Chapter I
Author's Note: Ha, I defeated the system and finally got my tags to work! This is my first Moulin Rouge piece -- and first real fanfic, actually -- and I would really appreciate any type of constructive criticism. It's sort of ... short, and not exactly what I was planning to do, but I suppose that I can always add stuff in the next few chapters. Oh, and I don't own any of the character's or anything, someone else faraway does.
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Satine sat in her dressing room, solemnly picking up various jewels and rings that had been scattered haphazardly across the tabletop. The rest of her room had already been cleaned out, likely to just be refurnished later for Harold's next new star -- the next rags to riches girl who would replace Satine as the Sparkling Diamond of the Moulin Rouge. After carelessly depositing her jewelry into a smaller bag, she rose from the vanity table and made her way onto the empty, dark stage. Softly, almost with trepidation, Satine began to sing.
"My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world"
Except he wasn't. Not anymore.
---
"I'm staying with the Duke. After I left you, the Duke came to see me, and he offered me everything. Everything that I've ever dreamed of. He has one condition: I must never see you again. I'm sorry," Satine offered, though her voice lacked any emotion that could convince Christian that she truly meant her words. Christian, however, looked as if he'd just been stabbed through the heart -- and he had, really.
"What are you talking about?"
"You knew who I was." Satine paused, stunning blue eyes somehow remaining free of the tears she so desperately wanted to cry. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. The difference between you and I is that you can leave anytime you choose." Oh, if only Satine had known how true her words were. "But this is my home. The Moulin Rouge is my home."
"No ..." Christian cried pitifully. "There must be something else, this -- this can't be real."
Satine offered no response, instead turning and starting towards the door. Christian hurried to grab her by the arm, not allowing her to leave. "Tell me the truth! Tell me the truth!" He shouted passionately, trying to keep his grasp on Satine as she tried to free herself from him.
"The truth?" Satine echoed detachedly, still struggling to hold back her tears. "The truth is, I am the Hindu courtesan, and I choose the Maharajah." The words were flying daggers to Christian. Thunder boomed in the distance, almost as if someone had cued the ominous sound. "That's how the story really ends," she finished quietly. Satine made her hasty exit then, leaving Christian there, stunned.
---
Satine shook her head, spilling fiery curls over her bare shoulders. The recollection was almost too painful to bear, and, even though nearly a year had passed, Satine was still guilty and broken up about it all. With one last glance around the empty theater, Satine made her way down the aisle way -- one that she'd walked many times, but seemed to have grown in length now. After what seemed like a mile, Satine found herself outside the Moulin Rouge, standing the streets of Montemarte.
Tears brimmed over the edge of her kohl-lined eyes, sliding down porcelain-like cheeks and eventually falling to the snow covered ground. The decision to leave the Moulin Rouge wasn't one made rashly -- instead, Satine had fawned over the notion for nearly a year, beginning the day after Christian's death. Without him beside her, she couldn't bare to go on there -- much less in Montemarte, or anywhere else, for that matter.
What had happened was still unknown to her, and that sort of unrest often kept Satine up at night. It was all so sudden. After the curtain call for Spectacular, Spectacular (which really was a surprising success despite the ... improvising that was done), Satine went to her dressing room to undress when a knock came on the door. She still remembered the day so clearly.
"Come in!"
Harold opened the door a crack, Marie at his heels. Satine smiled faintly, watching his red, bushy face poke through the opening in the door in her mirror. Her smile soon faded when she noted his dire expression.
"... Satine," he said softly, moving to stand behind her and stare at her reflection in the mirror. Satine stared at his reflection, too, not daring to turn to actually look him in the face. Butterflies of worry and anticipation flitted around in her stomach, waiting for the news that was to come.
"Christian's dead, Satine."
His words were like a steel pipe hitting her in the back of the head.
"What? No, Harold, don't -" Satine began in disbelief, though she was unable to complete her thought. "It's ... it's not true."
"Oh, sparrow, I'm sorry." Harold's sympathetic words fell on deaf ears, as Satine was reduced to sitting numbly in her chair, staring past her own reflection.
Satine woke from her reverie, and then continued on into the carriage that Harold had ordered for her. Her good-byes had already been said -- with the exception of one, but that was about to change.