"That's peachy, gosling. These are for you." He handed her the bouquet of roses and she smiled.
"Why thank you!"
"Happy Valentine's Day, my dear." She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. He then handed her the letters.
"These are from the girls at the Moulin Rouge. Marie, Genevieve, Rosette, Monique, and even Nini wanted to wish you well." She smiled, remembering Nini and finding it hard to believe this true.
"Why thank you, Harold." He sat down and nodded to her belly.
"And how is the little fille or garcon? Birthing day must be near." Satine put her splayed palm on her stomach.
"It's so funny Harold. These last few nights, I've had the most prophetic dreams. I'm walking in the woods, holding a little child's hand. I suddenly know in my heart this is my child and I try to see it's face, and when I do, it's a little girl. And she smiles at me, with this sweet little face. I respond by saying, "Lucie". So now I am sure it's a little fille." Harold smiled tears in his eyes.
"That's quite remarkable, dear. And Lucie, what a precious name." Satine nodded.
"Yes. Lucie. That will be my daughter's name." Harold laughed.
"My, it's going to be odd picturing you as a mother." Satine smiled.
"I never thought the day would come…" as she spoke the last word, she gasped and clutched her stomach painfully. Harold was on his feet at once.
"Satine! Satine? What is it?" he cried. Satine whimpered in realization.
"I think that the baby is coming…"
"Now?"
"Yes…now! Harold! Get Hilda!"
***
"Laurie, get more hot water!" Hilda shouted at the young mid-wife as Satine lie before her, crying as her body convulsed in contractions. The sobs sounded more like wheezes, for her tortured lungs were very tired. As Hilda watched, she could tell that they would soon be at rest.
We must get this baby out of her now. She turned and angrily screamed, "Laurie! Where is that water!"
***
Harold was anxiously pacing the lounge, where he and Satine had been merrily chatting only an hour ago when she had gone into labor. He was chewing his nails, a detested and secret habit he wished he didn't possess.
As he looked out at the beautiful February day, he thought of the Satine's baby's future. Satine was dying, that could not be denied. He choked up at the very thought, even though he'd known it to be true for a near seven months now.
And still, that child would not die with Satine. It would need to be raised, and Harold feared he was not up to the task. His thoughts then drifted to the shy, starry-eyed writer, Christian.
They had sent Christian away months ago, to protect him from the Duke. After he left, Satine had slept with the Duke. Then, upon learning of the baby inside her, they had sent Satine here. The Duke left upon the belief Satine had died, therefore returning the deeds to Harold.
But Christian was long gone, and were he to return and learn of his child, it would be devastation. He would not be able to cope with Satine's death, let alone be a father. Yes, Harold was this child's only hope.
***
"One more push, girl, and you'll be a mother!" Hilda promised the weakened Satine. Satine, envisioning the small child she'd seen only hours before, mustered up all of her bodily strength and pushed.
Soon, to her unbelievable relief, she heard the telltale wailing of a newborn baby. Relief washed over her like a bucket of ice, and as Hilda washed the baby, Satine could hear it crying. Not a sad or frightened cry, but a cry that it did because that was it's only mode of communication.
Hilda then brought the clean, beautiful, little baby girl wrapped in a pink blanket over to Satine and placed her in her arms.
The baby had ceased crying upon seeing its mother, and looked up through curious sapphire eyes as it cooed. Satine smiled, her heart swelling with a love she never knew.
"Bonjour, cherié. I'm your mummy." The baby, Lucie, reached out a tiny hand and took a lock of Satine's fiery red hair and twirled it. Her own hair was jet black and there certainly was a lot of it for such a young baby, Satine noted. Hilda, who had left to give the new mother and her baby some privacy, re-entered.
"Mademoiselle, they need to record the baby's name now." Satine smiled the radiant smile she had faked so many times before but now needn't pretend and softly said, "Lucie. Lucie Caroline DuBois."
"What a gorgeous name." Hilda commented sincerely. "I'll give you a few moments." She then waddled out of the room and Satine stroked the top of her baby's head.
"My dear Lucie, I hope you always know that you are the most beautiful girl in the land, but that what's inside of you is much more important than the outside. You should also always know that I will love you until the end of time." The baby's only response was a soft murmur of intelligible babble, but to Satine that was enough as her body slowly shut down and full relief took over her.
***
Harold crushed his hat in his hands as the ashen-faced Dr. Breaux stood before him.
