Chapter Eleven
* The duke fired, the bullet growling briefly before embedding itself into Satine's skull. Christian caught her as she fell, easing them both to the ground. The duke, chillingly excepting what he had done, shortly pocketed the gun and turned on his heel, coldly stalking out of the room.
"No, no, Satine." Whispered Christian, staring into her cold, dead eyes, glassily reflecting his tear stained face. From the right side of her head sticky scarlet fluid oozed out of the bullet wound, trailing down her cheek as is she was crying blood. He cradled her closely to him, her dead weight unexpectedly heavy against his chest. His breathing became darker, shaken by grief, his shoulders quivering as his crying became less controlled. "No Satine, it…it wasn't supposed to end this way…" he choked out, feeling her body, once so animated and warm, stiffen with cold. He buried his head on her shoulder, her soft red hair folding gently against his cheek, tears falling onto her powdery silken skin. "It wasn't supposed to end this way…" *
Christian woke up abruptly, coated in a chilly, slick sweat, breathing heavily, his mind reeling. He turned over in bed, the mattress squeaking softly in protest, and faced Satine next to him, breathing quietly, a tiny smile hugging the corners of her mouth. Her incredible blue eyes were closed tightly in sleep, her hands wrapped around the white pillow, a shocking contrast to her flaming hair. He grinned, unable to suppress a slight twinge of relief. The duke, he remembered with a jubilant inner smile, was dead. The one gun that had fired, on that hardly distant night, had been Christian's. His parents, though shocked at what had happened, very much approved of Satine, still naïve about her true past as a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. They had given the pair all the money necessary for medicine and more, and Satine was cured of her consumption, her breathing now relaxed and even. Christian deftly touched one of Satine's slender fingers, a simple engagement ring glittering elegantly. Nothing fancy, just a gold band with a single, sparkling diamond. Though to Christian, the real sparkling diamond was right here, sleeping angelically next to him in their bed.
And so ends my story. A story about a time. A story about a place. A story about people.
But above all things, a story about love.
A love that will last forever.
The End
* The duke fired, the bullet growling briefly before embedding itself into Satine's skull. Christian caught her as she fell, easing them both to the ground. The duke, chillingly excepting what he had done, shortly pocketed the gun and turned on his heel, coldly stalking out of the room.
"No, no, Satine." Whispered Christian, staring into her cold, dead eyes, glassily reflecting his tear stained face. From the right side of her head sticky scarlet fluid oozed out of the bullet wound, trailing down her cheek as is she was crying blood. He cradled her closely to him, her dead weight unexpectedly heavy against his chest. His breathing became darker, shaken by grief, his shoulders quivering as his crying became less controlled. "No Satine, it…it wasn't supposed to end this way…" he choked out, feeling her body, once so animated and warm, stiffen with cold. He buried his head on her shoulder, her soft red hair folding gently against his cheek, tears falling onto her powdery silken skin. "It wasn't supposed to end this way…" *
Christian woke up abruptly, coated in a chilly, slick sweat, breathing heavily, his mind reeling. He turned over in bed, the mattress squeaking softly in protest, and faced Satine next to him, breathing quietly, a tiny smile hugging the corners of her mouth. Her incredible blue eyes were closed tightly in sleep, her hands wrapped around the white pillow, a shocking contrast to her flaming hair. He grinned, unable to suppress a slight twinge of relief. The duke, he remembered with a jubilant inner smile, was dead. The one gun that had fired, on that hardly distant night, had been Christian's. His parents, though shocked at what had happened, very much approved of Satine, still naïve about her true past as a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. They had given the pair all the money necessary for medicine and more, and Satine was cured of her consumption, her breathing now relaxed and even. Christian deftly touched one of Satine's slender fingers, a simple engagement ring glittering elegantly. Nothing fancy, just a gold band with a single, sparkling diamond. Though to Christian, the real sparkling diamond was right here, sleeping angelically next to him in their bed.
And so ends my story. A story about a time. A story about a place. A story about people.
But above all things, a story about love.
A love that will last forever.
The End