"Where is Mademoiselle Satine?" There was chaos backstage at the Moulin Rouge.
"The curtain goes up in twenty minutes!"
"Have you seen Satine?" Harold was frantic now.
"She's nowhere to be found, Monsieur Zidler."
Satine was running from the Moulin Rouge. Wearing her thin Hindi goddess dress with a heavy beaver coat pulled around her, she stumbled and fell on the cracked concrete, blinded by her tears. Hard breathing mixed with shattering coughs only worsened her condition. The only thing she heard was the pounding of her heart and the pounding of her feet on the sidewalks. She must get to Christian before it was too late.
He closed the door of his garret with the typewriter in his arms. A large lump in his throat, Christian started down the stairs. He was going to pay his whore. On the third step from the bottom, the building door swung open, revealing a sobbing, ghostly pale Satine. She flew at him and the typewriter fell to the floor. "Christian! Oh God Christian, I'm so sorry!" Her flowing tears drenched his shirt as his arms went around her. "I lied to you. The Duke...he was going to kill you. I lied, Christian. Oh God, I'm such a horrid person."
Her words were interrupted by a fit of coughing. "The show." Christian whispered.
"I don't care about the damn show." She managed to say before another round of hacking hit her. Blood spurted from her lungs. "I'm dying, Christian."
The words struck him like a thousand-pound hammer. Dying. His beautiful Satine was dying. "No, you're not."
"I am dying." She repeated, weakly gazing into his gray-green eyes.
"No!" He cried, pulling her closer and showering her with hot kisses. Christian groped for her hand and was almost burned at her touch. "You're burning."
"I'm consumptive." She sobbed. "I'm going to die soon, Christian. I wanted my last days to be happy."
Somehow they managed to get up the stairs and into Christian's home. Satine, though she was wrapped in the warmth of the beaver coat and was burning up with fever, was shivering. "I'm so cold, Christian." She said.
"SATINE?!?! SATINE!" Harold Zidler yelled into the streets of Paris. Satine had run away. No one at the Moulin had seen her since the early afternoon. The show could not go on without his little chickpea. His face turned beet red with frustration and he ran as quickly as his heavy girth would let him. The Duke was going to ruin them all. His precious Rouge was going to become nothing but a graveyard.
He suddenly realized how selfish he had been. In the context of only a few seconds, Harold discovered that he had single-handedly ruined Satine's life. She was dying and she had lost the only thing that mattered to her. Christian.
Harold turned away from the building that housed Christian's garret and headed back to the Moulin Rouge. He would have to face the wrath of the Duke. A few fat tears slid down his forlorn face. He had lost his strawberry, his little sparrow. But the show must go on.
She had grown very thin in the few weeks they had been separated. Satine's body was gaunt and even paler than it had been. Christian stared at her, incredulous, and she managed to smile a bit. "What would they pay for me now?"
"Don't say that." He grabbed her tiny body and held her against his chest where his heart pounded so hard he felt he would die too.
A few days of the frenzied passion that followed would have easily killed them both. Satine lay awake on the bed, staring into space. Every so often, tears would stream down her face but she would say nothing. Christian just watched her; not wanting to say anything but foolish promises he knew would never come true. "You'll get well. We'll go away. We'll go to America, Satine and start anew."
She didn't respond, only brushed away the scorching tears that would not stop.
There was a knocking at the door. It grew louder and louder, as did the yelling of "LET US IN! We know she's in there, boy!"
"Lock the door, Christian." Satine whispered, panic in her eyes. "LOCK IT. Now."
Christian raced to do so, along with the windows. He closed the heavy drapes so the room was lit only by a few lamps.
"I will shoot down this door, boy." The Duke's nasal voice was cold and it chilled the lovers to the bone. "You can't escape this one. All this time I was fooled. But I will be victorious in the end."
There was a scuffling on the other side of the door. The voice was silenced.
"They're gone." Christian said, the voice speaking not quite his own. Then he laid a light kiss on her forehead and wiped away the tears that tarnished her beautiful face.
She would not eat and even drinking a mere glass of water was difficult for her. Satine was wilting quickly. Her disease was working quickly. In between bouts of delirium and coughing, she would scream and gasp for air. Christian's heart broke to see her this way. Her once-gleaming red hair lay limply upon her pillow and her eyes did not sparkle anymore.
"Never knew I could feel like this..." She whispered softly one night when the delirium and coughing had ceased for awhile.
"Don't strain your voice, darling. Just rest."