Satine. My little sparrow. My little strawberry. She's…dead. Harold could hardly fathom it, and did not want to.
"Do you know want to see her?" Harold, swiping the streams of tears from his face, nodded mournfully.
"I suppose."
***
Satine's ever valiant, endearing, seductive face was not frozen, but settled into a cool, relaxed expression as her motionless body lie on a hospital bed.
Harold stroked her sweat-coated scarlet hair that had taken a second priority the past few months. He would be sure the mortician dressed her well and did her hair the way she liked it.
His eyes trailed down her face, now drawn and pale. What had once laughed and sang and told stories and cried and listened and plotted was now silenced forever. But Harold had an inner feeling Satine would have needed some rest now, the rest she had never gotten in life.
"Monsuier Zidler?" a coquettish voice behind Harold asked. He turned and saw a short, young midwife with a pink bundle in her arms.
"Oui, mademoiselle?" she came closer and held out her arms.
"Would you like to hold the bébé?" she asked. Harold's breath was caught in his throat. The baby before him could have been Satine herself incarnate, except for the black hair.
He nodded numbly and took the baby from her arms.
"Merci beaucoup." He informed her softly. The baby opened her eyes and smiled a heart-melting smile, unaware that she was in fact alone in the world.
"Bonjour, my little Lucie. I'm Harold, and you can call me Uncle Harold."
August 14th, 1900
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France
The same poorly suspended carriage that had whisked Harold up to the Dupont on that fateful day slowed to a stop before the unusually inactive Moulin Rouge.
With the aid of a few workers, Harold's bags as well as Lucie's were carried quickly inside. Harold stepped regally from his carriage with an air of machoness despite the baby-basket he toted along.
"This, 'tite cherié, is the Moulin Rouge." He spoke softly and with a twang of dreaminess to Lucie. She giggled excitedly, and Harold's heart swelled. In the six months he'd spent at the Dupont with her, her hair had grown out, her eyes became brighter, and her little hands grabbed everything (Harold learned the hard way with his beard) they could grasp.
Harold was greeted by the open arms and surprised eyes of Marie.
"Harol', in our correspondence you didn't tell us nottin' 'bout no baby being birthed!" she smiled at the now cooing Lucie.
"I'm sorry Marie, I just forgot to mention it. It had been rough."
"How's Satine adjusting to motherhood?" she asked distractedly as she picked Lucie up and played with her. Harold lowered his tear-filled eyes. Marie instantly stopped laughing and tears fell from her brown eyes.
"She…?"
Harold nodded in reply.
"How then was the baby…"
"It happened less than five minutes after the baby was born." Marie dropped her head and held the baby close. After a moment, she looked up at Harold with a steely resolve.
"Did she name the baby?"
"Yes. Lucie Caroline DuBois."
"Baptized?"
"An hour after birth." Marie nodded.
"Well, now we've got 'o finish what she started." Marie held Lucie in one arm protectively and picked up the child's bags.
"Come Harold, and get Chocolat. We got 'o set up a room for lil' Miss Lucie Diamond."
***
"Isn't she just the most beautiful?" Monique, a Moulin Rouge dancer, gushed as she played with the wide-eyed Lucie. Rosette agreed with a nod of her head.
"Sure is. Give that bébé red hair and she could pass for Satine." The girls played with the baby's thick dark hair and laughed merrily. She was as precious as a little live doll, and they were very happy to have her, until Nini strolled into the room.
"What's all da fuss 'bout? Just a'other bastard baby. I say send her to a home or somethin'." She grumbled loudly as she looked with an angry eye over the baby.
"Don't be unkind, Nini. She's not just another baby, she's Satine's baby."
Nini snorted. "Sure. She has a baby and she gets whisked off to a resort for a few months and the kid gets to come live here. Any of us gets knocked up and we're on the street, unless we get ridda it!" she pouted, and stomped off. Rosette shook her head.
"Nini is so cold. She blames Harold for her loosin' that baby back when...." Monique nodded.
"Oui, I remember. I guess you don't get over that type of thing." Just then, Marie strolled in.
"What're you girls doin'? Go get ready and let me put the lil' bébé to bed now." She instructed with a wag of her long, manicured finger. They hustled off, and Marie lifted Lucie up.
"There, there now baby doll." Marie whispered softly. Lucie, in all her curiosity, reached out beyond Marie and grasped a hanging piece of newsprint.
"Whatcha got there?" she asked as she removed the print from Lucie's strong little fist.
