Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge or any of its characters. They belong
to their respective owners.
Author's Note: Please be kind, this is my first ever attempt at a Moulin Rouge fic, and I hope it turned out alright. I'd like to dedicate this story to my best friend Quintia, who loves Moulin Rouge as much as I do. So please read and review!
The Legacy of the Sparkling Diamond
Chapter I
By, Silver Fox
It was the day after. The day after my life ended. The day after she died. It was also the day after a part of myself had died with her. My naivety and false illusions were now as dead as she was. I wasn't sure where my heart stood on love. Love had seemed to fail me. I gave my love and all my heart to her, as she did to me. We thought love could conquer all. I learned that death could conquer before anything. My thoughts could only dwell upon one matter: What if? What if I found out she was sick? What if we had left that night as we had planned? She might not have died. She might be here with me. We might be happy together. But such did not happen. Satine, the Sparkling Diamond of my heart is dead. As the days after amounted into months after, I lifted myself from my own hell of absinthe and drugs and did her honor as I had promised. I had promised to write our story so she would always be with me. And I kept my promise to her. I wrote our story, the story of the Moulin Rouge. As I typed it, mixed emotions flooded over me. At some points I was joyous, other times I was weeping. But despite the internal battle, I really could almost feel her presence in my room. When the breeze blew in and wiped the tears off of my face, it felt like she was wiping them away. But the story I wrote then is not the one I will tell now. For now I tell a much different story. This story is about me, and who I've been forced to become without her. For now, I tell of my renaissance, my rebirth into the world as a different person. This memoir is titled: The Legacy of the Sparkling Diamond, because it dully shows what was left behind by Sparkling Diamond herself, Satine. However, this story begins with me, because it is my story.
My story begins on yet another day after. The day after I finished our story. I had thrown another letter from my father into the fireplace and watched the flames engulfed it. He had begged me, no, ordered me to come home to where I belonged. Little did he know I could never go back there now. I could not go back to the place of my old life. That Christian didn't exist anymore. All that was left of the man he used to be were the fragments of myself. I could never go back to England, back to my father, back to my old life, pretending everything here had never happened. Living my life here had changed me, changed my outlook on life. I watched the once detailed and beautiful paper become reduced to nothing but ashes. I knew it now was like I was. I trudged myself from the fire and back to our story. For a time, I just looked at it. I didn't read it; I merely stared at it. This was just another reminder of the person I used to be, and I didn't need it then. I picked up my coat headed out the door to walk the streets. I admit, my curiosity to see it again had been growing. I got outside. I was looking at the village of Monmatre. However, it was not the place I'd seen when I had first arrived. I thought the place had changed, or perhaps it was my perspective on it that changed. When I first came here, I saw the opposite of what my father had told me it was; 'a village of sin.' Instead I saw a glorious place filled with the free spirits that I had aspired to be. The village had been full of writers, painters, and musicians. Yes, the children of the Revolution. Perhaps I had chosen a bad day to come out into the world again, because there was no one out in the streets that even remotely resembled what I was looking for. The gray clouded sky and fog hanging down in the streets was not how I remembered it.
I had expected to see what I had seen before, but I guess that would have been impossible, seeing as how I didn't see anything the same way anymore. Still, I walked about the streets, looking for something that reminded me of why I was here. But, the truth was that even I didn't know what it was I was looking for. I guess I was expecting some sort of divine intervention. I wandered the streets until I reached an absinthe bar and stopped to get myself a drink. I had gotten quite used to absinthe, and seeing the green fairy. Sometimes I even talked to her, and I could have sworn she answered me back. I never tired of seeing her. The man at the bar was starting to talk to me.
"Who are you?" He asked me.
"I am no one important," I informed him, "I'm just a poor man getting a drink."
"You're not from around here, are you?" He vexed me yet again, his curiosity in me obviously growing. Perhaps he was just lonely. Perhaps he was a bad person. Either way, I couldn't have cared less at that point.
"I suppose that depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Depends on what you mean by around here. Because I have lived here for about a year, yet I hardly remember it."
