and all the joys within you dies
don't you want somebody to love
don't you need somebody to love
wouldn't you love somebody to love"
-- Somebody to Love, Jefferson Airplane
When had the world fallen?
When had she started tumbling, never to stop?
Satine swept a sanguine strip of hair back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear gently. Diamonds swung from small earlobes, reflecting a crystal clear world. In a world of gems, nothing was tainted. Nothing was impure or wronged. A bitter smile touched heavily rouged lips and the actress straightened up slightly, drying un-spilled tears on the back of her hand.
Such a white washed color in a white washed world.
She tilted her head to the side and watched the emeralds, watched the rubies slide down her neck in a waterfall of man-made splendor. The blood caught in her throat, painted it as thick as the powder had painted her face.
Elegant fingers tripped over the elaborate stones and touched at the knot beneath her skin. And for a moment she forgot to breathe.
Color flushed to her cheeks and sapphire eyes to match a sapphire heart rolled upward, thin eyelids dazzling with silver powder slipping shut. A gasp, a choke, silence. Rigid breathing beneath a corset much too tight, breasts shoved up and lightly touched with glitter, nearly bursting over the rim of crimson designed silk.
She was used to this. She used to this.
…Was she?
Satine searched the image before her for any trace of recognition. Somehow, she wasn't disappointed when she found none.
Where was the love that had once sparked her eyes? Where was the laughter that could have bounced from wall to wall, echoing for hours afterward? Where was it all?
When had everything become so… plain?
In her heart, Satine almost knew the answer.
Outside the rain flushed from the heavens, the gray coated clouds roaring thunder and lightning that struck the cobblestone path. None of it masked the sound of a writer's yell.
The show must go on.
Ivory fingers wrapped around the edge of the vanity table and she stood slowly, gripping the lacquered wood as hard as possibly, trying vaguely not to fall. Dizziness rushed up to her brain, made the room spin before she shook her head stubbornly. No, not this time, my Darling. Not this time.
She could do this, simply because she'd done it a million times before. It didn't matter if her heart was crumbling. It didn't matter. God, it didn't matter.
Tiny footsteps with tiny, strapped on heels crossed the velvet carpet, her long fingers gripping the railing over the double French doors which lead out onto the iron balcony. A balcony where just below she could see him. See him crying up at her windows, see him bruised and beaten and… heart broken.
Satine swallowed and very quietly opened one glass door, the rush of cold air sending a shiver down her spine. Or maybe it was just the sudden feel of loneliness that sunk into her skin. She watched him as he stumbled back finally, caught between the arms of two meaty guards. A protest rose in her throat and yet she clamped down her bottom lip, intent on not allowing it to escape.
She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't… call for him. No matter what, she wouldn't. Because things would be better once he was gone. But as he hit the stones and his shouts lingered in the rainy air, her bottom lip began to tremble, and she hung onto the wood of railing to keep upright. He… he couldn't leave her. No. She couldn't leave him. She…
She loved him. In the first time in her life she'd finally found love. And so they couldn't end like this. They couldn't. He would come back, or she would, and it would be perfect. Because that… that was how fairy stories worked. As the rain lowered, and the thunder softened, she brushed out onto the high terrace, an angel without a mark on her. An angel of diamonds and silk that smelled of vanilla and sugar and all things pure. A grip to the iron railing. Briefly she thought about calling down to him, a classic visage of a scene straight from Romeo and Juliet. For if he heard so much as a squeak from her lips, he would come back. He would take her back. Christian had always been unable to stay away from the music they made together, or from the love they shared.
And she tried. Lips, colored still because she had not bothered to wash it off earlier, opened and made motions, but no sound came out. Not even a whisper. Christian was… gone. Below, she could see his friends helping him. She could see them dragging his somewhat limp form across rain and mud-slicked streets. As the site disappeared a change occurred in the Irish woman. Her mind was already going through the calculations of the day: last Rehearsal was in how many hours? Were her costumes already laid out for her? Would she have time tonight to prepare for the Duke?
There was no real princes. Fairy stories were false hopes for children, fabricated realities that didn't deserve to be uttered form the lowliest of lips. She didn't love him. It… it had been fake. Why was she worthy of love, after all? A demon's house was no place to fall to emotions.
The frown she'd worn straightened into a grim line of determination, and she turned, back into the not-so warm room. Her clear eyes scanned the area, darkened by shadow and mist. Everything was as it should be.
Satine didn't bother to wipe away the single tear that had slipped down her cheek, sparkling like diamonds.