On the greasy paper that was over a year old, was a photo of Satine, mid-sentence in the "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" routine. Under it was a caption about the up-coming renovations and play, Spectacular, Spectacular.
Marie's eyes moved from the paper to Lucie's eyes, which were boring on Marie's face. Not the typical, absent baby stare but a demanding expression.
After a moment, Marie set the paper aside and started up to Lucie's nursery muttering, "Étonnant."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: Okay, this part's done. Rest assured that there is more to come. So whaddaya think? Please review! Thanks!
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me would be a waste of attorney fees. But anyway, I don't own anyone major except Lucie DuBois and Amelia Doyle. All the rest ::tear, tear:: belong to Mr. Lurrhman and those guys in dark suits in Twentieth Century Fox's headquarters
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it, which I encourage greatly
Part One
February 14th, 1900
~ Dupont Sanitarium, St. Germain, France
Using all of her strength, Satine rubbed her sleepy eyes and took a few struggled breaths. The consumption had made breathing a chore nowadays, and the mornings were especially rough.
After properly preparing her sensitive eyes for the harshness of the sunlight filtering through the barred window, Satine let her arm rest down at her side and blinked as she looked at the colorful painting hung above her bureau. Toulouse had painted it for her the day before she left the Moulin Rouge.
Her reverie of the vibrant colors and japanisme was broken when the drab nurse Hilda entered, her mouth in its customary downward, sour curve and her eyes quick and angry.
"Good morning, Hilda." Satine volunteered, determined not to let her bring her mood down.
"Yes. Sit up, girl." She instructed. Satine groaned inwardly as she pulled her body upward into a semi-sitting position. She looked down at her swollen abdomen, trying to remember when it had been washboard flat and thin.
"Sit straight, girl. I have to check the baby's heart-rate too." She said, placing an ice-cold stethoscope in the center of Satine's stomach. When Hilda didn't comment, Satine frowned.
"Is the baby well?" she asked worriedly. Hilda nodded.
"Yes, the little thing is fine. Heart rate's a bit high, but that's only because delivery time is nigh. Now, stand up and let me check your lungs." Satine obeyed, standing with effort. As soon as she did, the familiar tightness in her chest returned, and her knees buckled, causing her to fall in a coughing fit.
Hilda clutched Satine's shoulders and just kept her from falling onto the cool floor. She moved her carefully onto the bed. When the violent choking ceased, Satine gasped for breath.
"Just relax now, girl. Just a coughing fit is all." Satine shook her head.
"Oh, Hilda, I just wish this wasn't true. I wish I was still healthy and just a normal mummy." She whimpered. Hilda, with a flash of almost pity for this ailing, unwed, mother-to-be, sighed.
"I will go get you some tea now, and return later to finish my check up." As soon as her footfalls were out of earshot, Satine was sound asleep.
***
Harold Zidler cursed softly at his aching back as he stepped off the poorly suspended carriage, with an arm-full of flowers and letters.
He trudged up the steps of the Dupont, his eyes stinging with tears. Visiting Satine here, so frail and vulnerable, was tearing him apart. He was the closest thing she had ever had to a father, and he had used her to make money. Now that she was slowly slipping away, he felt somewhat responsible, as if maybe she hadn't been forced into being a courtesan, the consumption could've been prevented.
"Monsuier Harold Zidler to visit Mademoiselle Satine DuBois." He informed the clerk gravely. The young woman nodded and handed Harold a facemask and pointed him down a cream-colored hallway.
***
"Oh, Harold, it's just wonderful to see you." Satine greeted Harold as they hugged. Her voice was perky for her condition, but still held an air of sadness. Harold smiled.
"Yes, my duckling. It's wonderful to see you too. Up and about, as well." He said, inferring to her surroundings, which was the lounge area with a small radio, two couches, and a few tables. She smiled.
"Yes. I've been up and down on this roller coaster, and I'm feeling a little better now." She told him, omitting the part about her sudden and fierce collapse this morning.
"That's peachy, gosling. These are for you." He handed her the bouquet of roses and she smiled.
"Why thank you!"
"Happy Valentine's Day, my dear." She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. He then handed her the letters.
"These are from the girls at the Moulin Rouge. Marie, Genevieve, Rosette, Monique, and even Nini wanted to wish you well." She smiled, remembering Nini and finding it hard to believe this true.
"Why thank you, Harold." He sat down and nodded to her belly.
"And how is the little fille or garcon? Birthing day must be near." Satine put her splayed palm on her stomach.
