Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Moulin Rouge (because of a certain brilliant writer/director), only one character belon

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Moulin Rouge (because of a certain brilliant writer/director), only one character belongs to me…blah,blah,blah…go on and read already. ^^

The few stars glittered in the late night sky that hung so dismally over the Moulin Rouge. The rain fell in curtains, thunder crashed, and lightening struck, the bright white lights from the club hard to be seen under the lightening. Christian ran a hand through his hair, from his neck forward, until he reached his forehead and let his hand rest there. It was dampened in a slick sweat, a sweat he'd been unable to keep dry for over a year.

His room was littered in yellowed, aged papers, scribbles and scrabbles decorating each one in a fine artistic manner. The old and melting candles flickering in the cool gust of wind that was creeping it's way in from under the chipping shudders. He stared horribly intent at the stack of papers that had yet been yellowed, burned, or strewn about his filthy room. The Moulin Rouge.

It had been a long time since then. A year at least. But the pain still shot through his heart when he awoke each day, to find his bed empty, his life no longer having meaning. He had dreams about her almost every night, and despite what Toulouse said, he wouldn't never rid of them. Her skin, her hair, her icy blue eyes, her red lips, long fiery hair, long smooth legs, sweet and caring heart. No, he would never forget them, no matter how hard he tried, how long it had been.

Christian fell on his bed, shivering and not bothering to cover up. This was when he fell asleep, his heart still broken, no one to put together the pieces.

In over a year, the Moulin Rouge had never been closed. Not since…not since Satine had gone. But today, the rain, so horrible and frightening, kept the dance hall empty, the elephant dark and secluded. The dancers lay in their small, but comfy bunks that lined the backstage and crowded prop rooms. Only Arcee lay in her own bed, listening intently to the snickers and giggles of the girls in the other room. The rain was drowning the voices so much that she had slipped from her bed, empty for once, and gently pressed her ear to the door.  When she still couldn't hear them, she pressed harder, until the left side of her face was flat against the door. She pulled away, shivering on the floor in her nightgown.

She didn't need to hear them. She knew what they were talking about. It was what they always talked about when Arcee was unable to 'perform' that night. When the Moulin Rouge was vacant of eager and lustful men, who came to see the 'Sparkling Diamond'. A tear rolled coldly down her numb cheek that had been crammed so hard against the door, and she flicked it away with a graceful sweep of her fingers.

She had missed Satine too. She had loved Satine as if she were her own sister too. Except of course for Ninni, who didn't like anyone who was in the limelight instead of herself. Her own heart had broken that awful night, when she had crept into the Moulin Rouge and hid behind curtain to watch the spectacular performance of 'Spectacular Spectacular'. She had been caught halfway through the show and been shuffled out the door into the cold weather by an older woman by the name of Marie. As a little girl, she had always been fascinated with the Can-Can dancers, the sparkling lights of the Moulin Rouge, she loud, enchanting music that exploded into her ears. She never told her mother she spent every night at the club, watching and waiting, until she would too be old enough to dance there.

In her young mind, it was a magical place, filled with nighttime pleasures she would never know about until the day she came to the Moulin Rouge, a young woman in search of a job. She was 19 now, still young, but old enough. She never would have dreamt she would have taken Satine's title, something she had been terrified of. Zidler, a kind, heavy set fellow with fiery red hair and bright blue eyes, had caught a glimpse of her standing alone in the hall, dancing alone, to a symphonic symphony in her mind.  She hadn't meant to get caught. She hadn't meant to be beautiful. And she never meant to become Satine.

The rain had slowly stopped, until only the darkness remained. Christian rolled over once, his black hair hung over his eyes. He wiped the strands away. He sat up slowly, as if it pained him to do so. His white shirt, and black sweater, his black slacks, and black socks, rumpled and damp. He went to the window and pried open the shutters, a cold gust of wind knocking him backwards, the papers that painted his walls, fluttering about. He stepped onto the balcony and almost mechanically scanned over the city.  He looked everywhere but there…the gigantic, towering elephant, the bright, creaking windmill that reflected everything he was trying to forget.

He hummed lightly the words to a song he had sang once, long ago…

"Seasons may change, winter to spring…but I love you…until the end of time…"

But he couldn't help but look. His eyes cast a sad glow over the elephant, a room he had once stood in, a room he had fallen in love in. He couldn't tear his eyes away…

Until he saw something. He squinted, trying to make out the slim silhouette in the room. It moved, and Christian blinked. Who was in the elephant?! The curiosity was maddening… who was in the elephant? He turned away, at the sound of a knock on his door, and called out, "It's open."

Toulouse bustled in, mumbling sleepily about something that Christian was ignoring. He turned back to the Moulin Rouge and squinted again, his brow furrowing.  Deep inside the elephant, a mirror was reflecting the figure, and he couldn't quite make out the picture. Then the figure disappeared, and from the split second it took for Christian to blink, a tall, thin, elegant figure stood in the heart shaped opening. His heart wrenched and he stepped back horridly from the balcony into the room, almost tripping over Toulouse.

He gasped and spun to face Toulouse. "I saw her, Toulouse! She's there!"

"Who?! Cwistian! You saw who?"  He lisped.

Christian turned to point at the elephant and was shocked to find it empty, as if it had never been touched. He allowed Toulouse to nudge him in bed, and then heard the door shut, a quiet, lisping Toulouse pitying Christian. He had seen Satine…he couldn't have been wrong. Why would he have had that feeling, otherwise?

More chapters to come…