A/N: The final "song-fic" in the series. I feel the others (Roxanne,
finale, et al) are too over-written, so this, The Show Must Go On, will be
the last.
"I'm dying." Her voice, nothing more than a hoarse, disbelieving whisper. It chills me completely, down to my soul. "I was a fool to believe; a fool to believe. It all ends today. . .yes, it all ends today. . ."
Listening to that brief moment of choked words spewed forth in song, my throat tightens. I exploited that voice, that talent, that beauty, and in the end, in truth, it was I who killed Satine. "The show must go on, Satine. We're creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love."
Marie's eyes catch mine and in that short glance memories spring into both our minds. We, too, loved the way Christian and Satine do. But nothing, nothing lasts forever. It ended, just as Satine will end her little romance. "Today's a day . . ." Satine's voice wreaks havoc on my conscience. "When dreaming ends." Her eyes, crystal-blue and full of tears, avoid mine and shoot daggers into my blackening heart. She looks more fragile than a baby kitten, a dying butterfly. Butterflies look beautiful, give great pleasure, but live such a short time . . .
I leave her there, thinking it best to let my little sparrow sing her song in peace, collect the fragments of her shattered heart. "Another hero, another mindless crime. Behind the curtain, in the pantomime." With each word, I feel my own soul crack a little more. "On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?"
I can't help but think what would have come of Satine had I not tampered with her fate the way I just had. She would have run away with him and lived happily for a while, but death comes swiftly. Only Satine would have died happy, and here she will die alone. She will never feel the warmth of his love again. I hate myself. I have killed everything she wanted, everything that mattered to her. I did so when she came into my life, prostituting her body for the satisfaction of money in my pocket. "Whatever happened? We leave it all to chance; another heartache, another failed romance. On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?"
My voice breaks suddenly when I utter the words, "The show must go on! The show must go on!"
When the curtain rises on Spectacular, Spectacular, it will change the course of our lives forever. Satine's. Mine. Marie's. The Duke's. "Outside the dawn is breaking on the stage that holds our final destiny. The show must go on!"
The stage does hold Satine's final destiny. There she was born and there shall she die. If not of her terrible illness, then by life with the Duke. Oh, Harold, what have you done? You are slowly killing her, much more violently than her sickness. Consumption ravages her lungs, but you, you are ravaging her heart.
I hear her voice.
"Inside, my heart is breaking. My makeup may be flaking but my smile stays on." How much pain Satine can convey with words. I know exactly what she is feeling, how torn she is. She is torn between love and success, and only one can come out on top.
Oh, there she stands, silhouetted against the rosy-pink-orange of dawn! Look at my strawberry, standing tall and proud! She's going now, going to save us all. "I'll top the bill! I'll earn the kill! I have to find the will to carry on!" "On with the show!"
The show must go on, and to save us all Satine will sacrifice herself.
"I'm dying." Her voice, nothing more than a hoarse, disbelieving whisper. It chills me completely, down to my soul. "I was a fool to believe; a fool to believe. It all ends today. . .yes, it all ends today. . ."
Listening to that brief moment of choked words spewed forth in song, my throat tightens. I exploited that voice, that talent, that beauty, and in the end, in truth, it was I who killed Satine. "The show must go on, Satine. We're creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love."
Marie's eyes catch mine and in that short glance memories spring into both our minds. We, too, loved the way Christian and Satine do. But nothing, nothing lasts forever. It ended, just as Satine will end her little romance. "Today's a day . . ." Satine's voice wreaks havoc on my conscience. "When dreaming ends." Her eyes, crystal-blue and full of tears, avoid mine and shoot daggers into my blackening heart. She looks more fragile than a baby kitten, a dying butterfly. Butterflies look beautiful, give great pleasure, but live such a short time . . .
I leave her there, thinking it best to let my little sparrow sing her song in peace, collect the fragments of her shattered heart. "Another hero, another mindless crime. Behind the curtain, in the pantomime." With each word, I feel my own soul crack a little more. "On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?"
I can't help but think what would have come of Satine had I not tampered with her fate the way I just had. She would have run away with him and lived happily for a while, but death comes swiftly. Only Satine would have died happy, and here she will die alone. She will never feel the warmth of his love again. I hate myself. I have killed everything she wanted, everything that mattered to her. I did so when she came into my life, prostituting her body for the satisfaction of money in my pocket. "Whatever happened? We leave it all to chance; another heartache, another failed romance. On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?"
My voice breaks suddenly when I utter the words, "The show must go on! The show must go on!"
When the curtain rises on Spectacular, Spectacular, it will change the course of our lives forever. Satine's. Mine. Marie's. The Duke's. "Outside the dawn is breaking on the stage that holds our final destiny. The show must go on!"
The stage does hold Satine's final destiny. There she was born and there shall she die. If not of her terrible illness, then by life with the Duke. Oh, Harold, what have you done? You are slowly killing her, much more violently than her sickness. Consumption ravages her lungs, but you, you are ravaging her heart.
I hear her voice.
"Inside, my heart is breaking. My makeup may be flaking but my smile stays on." How much pain Satine can convey with words. I know exactly what she is feeling, how torn she is. She is torn between love and success, and only one can come out on top.
Oh, there she stands, silhouetted against the rosy-pink-orange of dawn! Look at my strawberry, standing tall and proud! She's going now, going to save us all. "I'll top the bill! I'll earn the kill! I have to find the will to carry on!" "On with the show!"
The show must go on, and to save us all Satine will sacrifice herself.
