No...dead. The word resonated in Christian's head like the reverb of a well-polished gun. He stood now, as they took his beloved Satine's body away, just staring. A tear-ridden figure stepped beside him, and the voice of Harold Zidler broke into Christian's reverie.
"She did love you, Christian. She loved you with all she had inside of her." He said.
Christian turned to look at him, eyes blurred from the tears he had yet to cry. "And I...I loved her so. But how...how could she have...died?" His voice faded out, threatening to crack.
"Christian, Satine was...she was ill. She had consumption, lad. She knew she was dying. That's why she lied. That and...the accursed duke was going to kill you." Zidler stopped, pain in his eyes.
"Kill me?" Christian asked. His head was spinning. So much had happened since the night before, when he'd held Satine in his arms and kissed her forehead. "I...I think I need some time." He murmured, turning to walk away, then passing out.