The Moulin Rouge; a nightclub, a dancehall, and a bordello, ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld.

It was a place unlike I had ever heard of and as I was guided to the ominously spinning windmill that night by my four Bohemian companions, I couldn't help but feel scared. The sounds from inside, the strangely colored lights, and the hushed, conspiratory tones in which the Bohemians spoke of the club made me fear that my father had been correct about the dancehall.

I put up little resistance until the enormous doors were reached. After getting a glance inside, however, I dug my heels into the ground, intent on going back to my garret and my typewriter, only to be intercepted by the Argentinean's strong arm. "Come on, Christian," he muttered into my ear. "Enjoy yourself!"

At that order, Toulouse had pulled the front doors completely open. In emphasis to his statement, the Argentinean placed a forceful shove into my shoulders, sending me staggering in the front doors at a pace that almost made me lose my top hat. I was instantly silenced with astonishment, freezing in place.

I was standing on the very edge of a massive dance floor, the outside of which was covered in balconies, tables, and chairs. Directly across the floor was a long string of doors through which countless females dressed in billowing gowns of bright colors were emerging, crowding about the form of a tall, plump, red-haired man. Harold Zidler.

Men, mostly from the upper classes had already half-way filled the building, all in their night's best, and were subjecting the army of women to obscene catcalls and whistles. What surprised me the most, however, was the fact that the women seemed to enjoy it and only tempted the men on. I tried to speak to Toulouse who had filed in behind me, but my voice was lost and the only sound I could manage was something of a strangled non-word.

The dwarfed Bohemian didn't let me try and find a sentence, either, using a grasp on the cuff of my sleeve, as well as the Argentinean's, Satie's, and the Doctor's urgent nudges to get me to move out of the doorway and into the club just as the parade of females, led by their ringleader, rushed out from behind the doors and onto the dance floor, prompting the swarm of men after them.

The women danced like I never even knew possible. Rapid twists, pivotes, and complete splits were performed midst the vulgar and grabbing men as if it was second nature, flashing their skirts high above their head in a manner that made every gentlemanly ounce of me want to look away and spare their dignity. I couldn't, however. Between the hypnotic music and singing, I was simply mesmerized, halfway unconscious to the fact that the Bohemians were pulling me through the crowd and prompting me along the way to fall into step with the complicated dance steps if only to blend in.

I was still in my state of stupefied silence when I was pulled to a table and nearly forced down into a chair by Toulouse. I blinked rapidly, head tilting toward him, though I never quite moved my head from the spectacle in front of me that had changed during our movement to a quick-paced can-can.

"Christian!" He shouted over the crowd, nearly in my ear to be heard. It was only after that that I was able to snap my attention away from the dancers, blinking at him in wide-eyed silence. "We have successfully evaded Zidler!"

My brow pinched gradually, and I was on the verge of questioning him when the lights dimmed, and a beam of bright lighting came from the rafters overhead, steam and glitter falling through the light toward the floor below. The entire club went deathly silent, and I could hear the blood pounding in my temples as I let my gaze wander upward to find the form of a lithe, redheaded female positioned atop a trapeze, most likely a hundred feet up from the floor.

I was stunned, though not from the danger associated with her hanging there. Not even her gaudy, glittery outfit and top hat truly distracted me. The entire time, my eyes were locked on her features. Somewhere during my silent watching, I forgot to breathe, and it was when Toulouse leaned toward me and whispered that I remembered to, a strangled gasp being the form that it took.

"It's her," Toulouse stated under his breath, pointing with one hand.

His words didn't even penetrate my thoughts. I was too far hypnotized by her features. She was absolutely beautiful, far surpassing anything I'd ever seen or dreamt of my entire life.

"...The Sparkling Diamond," Toulouse finished.

And then, she spoke and I knew. I knew before even knowing her name, even realizing who or what she was, that I loved her.