"It's so funny Harold. These last few nights, I've had the most prophetic dreams. I'm walking in the woods, holding a little child's hand. I suddenly know in my heart this is my child and I try to see it's face, and when I do, it's a little girl. And she smiles at me, with this sweet little face. I respond by saying, "Lucie". So now I am sure it's a little fille." Harold smiled tears in his eyes.
"That's quite remarkable, dear. And Lucie, what a precious name." Satine nodded.
"Yes. Lucie. That will be my daughter's name." Harold laughed.
"My, it's going to be odd picturing you as a mother." Satine smiled.
"I never thought the day would come…" as she spoke the last word, she gasped and clutched her stomach painfully. Harold was on his feet at once.
"Satine! Satine? What is it?" he cried. Satine whimpered in realization.
"I think that the baby is coming…"
"Now?"
"Yes…now! Harold! Get Hilda!"
***
"Laurie, get more hot water!" Hilda shouted at the young mid-wife as Satine lie before her, crying as her body convulsed in contractions. The sobs sounded more like wheezes, for her tortured lungs were very tired. As Hilda watched, she could tell that they would soon be at rest.
We must get this baby out of her now. She turned and angrily screamed, "Laurie! Where is that water!"
***
Harold was anxiously pacing the lounge, where he and Satine had been merrily chatting only an hour ago when she had gone into labor. He was chewing his nails, a detested and secret habit he wished he didn't possess.
As he looked out at the beautiful February day, he thought of the Satine's baby's future. Satine was dying, that could not be denied. He choked up at the very thought, even though he'd known it to be true for a near seven months now.
And still, that child would not die with Satine. It would need to be raised, and Harold feared he was not up to the task. His thoughts then drifted to the shy, starry-eyed writer, Christian.
They had sent Christian away months ago, to protect him from the Duke. After he left, Satine had slept with the Duke. Then, upon learning of the baby inside her, they had sent Satine here. The Duke left upon the belief Satine had died, therefore returning the deeds to Harold.
But Christian was long gone, and were he to return and learn of his child, it would be devastation. He would not be able to cope with Satine's death, let alone be a father. Yes, Harold was this child's only hope.
***
"One more push, girl, and you'll be a mother!" Hilda promised the weakened Satine. Satine, envisioning the small child she'd seen only hours before, mustered up all of her bodily strength and pushed.
Soon, to her unbelievable relief, she heard the telltale wailing of a newborn baby. Relief washed over her like a bucket of ice, and as Hilda washed the baby, Satine could hear it crying. Not a sad or frightened cry, but a cry that it did because that was it's only mode of communication.
Hilda then brought the clean, beautiful, little baby girl wrapped in a pink blanket over to Satine and placed her in her arms.
The baby had ceased crying upon seeing its mother, and looked up through curious sapphire eyes as it cooed. Satine smiled, her heart swelling with a love she never knew.
"Bonjour, cherié. I'm your mummy." The baby, Lucie, reached out a tiny hand and took a lock of Satine's fiery red hair and twirled it. Her own hair was jet black and there certainly was a lot of it for such a young baby, Satine noted. Hilda, who had left to give the new mother and her baby some privacy, re-entered.
"Mademoiselle, they need to record the baby's name now." Satine smiled the radiant smile she had faked so many times before but now needn't pretend and softly said, "Lucie. Lucie Caroline DuBois."
"What a gorgeous name." Hilda commented sincerely. "I'll give you a few moments." She then waddled out of the room and Satine stroked the top of her baby's head.
"My dear Lucie, I hope you always know that you are the most beautiful girl in the land, but that what's inside of you is much more important than the outside. You should also always know that I will love you until the end of time." The baby's only response was a soft murmur of intelligible babble, but to Satine that was enough as her body slowly shut down and full relief took over her.
***
Harold crushed his hat in his hands as the ashen-faced Dr. Breaux stood before him.
Satine. My little sparrow. My little strawberry. She's…dead. Harold could hardly fathom it, and did not want to.
"Do you know want to see her?" Harold, swiping the streams of tears from his face, nodded mournfully.
"I suppose."
***
Satine's ever valiant, endearing, seductive face was not frozen, but settled into a cool, relaxed expression as her motionless body lie on a hospital bed.
Harold stroked her sweat-coated scarlet hair that had taken a second priority the past few months. He would be sure the mortician dressed her well and did her hair the way she liked it.