Satine refused. "I'm so cold." From underneath the pile of blankets that already covered her frail body, Christian could see the violent shaking. Gently he added another blanket and grazed her hair with his fingers. Satine did not look like the girl-woman he'd fallen in love with. She was pale and thin and every part of her was faded.
He left her alone when he thought her sleeping and stared outside at the Moulin Rouge. Moonlight streamed through the window of his garret to the sleeping body on the bed and it made her look angelic. Christian hated the Moulin Rouge. Below him, it was bustling with music and dancing and sex. This goddamned place had cost Satine her life. Clenching his hands into fists, Christian turned and shattered the mirror beside him. It cascaded onto the floor in hundreds of tiny shards. The heartbroken young man collapsed upon his knees and sobbed hard.
Satine was awake and watching the scene. The pain in her heart was worse than the pain in her body. She was going to kill Christian too. "Christian..." She said, voice cracking. "Christian...come here."
He did so, face streaked with tears. "Hold my hand before I die."
"You aren't going to die, Satine."
"I can feel it. I'm dying, Christian. Just hold my hand and sit with me." She was completely calm but her voice struggled to stay even.
"Oh God, why are you doing this to me?" Christian moaned, covering his face with his hands. Satine held out her bony and cool hand to him and gently wiped away the tears.
"I love you." She whispered. One tear escaped from her eyes and ran its slow path down her face.
"Oh God, Satine, I love you so much."
"Sing to me so I can be happy before I die."
In a voice that was trembling with tears, Christian tried to sing. "Never knew I could feel like this, like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss, every day I love you more and more."
Satine's breath was getting slower and she smiled softly before whispering, "Seasons...may change...winter to spring. But I..." She struggled for the next words. "Love you until the end of time."
Blinded by his tears, Christian sobbed, "Come what may."
"I will love you until my dying day." Satine closed her eyes and listened to the rest of his song.
"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste. It all revolves around you-Oh my God, Satine!"
Her breathing had almost completely stopped. "I love you." She said with the little voice she had left. Her eyes closed one last time and she took her last, staggering breath. Her last wish had been fulfilled. She had died in the arms of the one who loved her.
A smile played upon her beautiful face.
There was no noise in the garret except for the ragged sobs of Christian. He kissed her for the last time and whispered, "I love you, Satine."
"The curtain goes up in twenty minutes!"
"Have you seen Satine?" Harold was frantic now.
"She's nowhere to be found, Monsieur Zidler."
Satine was running from the Moulin Rouge. Wearing her thin Hindi goddess dress with a heavy beaver coat pulled around her, she stumbled and fell on the cracked concrete, blinded by her tears. Hard breathing mixed with shattering coughs only worsened her condition. The only thing she heard was the pounding of her heart and the pounding of her feet on the sidewalks. She must get to Christian before it was too late.
He closed the door of his garret with the typewriter in his arms. A large lump in his throat, Christian started down the stairs. He was going to pay his whore. On the third step from the bottom, the building door swung open, revealing a sobbing, ghostly pale Satine. She flew at him and the typewriter fell to the floor. "Christian! Oh God Christian, I'm so sorry!" Her flowing tears drenched his shirt as his arms went around her. "I lied to you. The Duke...he was going to kill you. I lied, Christian. Oh God, I'm such a horrid person."
Her words were interrupted by a fit of coughing. "The show." Christian whispered.
"I don't care about the damn show." She managed to say before another round of hacking hit her. Blood spurted from her lungs. "I'm dying, Christian."
The words struck him like a thousand-pound hammer. Dying. His beautiful Satine was dying. "No, you're not."
"I am dying." She repeated, weakly gazing into his gray-green eyes.
"No!" He cried, pulling her closer and showering her with hot kisses. Christian groped for her hand and was almost burned at her touch. "You're burning."
"I'm consumptive." She sobbed. "I'm going to die soon, Christian. I wanted my last days to be happy."
Somehow they managed to get up the stairs and into Christian's home. Satine, though she was wrapped in the warmth of the beaver coat and was burning up with fever, was shivering. "I'm so cold, Christian." She said.
"SATINE?!?! SATINE!" Harold Zidler yelled into the streets of Paris. Satine had run away. No one at the Moulin had seen her since the early afternoon. The show could not go on without his little chickpea. His face turned beet red with frustration and he ran as quickly as his heavy girth would let him. The Duke was going to ruin them all. His precious Rouge was going to become nothing but a graveyard.
