Chapter 1:

Time. An infinite measurement of an intangible thing, something that can only be described as what it is... time.

Long nights, long days. He sat at his typewriter, sometimes typing, sometimes daydreaming of the times they had together, of the times when things were perfect. Time was a new kind of measurement to him. Before it had been a quick onward movement of his life, and now it was simply something he had to last through.

It had been six months since Satine's death. He remained in the same garret, gazing out the same window, hoping to swallow enough Absinthe to see Satine standing on his balcony. Some nights he could actually imagine her in the room with him. Others, he couldn't quite make out her face on the streets below. And sometimes he couldn't find her anywhere, no matter how hard he tried.

He wrote and wrote, wanting to please her, wanting to write 'their story'. He wanted every detail to be perfect.

Finally, he had finished the story. He looked around at the garret, at the papers littering the floor and walls, at the crumpled sheets on the bed and the broken glasses on the floor. He stood and crossed the room to take another swallow of Absinthe when he noticed a sticky spot on the floor. He remembered that night well...

He had been writing all night about a time they had spent in his garret, a perfect time. No one knew anything or had even begun to suspect anything yet. The sunset was beautiful. They lay together in his bed, Satine wrapping her arms around him.

"Darling," he whispered.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I love you," he replied.

"I finally know what that means," as she held him even tighter. He pressed his lips to her forehead and she smiled.

"I love you, Christian, so much."

...The memory had not been easy to recall. He had taken two weeks to write it and had been drinking consistently throughout that time. At one point, he broke and fell onto the floor weeping. His drink had spilled and he had remembered waking up sticky with tears and Absinthe coating his hands and cheeks.

Finishing the story was something that he thought would be releasing. But he knew now that he had been very wrong. He would never be released from the most haunting memories, the ones that stuck to the walls and floor of his garret.

He pressed the bottle to his lips and started to pace the room. He only wanted for her to appear before him. It had been a long time since he was able to create her image in his room. Every step he took through the garret brought up a new memory.

He drank until he could no longer stand. He collapsed to the corner and stared blankly up at the papers waving in the light wind that wafted through the open balcony doors. Suddenly, there was a series of loud, swift knocks on the door. Christian whipped his head in the direction of the sound. He hadn't had company since the night Satine had died in his arms.

He slowly pulled himself off the floor as the knocks came again.

"Moment..." he slurred, stumbling towards the door, empty bottle in his hand.

"Chwistian!" came a voice from the other side of the door.

Toulouse? He figured he must be imagining it.

"Chwistian!" louder this time.

Christian made it to the door and slowly opened it, but Toulouse pushed it open quickly with his foot and grabbed Christian's shirt.

"There's something happening," he panted. "There's something happening!"