His eyes trailed down her face, now drawn and pale. What had once laughed and sang and told stories and cried and listened and plotted was now silenced forever. But Harold had an inner feeling Satine would have needed some rest now, the rest she had never gotten in life.
"Monsuier Zidler?" a coquettish voice behind Harold asked. He turned and saw a short, young midwife with a pink bundle in her arms.
"Oui, mademoiselle?" she came closer and held out her arms.
"Would you like to hold the bébé?" she asked. Harold's breath was caught in his throat. The baby before him could have been Satine herself incarnate, except for the black hair.
He nodded numbly and took the baby from her arms.
"Merci beaucoup." He informed her softly. The baby opened her eyes and smiled a heart-melting smile, unaware that she was in fact alone in the world.
"Bonjour, my little Lucie. I'm Harold, and you can call me Uncle Harold."
August 14th, 1900
~ Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, France
The same poorly suspended carriage that had whisked Harold up to the Dupont on that fateful day slowed to a stop before the unusually inactive Moulin Rouge.
With the aid of a few workers, Harold's bags as well as Lucie's were carried quickly inside. Harold stepped regally from his carriage with an air of machoness despite the baby-basket he toted along.
"This, 'tite cherié, is the Moulin Rouge." He spoke softly and with a twang of dreaminess to Lucie. She giggled excitedly, and Harold's heart swelled. In the six months he'd spent at the Dupont with her, her hair had grown out, her eyes became brighter, and her little hands grabbed everything (Harold learned the hard way with his beard) they could grasp.
Harold was greeted by the open arms and surprised eyes of Marie.
"Harol', in our correspondence you didn't tell us nottin' 'bout no baby being birthed!" she smiled at the now cooing Lucie.
"I'm sorry Marie, I just forgot to mention it. It had been rough."
"How's Satine adjusting to motherhood?" she asked distractedly as she picked Lucie up and played with her. Harold lowered his tear-filled eyes. Marie instantly stopped laughing and tears fell from her brown eyes.
"She…?"
Harold nodded in reply.
"How then was the baby…"
"It happened less than five minutes after the baby was born." Marie dropped her head and held the baby close. After a moment, she looked up at Harold with a steely resolve.
"Did she name the baby?"
"Yes. Lucie Caroline DuBois."
"Baptized?"
"An hour after birth." Marie nodded.
"Well, now we've got 'o finish what she started." Marie held Lucie in one arm protectively and picked up the child's bags.
"Come Harold, and get Chocolat. We got 'o set up a room for lil' Miss Lucie Diamond."
***
"Isn't she just the most beautiful?" Monique, a Moulin Rouge dancer, gushed as she played with the wide-eyed Lucie. Rosette agreed with a nod of her head.
"Sure is. Give that bébé red hair and she could pass for Satine." The girls played with the baby's thick dark hair and laughed merrily. She was as precious as a little live doll, and they were very happy to have her, until Nini strolled into the room.
"What's all da fuss 'bout? Just a'other bastard baby. I say send her to a home or somethin'." She grumbled loudly as she looked with an angry eye over the baby.
"Don't be unkind, Nini. She's not just another baby, she's Satine's baby."
Nini snorted. "Sure. She has a baby and she gets whisked off to a resort for a few months and the kid gets to come live here. Any of us gets knocked up and we're on the street, unless we get ridda it!" she pouted, and stomped off. Rosette shook her head.
"Nini is so cold. She blames Harold for her loosin' that baby back when...." Monique nodded.
"Oui, I remember. I guess you don't get over that type of thing." Just then, Marie strolled in.
"What're you girls doin'? Go get ready and let me put the lil' bébé to bed now." She instructed with a wag of her long, manicured finger. They hustled off, and Marie lifted Lucie up.
"There, there now baby doll." Marie whispered softly. Lucie, in all her curiosity, reached out beyond Marie and grasped a hanging piece of newsprint.
"Whatcha got there?" she asked as she removed the print from Lucie's strong little fist.
On the greasy paper that was over a year old, was a photo of Satine, mid-sentence in the "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" routine. Under it was a caption about the up-coming renovations and play, Spectacular, Spectacular.
Marie's eyes moved from the paper to Lucie's eyes, which were boring on Marie's face. Not the typical, absent baby stare but a demanding expression.
After a moment, Marie set the paper aside and started up to Lucie's nursery muttering, "Étonnant."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: Okay, this part's done. Rest assured that there is more to come. So whaddaya think? Please review! Thanks!