He suddenly realized how selfish he had been. In the context of only a few seconds, Harold discovered that he had single-handedly ruined Satine's life. She was dying and she had lost the only thing that mattered to her. Christian.
Harold turned away from the building that housed Christian's garret and headed back to the Moulin Rouge. He would have to face the wrath of the Duke. A few fat tears slid down his forlorn face. He had lost his strawberry, his little sparrow. But the show must go on.
She had grown very thin in the few weeks they had been separated. Satine's body was gaunt and even paler than it had been. Christian stared at her, incredulous, and she managed to smile a bit. "What would they pay for me now?"
"Don't say that." He grabbed her tiny body and held her against his chest where his heart pounded so hard he felt he would die too.
A few days of the frenzied passion that followed would have easily killed them both. Satine lay awake on the bed, staring into space. Every so often, tears would stream down her face but she would say nothing. Christian just watched her; not wanting to say anything but foolish promises he knew would never come true. "You'll get well. We'll go away. We'll go to America, Satine and start anew."
She didn't respond, only brushed away the scorching tears that would not stop.
There was a knocking at the door. It grew louder and louder, as did the yelling of "LET US IN! We know she's in there, boy!"
"Lock the door, Christian." Satine whispered, panic in her eyes. "LOCK IT. Now."
Christian raced to do so, along with the windows. He closed the heavy drapes so the room was lit only by a few lamps.
"I will shoot down this door, boy." The Duke's nasal voice was cold and it chilled the lovers to the bone. "You can't escape this one. All this time I was fooled. But I will be victorious in the end."
There was a scuffling on the other side of the door. The voice was silenced.
"They're gone." Christian said, the voice speaking not quite his own. Then he laid a light kiss on her forehead and wiped away the tears that tarnished her beautiful face.
She would not eat and even drinking a mere glass of water was difficult for her. Satine was wilting quickly. Her disease was working quickly. In between bouts of delirium and coughing, she would scream and gasp for air. Christian's heart broke to see her this way. Her once-gleaming red hair lay limply upon her pillow and her eyes did not sparkle anymore.
"Never knew I could feel like this..." She whispered softly one night when the delirium and coughing had ceased for awhile.
"Don't strain your voice, darling. Just rest."
Satine refused. "I'm so cold." From underneath the pile of blankets that already covered her frail body, Christian could see the violent shaking. Gently he added another blanket and grazed her hair with his fingers. Satine did not look like the girl-woman he'd fallen in love with. She was pale and thin and every part of her was faded.
He left her alone when he thought her sleeping and stared outside at the Moulin Rouge. Moonlight streamed through the window of his garret to the sleeping body on the bed and it made her look angelic. Christian hated the Moulin Rouge. Below him, it was bustling with music and dancing and sex. This goddamned place had cost Satine her life. Clenching his hands into fists, Christian turned and shattered the mirror beside him. It cascaded onto the floor in hundreds of tiny shards. The heartbroken young man collapsed upon his knees and sobbed hard.
Satine was awake and watching the scene. The pain in her heart was worse than the pain in her body. She was going to kill Christian too. "Christian..." She said, voice cracking. "Christian...come here."
He did so, face streaked with tears. "Hold my hand before I die."
"You aren't going to die, Satine."
"I can feel it. I'm dying, Christian. Just hold my hand and sit with me." She was completely calm but her voice struggled to stay even.
"Oh God, why are you doing this to me?" Christian moaned, covering his face with his hands. Satine held out her bony and cool hand to him and gently wiped away the tears.
"I love you." She whispered. One tear escaped from her eyes and ran its slow path down her face.
"Oh God, Satine, I love you so much."
"Sing to me so I can be happy before I die."
In a voice that was trembling with tears, Christian tried to sing. "Never knew I could feel like this, like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss, every day I love you more and more."
Satine's breath was getting slower and she smiled softly before whispering, "Seasons...may change...winter to spring. But I..." She struggled for the next words. "Love you until the end of time."
Blinded by his tears, Christian sobbed, "Come what may."
"I will love you until my dying day." Satine closed her eyes and listened to the rest of his song.
"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste. It all revolves around you-Oh my God, Satine!"
Her breathing had almost completely stopped. "I love you." She said with the little voice she had left. Her eyes closed one last time and she took her last, staggering breath. Her last wish had been fulfilled. She had died in the arms of the one who loved her.
A smile played upon her beautiful face.
There was no noise in the garret except for the ragged sobs of Christian. He kissed her for the last time and whispered, "I love you, Satine."