"What do you mean by that?"
His inquisitive nature was severely agitating me, so put money down, and without a word, got up and left.
"Hey, where are you going?" He called out, but I didn't pay him any mind. I had more to do than explain myself to an absinthe bar worker. I knew where I was heading next. On the way I went through a dark alley, and in it found two women. I knew what they were. I could tell by their looks, the way they were dressed. They were courtesans. And they were trying to get some money out of me.
"Well, well. Who do we have here?" The blonde one spat, as she carefully looked me over.
"Looks like he's a handsome one, if he'd just fix his hair and shave that beard," said the red haired one pointing at my uncombed hair and scraggly beard. I had let myself get this way because I didn't feel I had a reason to keep appearances any more. I stared at the red haired one for about a second. Red hair, just like Satine's, I thought. She had obviously taken this the wrong way.
"Oooh, looks like he's interested in me." She silkily draped her hands around my shoulders. "So, how about you spend the night with me? I'll make it worth your while, for a price."
I felt nothing toward her, yet I couldn't stop staring at her hair. It looked almost exactly like Satine's hair. The color, and how it seemed to flow down her shoulders. It brought a painful memory to my heart. I brushed her hands from off of my shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."
"Why? What's the deal?"
"You remind me of someone." I brushed past the both of them, putting my hands in my pockets after putting my jacket collar up. It was getting windy, and chilly. Still, I knew where I was going. I walked past a man begging for food. I barely looked at him. I knew I should have cared, but I didn't. I didn't care about anyone right then and there. I just kept heading where I knew my mind was taking me. So much for a village of love, I thought bitterly as I saw a sick child in the gutter. Finally, my destination was in my sight. It really wasn't far away, but I had wandered so far off to begin with. It was across from my flat. It had been so long since I had seen that looming red windmill, which was now stopped completely. I had finally reached what once was the Moulin Rouge.
Author's Note: What did you think? This is my first Moulin Rouge fic, but it might turn out good. Please, give me reviews! I'll gladly read anything, any and all criticism accepted.
Author's Note: Please be kind, this is my first ever attempt at a Moulin Rouge fic, and I hope it turned out alright. I'd like to dedicate this story to my best friend Quintia, who loves Moulin Rouge as much as I do. So please read and review!
The Legacy of the Sparkling Diamond
Chapter I
By, Silver Fox
It was the day after. The day after my life ended. The day after she died. It was also the day after a part of myself had died with her. My naivety and false illusions were now as dead as she was. I wasn't sure where my heart stood on love. Love had seemed to fail me. I gave my love and all my heart to her, as she did to me. We thought love could conquer all. I learned that death could conquer before anything. My thoughts could only dwell upon one matter: What if? What if I found out she was sick? What if we had left that night as we had planned? She might not have died. She might be here with me. We might be happy together. But such did not happen. Satine, the Sparkling Diamond of my heart is dead. As the days after amounted into months after, I lifted myself from my own hell of absinthe and drugs and did her honor as I had promised. I had promised to write our story so she would always be with me. And I kept my promise to her. I wrote our story, the story of the Moulin Rouge. As I typed it, mixed emotions flooded over me. At some points I was joyous, other times I was weeping. But despite the internal battle, I really could almost feel her presence in my room. When the breeze blew in and wiped the tears off of my face, it felt like she was wiping them away. But the story I wrote then is not the one I will tell now. For now I tell a much different story. This story is about me, and who I've been forced to become without her. For now, I tell of my renaissance, my rebirth into the world as a different person. This memoir is titled: The Legacy of the Sparkling Diamond, because it dully shows what was left behind by Sparkling Diamond herself, Satine. However, this story begins with me, because it is my story.
