~ B e a u t y o n t h e F i r e ~
by She's a Star
Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to the schnazz Baz Luhrmann. The song title 'Beauty on the Fire' belongs to Natalie Imbruglia. The song 'Hellfire' belongs to...whoever wrote the music for Hunchback of Notre Dame.
A/N: By far my darkest fic. Enjoy.
~ * ~
'Why would the courtesan choose the penniless writer? Oops! I mean sitar player.'
She has betrayed me.
The four words ran over and over, endlessly, through the Duke's head. They showed no mercy; didn't leave him in peace so he could plot his revenge. No, instead they tortured him consistently with the painful stinging of realization:
She'd never loved him; she'd always loved the writer. Just the writer. Never him.
Never him.
"She has betrayed me," the Duke hissed, staring intensely into the stone fireplace in front of which he stood. The flames inside flickered merrily, oblivious to the fact that the world was shattering around him.
Satine.
Oh, how he loathed her. Loathed her more than anything. And yet he wanted her at the same time. Wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything. Oh, how he yearned to feel her body next to his; wanted to kiss that smooth, silky skin.
But no.
She loved the writer.
The Goddamned writer!
Of course, he knew he shouldn't have expected any better. She was just a whore, after all, and what did that say for her judgement? He should have known that she would make the wrong decision.
But oh, he would show her how to make the right one.
Or else...
Glaring down into the fireplace, a vision took over him. A vision of Satine, whose curls matched the dancing flames perfectly. Whose fair skin would be scorched and smoldered at once if touched by fire...whose crimson lips would let out one last cry as pain overtook her.
'I should have chosen you,' she would scream, tears streaming down those once-flawless cheeks. 'I'll be yours forever!'
She'd be begging for mercy, then...begging at his feet. No longer would she be in control. Oh, he wouldn't let her beauty manipulate him anymore. He would make the right decisions. Would throw her beauty on the fire.
Of course, he would never give her the mercy for which she begged.
Not after what she had done to him.
No, he would let her burn.
Let her burn, like the witch she was; casting the spell of the siren and not giving a damn about those she hurt.
Well, he would hurt her back now.
"She has betrayed me," he muttered again, wildly this time, as his eyes scanned the room. Next to the majestically standing grandfather clock which announced her five minutes late was a painting of the Virgin Mary.
The Duke's lip curled in disgust as he stared at it. How dare they keep a holy picture in this place of sin?
Though they were just trash. Creatures of the underworld. After all, how could he expect them to know any better?
Any of them.
Even the ones who seemed so pure, so above this wretched Moulin Rouge.
Purity was nonexistent here.
Eyes still fixed intently on the picture, he began to sing softly to himself, the sound barely audible.
"Beata Maria," his voice was a hiss, blending perfectly with the almost bone-chilling darkness of the Gothic Tower. "You know I'm so much purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd."
He was above them all. Of course he was above them. He had no clue why he'd even come to the sin-filled hellhole in the first place.
Well...in all truth, he did. He'd heard another man of his high stature speaking about his own trip to the Moulin Rouge, and the unearthly beauty that was Satine.
'She's a goddess,' the man had proclaimed. 'There's no other explanation. No mere woman could be that beautiful.'
As soon as the Duke had heard those words, he knew he had to have her. She was the most beautiful. She was the best. So naturally, she was what he deserved.
Never, ever had he expected...this.
"Then tell me, Maria," he continued, his voice growing louder as he stood from his chair, his eyes scanning the portrait with such mad intensity that you'd think it held the answers to all of life's most well-kept secrets, "Why I see her dancing there, why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul!"
Enraged that the Virgin Mary refused to answer any of his questions, the Duke turned back to the fire and continued his angst-ridden song.
"I feel her, I see her!
The sun caught in crimson hair
Is blazing in me out of all control..."
A sudden burst of fury surged through him, and he angrily snatched one of the many diamond necklaces that he'd purchased for Satine from the table. The string of sparkling jewels shimmered and danced from the light of the fire, reflecting a shade of coppery-red the exact color of Satine's hair.
A strangled cry escaping his lips, he threw the diamonds into the fire with all his might. The flames immediately engulfed them, and as he watched them turn to ash, he sang passionately, "Like fire...hellfire...this fire in my skin!"
He closed his eyes, and immediately a vision of her painted itself in his lustful mind. That perfect red hair, the smooth, flawless skin...those ruby red lips.
"This burning desire is turning me to sin!"
He hated Satine. Loathed her and all she stood for. This Goddamned Moulin Rouge! Because of her and because of this so-called 'nightclub of dreams', his heart and soul had plunged into the sin which he'd been free of for so long. Never before in his life had he done anything wrong. But now...
Everything was different.
A sudden shudder ran up and down his spine, as though he were being watched. The Duke whirled around, instinctively facing the painting of the Virgin Mary. Her eyes seemed to bore into him, proclaiming that she knew of all his sinful acts.
"It's not my fault!" he defended himself desperately.
Her gaze did not waver.
"I'm not to blame!" he continued, his voice rising in panic.
Her eyes grew even more dark with disapproval and rage.
"It is the courtesan!" he exclaimed. "The siren who sent this flame!"
Her expression grew more and more displeased, and the Duke felt a wave of terrified panic run through him. No! He wouldn't let himself be subjected for an afterlife of eternal hell, just because one whore used her charms to lure him into this underworld of desire and deceit. This wasn't where he belonged! He had to prove it to her.
"It's not my fault!" he repeated, much louder this time, "If in God's plan he made the devil so much stronger than a man!"
Falling to his knees in front of the painting, he pleaded, "Protect me, Maria! Don't let this siren cast her spell!"
Still, her eyes remained unfeeling; unsympathetic. Why couldn't she see that this wasn't his doing?! He hadn't wanted to tear his life apart like this! It was Satine, all and only Satine!
"Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone!" he continued, staring desperately up at the picture. "Destroy this Sparkling Diamond, and let her taste the fires of hell, or else let her be mine and mine alone!"
The Virgin Mary's eyes grew softer at this, and the Duke let out a sigh of relief. His soul would be saved. He stood from his knees and made his way back over to the fireplace.
"Hellfire!" he proclaimed to the flickering red-orange flames, "Dark fire! Now, Diamond, it's your turn!"
Oh, the tables would turn with a satisfying sweetness. Now it would be Satine down on her knees, weeping and trying desperately to make the right decision. No more would her Sparkling Diamond facade rule him. No, he would destroy her. Turn her into a small, helpless little girl with nothing in the world.
He had that power over her.
"Choose me or your writer," he continued with an almost insanely calm smile. "Be mine or you will burn!"
He looked upwards at the Gothic Tower ceiling, which was so high that his eyes couldn't even see it in the dim firelight. As he stared up, it seemed as though he was gazing into a dark, cold nothingness.
"God have mercy on her," his voice was once again soft, and this time much more peaceful.
Things would turn out right in the end.
The show would end his way.
"God have mercy on me," he continued. He removed his eyes from the blackness above, and they fell once more upon the fire.
Another burst of fury ran through his brains, hot as the flames themselves.
"But she will be mine!" he proclaimed to the empty night, "Or she....will-"
He was interrupted by the siren herself, who entered the room through a dark-colored curtain.
"My dear Duke," she whispered breathily, "I hope I have not kept you waiting."
...burn.