What's Left Of The Memories

Chapter 1

People stopped and stared as a young girl of around 12 wandered through the streets of. She could hear people muttering incoherently. She knew they were talking about her but she didn't mind. Being an orphan, she had often had verbal abuse thrown at her, it was hard on her at first, but after a while it became normal and therefore it never bothered her. And now that she was here, she was going to prove to all those people who were ever ashamed to know her that she was just as normal as the rest of them.

As she turned a corner, she found what she was looking for. It wasn't as her aunt had described it though. There were no bright lights, no shouting or singing, not even people coming and going through the great red doors at the entrance, instead there was just a tattered old windmill that moaned softly in the breeze, but it was definitely what she was looking for. The Moulin Rouge.

She didn't know what she'd find so she cautiously entered the once thriving building. There were ladders leant against a wall and a few tools scattered around the floor. She thought she could hear voices in the next room, so she walked a little further through a grand looking set of doors to find a short, round man with red curly hair holding a glass of whisky moaning incoherently to a younger man about something.

"Excuse me!" the teenager said hesitantly, "I'm looking for Harold Zidler." The short man turned around to see who was talking. He stopped and stared at the girl, before dropped his glass on the dusty floor. The girl hurried over to help him clear up his mess. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!"

It's quite alright my dear! I'm Harry Zidler! Your presence is my pleasure!" Harry said in a posh voice that made the young girl giggle.

"My name is Isabelle." She said still giggling. "I was hoping you could help me. I'm looking for someone called…" Isabelle's voice trailed off as Harry finished her sentence.

"Satine."

"Yes, that's right. How did you know?" Isabelle frowned.

Why, my child, you look just like her! Your piercing eyes, your pale skin, your radiant red curls that Satine insisted were an eyesore!"

"Insisted, you speak of her like she is dead!"

"Come with me Isabelle, I think there is someone you are better hearing this story from."