My story begins on yet another day after. The day after I finished our story. I had thrown another letter from my father into the fireplace and watched the flames engulfed it. He had begged me, no, ordered me to come home to where I belonged. Little did he know I could never go back there now. I could not go back to the place of my old life. That Christian didn't exist anymore. All that was left of the man he used to be were the fragments of myself. I could never go back to England, back to my father, back to my old life, pretending everything here had never happened. Living my life here had changed me, changed my outlook on life. I watched the once detailed and beautiful paper become reduced to nothing but ashes. I knew it now was like I was. I trudged myself from the fire and back to our story. For a time, I just looked at it. I didn't read it; I merely stared at it. This was just another reminder of the person I used to be, and I didn't need it then. I picked up my coat headed out the door to walk the streets. I admit, my curiosity to see it again had been growing. I got outside. I was looking at the village of Monmatre. However, it was not the place I'd seen when I had first arrived. I thought the place had changed, or perhaps it was my perspective on it that changed. When I first came here, I saw the opposite of what my father had told me it was; 'a village of sin.' Instead I saw a glorious place filled with the free spirits that I had aspired to be. The village had been full of writers, painters, and musicians. Yes, the children of the Revolution. Perhaps I had chosen a bad day to come out into the world again, because there was no one out in the streets that even remotely resembled what I was looking for. The gray clouded sky and fog hanging down in the streets was not how I remembered it.
I had expected to see what I had seen before, but I guess that would have been impossible, seeing as how I didn't see anything the same way anymore. Still, I walked about the streets, looking for something that reminded me of why I was here. But, the truth was that even I didn't know what it was I was looking for. I guess I was expecting some sort of divine intervention. I wandered the streets until I reached an absinthe bar and stopped to get myself a drink. I had gotten quite used to absinthe, and seeing the green fairy. Sometimes I even talked to her, and I could have sworn she answered me back. I never tired of seeing her. The man at the bar was starting to talk to me.
"Who are you?" He asked me.
"I am no one important," I informed him, "I'm just a poor man getting a drink."
"You're not from around here, are you?" He vexed me yet again, his curiosity in me obviously growing. Perhaps he was just lonely. Perhaps he was a bad person. Either way, I couldn't have cared less at that point.
"I suppose that depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Depends on what you mean by around here. Because I have lived here for about a year, yet I hardly remember it."
"What do you mean by that?"
His inquisitive nature was severely agitating me, so put money down, and without a word, got up and left.
"Hey, where are you going?" He called out, but I didn't pay him any mind. I had more to do than explain myself to an absinthe bar worker. I knew where I was heading next. On the way I went through a dark alley, and in it found two women. I knew what they were. I could tell by their looks, the way they were dressed. They were courtesans. And they were trying to get some money out of me.
"Well, well. Who do we have here?" The blonde one spat, as she carefully looked me over.
"Looks like he's a handsome one, if he'd just fix his hair and shave that beard," said the red haired one pointing at my uncombed hair and scraggly beard. I had let myself get this way because I didn't feel I had a reason to keep appearances any more. I stared at the red haired one for about a second. Red hair, just like Satine's, I thought. She had obviously taken this the wrong way.
"Oooh, looks like he's interested in me." She silkily draped her hands around my shoulders. "So, how about you spend the night with me? I'll make it worth your while, for a price."
I felt nothing toward her, yet I couldn't stop staring at her hair. It looked almost exactly like Satine's hair. The color, and how it seemed to flow down her shoulders. It brought a painful memory to my heart. I brushed her hands from off of my shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."
"Why? What's the deal?"
"You remind me of someone." I brushed past the both of them, putting my hands in my pockets after putting my jacket collar up. It was getting windy, and chilly. Still, I knew where I was going. I walked past a man begging for food. I barely looked at him. I knew I should have cared, but I didn't. I didn't care about anyone right then and there. I just kept heading where I knew my mind was taking me. So much for a village of love, I thought bitterly as I saw a sick child in the gutter. Finally, my destination was in my sight. It really wasn't far away, but I had wandered so far off to begin with. It was across from my flat. It had been so long since I had seen that looming red windmill, which was now stopped completely. I had finally reached what once was the Moulin Rouge.
Author's Note: What did you think? This is my first Moulin Rouge fic, but it might turn out good. Please, give me reviews! I'll gladly read anything, any and all criticism accepted.