Chapter III
The hotel she'd chosen was far from elegant, but it was all she could afford -- granted, she had quite a bit of money saved and even some more that Harold and Marie had given her, but since Satine lacked any sort of plan, she didn't quite know how her money would need to be used. Better safe than sorry, they say.
"Do you have a reservation, madame?" Despite the hotel's rather cheap appearance, the clerk was perfectly polite and conducted his business superbly.
"Yes. Satine James," she replied to the clerk. While Christian and she had never been married, Satine took it upon herself to take his last name. It was only proper, since she was sure that she'd not marry in her lifetime to come.
"Ah, yes, Mrs. James. You're in room 6, on the fourth floor." Satine had requested a top floor, simply because that's what she was used to. The view from her room over the Moulin Rouge had grown on her, and she could hardly imagine staying on some ground-level room with no view.
"Thank you." Satine was left to carry her own back up to her room. Halfway, on the second floor, the steps and walls began to spin around in her vision. The bag dropped to the floor and Satine reached for either wall to brace herself, eyes falling shut as a dry cough overcame her. Such coughing fits and dizzy spells were not uncommon, though she'd been having more as of late. Finally, after gaining a hold of her bearings, Satine wiped the corners of her mouth, lifted her bag, and continued on towards her room.
Once there, she collapsed onto the bed, sighing in exhaustion. It wasn't long before sleep took hold of her consciousness.
The snow was cold against Christian's hands and back, and he struggled to his feet, blue-grey eyes all the while fixed on the smooth black pistol Warner had pointed at him.
"I ... what - what are you doing?" Christian stammered in fear, backpedalling until his back crashed against a brick wall opposite the door he'd fallen out of.
"Just following orders," Warner replied ominously. Christian could hear the cocking of the gun so loudly that he thought the whole world might've heard.
"No ... no, don't!"
Satine shot up in her bed, a cold sweat causing her body to wrack with shivers. The echoes of Christian's cry reverberated in her ears, though the room around her was dead silent.
"Christian ..." she whispered softly, one hand lifting to press against her chest. Her heartbeat was rapid and he breaths came quickly and were shallow. Tears had even begun to form in the corners of her sapphire eyes, but Satine struggled to hold them back. A glance around the room confirmed that everything she just saw had been a dream -- though it certainly was a possibility that that was how Christian's life had been stolen.
Climbing from the bed and to her feet, Satine moved towards the window. Fingers pressed against the window pane gently, expression having turned from fear to sadness. She gazed longingly out the window, wishing somehow that she was back in Montemarte, watching the red windmill turn mechanically in the snow-filled sky. Satine instead found herself looking over a rather poor part of London, where the streets were dirty and windows were lit sporadically across town.
And then, Satine felt as if someone else was in the room. At first, she was hesitant in turning, but she finally moved to face the room.
Empty.
Satine couldn't resist the song that came to her heart, then.
"What am I supposed to do with all these blues, haunting me
Everywhere, no matter what I do
Watching the candle flicker out in the evening glow
I can't let go
When will this night be over?"
She paused, and gasped for a breath of air when she found that she couldn't breathe. After only a short moment, she continued.
"I didn't mean to fall in love with you ...
Raising my glass, I sing a toast to the midnight sky
I wonder why the stars don't seem to guide me
I didn't mean to fall in love with you ..."
Her voice lowered to a bare whisper near the end, before Satine was completely silent again. One last glance over her shoulder was spared, and she thought for a moment she could see, far off the in the distance, a silhouette of a windmill turning. She dared not look twice, for Satine knew that if she did, she'd only be disappointed to find nothing.
Instead, she preserved the image of the windmill, of Christian, of the days when she was truly happy.
Satine moved back to her bed and crawled beneath the covers, eyes falling shut. Though her sleep would be restless that night, she knew that there would be no nightmares.
I might've stretched a little here, rambled some, and posted a bunch of nothing, but ... oh well. The song is "The Ghost of You and Me," by BBMak.