disclaimer- I don't own moulin rouge or anything. Hell, I don't even own my own computer. I live in a shack. All my clothes come from salvation army. Do you really think I own anything worth owning?
Christian was in his room. Papers littered his desk and empty bottles adorned his floor. He lay on his unmade bed and allowed misery to consume him. He didn't eat, he didn't wash, he didn't write. He had written her book, he had done what she had asked. Now he wanted it to end. Toulouse wandered into his room occasionally and tried to cheer Christian up. Nothing worked. There was only one person Christian ever wanted to see again and that would never be. He drifted in and out of consciousness. He dreamed of her. She was there by the foot of his bed. Christian shook his head. He didn't want to dream again. Dreaming wouldn't change reality... or so he thought. He pinched himself hard but she was still there.
"Christian" she said, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Satine?" Christian blinked but it did no good. *I must really be losing it* he thought. Satine flickered in and out of sight. "Is that really you?"
"Do you really think a silly thing like death could separate us?" She smiled devilishly. He knew that smile. He loved that smile.
"Satine!" Christian ran to her side. He didn't care if it was an illusion, or a disillusion, in some form Satine was here again. "Am I dead?" he asked. "Or are the dead living?"
"I'm... I'm a memory." She shuddered. "A shadow." He could see the wall behind her, Christian realized, his stomach lurching. "When the sun rises I will be gone again but you must take care of yourself. You have to, baby. Your killing me all over again watching you starve yourself."
"I want to die and be with you forever," Christian whispered. "Wouldn't that be better for us both?"
"I can't tell you what death is like. No living man may know and... oh, Christian, there are no words for it. But we wouldn't be together. Death is cold and alone. You can never touch me again."
Gingerly Christian reached a trembling hand to Satine's face. It went straight through it. He pulled away quickly.
"Do I frighten you, love? Perhaps I should leave."
"Don't" Christian pleaded. If he was insane, insanity wasn't so bad.
"The sun is rising. I will be back tomorrow night. I love you Christian, past my dying day." Sunlight punctured her thin image. "Take care of yourself, for me." And she was gone.
Christian was in his room. Papers littered his desk and empty bottles adorned his floor. He lay on his unmade bed and allowed misery to consume him. He didn't eat, he didn't wash, he didn't write. He had written her book, he had done what she had asked. Now he wanted it to end. Toulouse wandered into his room occasionally and tried to cheer Christian up. Nothing worked. There was only one person Christian ever wanted to see again and that would never be. He drifted in and out of consciousness. He dreamed of her. She was there by the foot of his bed. Christian shook his head. He didn't want to dream again. Dreaming wouldn't change reality... or so he thought. He pinched himself hard but she was still there.
"Christian" she said, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Satine?" Christian blinked but it did no good. *I must really be losing it* he thought. Satine flickered in and out of sight. "Is that really you?"
"Do you really think a silly thing like death could separate us?" She smiled devilishly. He knew that smile. He loved that smile.
"Satine!" Christian ran to her side. He didn't care if it was an illusion, or a disillusion, in some form Satine was here again. "Am I dead?" he asked. "Or are the dead living?"
"I'm... I'm a memory." She shuddered. "A shadow." He could see the wall behind her, Christian realized, his stomach lurching. "When the sun rises I will be gone again but you must take care of yourself. You have to, baby. Your killing me all over again watching you starve yourself."
"I want to die and be with you forever," Christian whispered. "Wouldn't that be better for us both?"
"I can't tell you what death is like. No living man may know and... oh, Christian, there are no words for it. But we wouldn't be together. Death is cold and alone. You can never touch me again."
Gingerly Christian reached a trembling hand to Satine's face. It went straight through it. He pulled away quickly.
"Do I frighten you, love? Perhaps I should leave."
"Don't" Christian pleaded. If he was insane, insanity wasn't so bad.
"The sun is rising. I will be back tomorrow night. I love you Christian, past my dying day." Sunlight punctured her thin image. "Take care of yourself, for me." And she was gone.