It had been mere days since Satine had passed, and Christian was lost in a pile of discarded bottles and tear-stained bed sheets. The tears were gone, but dry, choked sobs still rang out against the paper-thin walls as the light had gone out of his life. When he had come to Paris just a year before, he was wide-eyes and full of dreams. His sights set on being a famous writer and a true bohemian revolutionary, dead-det on knowing all the ins and outs of beauty, freedom, truth, and love. But, that man was gone, and an embarrassing carcass of his former self shook with heartbreak in small, dark apartment, begging for death and begging for Satine.
A sharp knock came at the door, rousing Christian from his drunken half-slumber, "Go away!" he croaked, but the fist kept rapping against his door, "Go away!"
His calls were useless, and the door crept open, placing a metal birdcage and a note against the wall before quiet footsteps retreated. Christian groaned, crawling from his bed towards the sound of soft chirps and he growled, snatching the note from beside the lovebird's home. In beautiful, handwritten script it read:
"Christian,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. Zidler tells me that I am dying of the consumption and there is only a matter of days before I succumb. This bird has given me a friend when I had none, and listened to me when no one else would. I can only hope she can do the same for you. Tell her our story, Christian, she'll love to hear it.
Forever and Sincerely Yours,
Satine"
He sniffed away welling-up emotion and cleared his throat, no words would come for the small creature, so he whistled gently in the direction of the cage. A small, warbly echo greeted him, and he smiled for the first time in a week, "Hello," he croaked, placing a hand onto the metal, "I'm Christian," he laughed weakly, "I suppose you might already know that. I loved Satine from the first moment I saw her, she was a Sparkling Diamond. Not in the same way she was to the hoards of horny men. She was the women I knew I was destined to fall in love with," he cleared his throat, hanging his head gently against his depression as he excited an understanding squawk from his feathered companion, "And I did. In a way I never thought possible. I had never been in true love before, or, any kind of love before. And, neither had she. And it hit me like an oncoming train in such a way that was unimaginably life-changing. And now she's gone, and I will never love again."
He sighed, opening the cage to allow the bird it's justifiable freedom, attempting to coax her out onto him. He did not get angry when she did not comply, but let out a deep breath, "Did she really tell you everything?" he asked, smirking delicately when she replied with a twitter, "About all the men who lusted after her, and all the devilish things Nini had said? About the things Harold needed her to do, and her long, comforting conversations with Marie or Chocolat?" chirp "And, when I came along, she must have stopped talking at you, because those were the things she talked about to me."
He trailed off after a few minutes of mindless rambling, giggling when he found that she liked the way his shoulder tasted and the fact that a small, feathered friend was going to help him out of this dark place and help him to find the courage to share his story about truth, beauty, freedom, and love.