"This woman is yours now," Christian says, Satine fallen at his feet. "I've paid my whore," he proclaims bitterly, throwing francs to the ground. The audience and cast alike are stunned by his presence and brash words. Satine looks up at Christian, tears streaming down her face. "I owe you nothing, and you are nothing to me," he says, replying coldly to her gaze. "Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love," Christian chokes out, holding back tears. Satine, still lying on the stage, weeps longingly as he turns his back and walks away. As Christian approaches the Duke, he hesitates as they exchange glances, then continues down the aisle.

"This sitar player doesn't love you," Zidler proclaims, as if it were part of the play. "See he flees the kingdom." Kneeling down to Satine, he whispers, "Pumpkin, it's for the best. You know it is. The show must go on." But this time Satine shakes her head in discord. "And now my bride, it is time for you to raise your voice to the heavens, and say your wedding vows," Zidler declares dramatically, helping Satine to her feet.

Just then, Toulouse falls from above and screams his infamous line, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to looove and be looooved in retuuuuuurn!!!"

Everyone pauses in confusion, including Christian who is stopped in his tracks. No. Keep walking. It's over. She is nothing to me, he says to himself. Picking up his stride again, he hears something he never wanted to hear again: their secret song.

"Never knew I could feel like this," Satine sings softly. "Like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss. Everyday I'm lovin' you more and more."

Christian proceeds to the doors, despite Satine's attempt to woo him back. She made me believe she loved me, then threw me away. I can't trust her, he reminded himself.

"Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Come back to me, and forgive everything," Satine gasps, her consumption taking over. "Seasons may change winter to spring. . . I love you," she whispers, "until the end of time."

Come what may, Christian sings in his head. But no. Satine, the Moulin Rouge, Zidler, the Duke, everything must end. Right now.

Satine gazes out at Christian, expecting to hear his forgiving voice sing out "Come what may." Instead, there is a long silence. As Christian turns to face Satine, he does not have the look of love or forgiveness on his face, but of hurt and anger.

"Goodbye Satine," Christian says softly. "Forever." With that, he turns and walks out the door. The cold winter air stings his flesh, but goes unnoticed from the pain in his heart. Christian turns to see the lighted windmill of the Moulin Rouge one last time, then slowly paces away, never to return again.

Upon returning to his flat, Christian ponders the thought of moving back to London. He sees no point in staying in Paris, for it would only hold his thoughts of Satine and the Moulin Rouge in the air. So out of total emotion and spontaneity, Christian began to pack for his return home. Just then, he heard a soft pounding at his door. Expecting it to be Satine, he ignored the knocking and continued haphazardly stuffing his suitcase. The knocking persisted and was louder this time. Bloody hell, Christian said to himself, Go awa— Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. Christian let out a sigh of relief. Finished packing, he fell upon his bed and closed his eyes. Picturing the first time he ever laid eyes on Satine, a warm feeling came across his body. Then, he heard her cold voice saying, "I'm staying with the Duke. . .I must never see you again. . .the truth is, I am the Hindu courtesan, and I choose the Maharajah." Her words echoed, and Christian remembered why he had left Satine. Just then, he heard a loud bang. He sprung up from his bed to see what was going on. Feeling a cold draft, he noticed that his door had been broken in.

"Hello Christian," a man's voice said from behind him.

The Duke. . . Christian thought, his back still towards the voice.

"You. . ." the Duke began, "you think you can ruin my play. . .you think you can make a fool of me. . ." his voice was getting louder, angrier. "You think you can take Satine from me. . ."

Christian turned around, facing the enraged Duke. "What are you doing here?" he asked, backing away instinctively. "Go away. Please go away."

"No, not this time Christian. I can't have you getting in my way anymore…" the Duke replied, a dangerous twinkle in his eye.

"Look, I-I, I won't be in your way anymore," Christian stuttered nervously. "Tonight. Tonight I'm moving. Back to London."

A gun emerged from the Duke's pocket. "I don't think so."

*  *  *  *

Back at the Moulin Rouge, Satine was growing weaker by the day. The tuberculosis combined with a broken heart had taken over her body, her soul. She had not heard from Christian in a year, but had by no means forgotten of him. In fact, she thought of him everyday, wishing he were by her side to comfort her. Sometimes she swore that she could feel him with her, but passed it off as just her imagination.

Then, one not so very special day, Zidler came to Satine's bedside bearing bad news.

"Satine. Satine, my flower," Zidler said, nudging Satine out of her sleep. "Wake up, love."

"What, what is it?" Satine asked drowsily.

"It's Christian. He's. . .he's. . ." Zidler couldn't get it out.

"What? What about Christian? Is he here?" Satine asked, sitting up in her bed.

"No, no. . ." he trailed off. "Satine, Christian is dead." There was a long, silent pause. Satine stared into space, a blank expression across her face.

"Dead. . ." was all she could say. "How. . .how long? When did it happen? How did it happen?"

"Last year," Zidler spoke softly. "After walking out of 'Spectacular Spectacular,' the Duke followed him home. And killed him."

"Oh. . .Oh my God. . ." Satine gasped, breathing heavily. "Take. . .take me to Christian. . .take me to him Harry, please."

*  *  *  *

The gate creaked softly as Zidler and Satine walked through, passing the large sign that read ABNEY PARK CEMETERY. They had come to visit Christian's grave. Strolling through the headstones, neither of them spoke a word.

Then, Satine broke the silence with a gasp. "Harry. . .here it is. . ." she said, kneeling down to the ground. Reading the gravestone engraving, tears began to stream down her face. "Who. . .who did this?" Satine asked, smiling through her tears.

"Toulouse. He's good at heart, you know," Zidler replied softly. 

The headstone read:

CHRISTIAN MARTYR

1876-1899

A True Bohemian Revolutionary

Truth, Beauty, Freedom & Love

"Come what may. . .until my dying day"

*  *  *  *

EPILOGUE

            Satine died of tuberculosis 2 months later in Paris. She was buried next to Christian in London, what both of them would have wanted.