Chapter Un

          The entire scene before her, the flashing lights, the raging music, the hard, passionate dancing, was all too much for her young mind. She ran out of the dancehall, her hands clamped over her ears to drone out the pounding music and the screams that seemed to follow her as she raced through the streets of Montmartre. She ran blindly, her sobs shaking her small body and her tears blurring her vision. She did not stop until she reached the small garret she rented with her meager wages. She was sometimes surprised that the landlord allowed her to stay there. He knew what she was, but she paid him on time each month, so her motives were never questioned.

          She wept into her hands, tears overflowing her palms and hitting her bed with the power of a waterfall. The skies seemed to pity her, for they opened up and let their own tears fall. It was not until she heard a knocking on her door that she wiped away her tears. She walked slowly and opened the door cautiously. She sighed silently in relief when she saw it was only Toulouse. She sniffled and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her coat.

          "Hello Toulouse," She said, her voice barely rising above a whisper. The short man smiled at her and patted her gently on the shoulder. She flinched away from Toulouse, remembering the way that man had touched her. Toulouse didn't seem to notice.

          "Anothew wough night at the Moulin?" He asked, his voice slurred from the Absinthe evident on his breath.

          "It was horrible. H…Harold made me meet with this m…man and…and…" She burst into tears before her sentence was even finished. Toulouse brought her head onto his shoulder, which was the same height as hers, though he was a full-grown man and she was only ten. She pulled away and his brow furrowed.

          He led her to the couch, staggering a bit from the alcohol in his blood, and sat her down. She pushed herself to the opposite edge of the couch.

          "What happened?" He asked quietly.

          "H…Harold made me meet this m…man…he was twice my age…and he tried…to…he tried to make me… have…sleep…" She choked on her own words and Toulouse sighed.

          "I knew it would happen soonew ow latew," He mumbled.

          "What do you mean?" She asked, standing up and walking over to the window. She almost smiled at the sight of Montmartre, the streets silent and sleeping, but the music from the Moulin Rouge could be heard in the distance and the enchantment was broken.

          "Nothing."

          She nodded, not feeling strong enough to dwell on the subject.

          She was still gazing out the window when Toulouse quietly said, "I weally must be going."

          She didn't even say goodbye. She simply sat down on the windowsill and closed her eyes.

          That was a mistake.

          The second her lids had closed over her eyes, the entire night came flooding back, as vivid and painful as if she were living it over again.

          The man, blonde hair and cold, black eyes, was standing over her, touching her neck and back.

          The man was moving his hands to her stomach and then slowly lowering them.

          The man was ripping at her dress…and then Chocolat, a black man who worked at the Moulin, came into the room and punched the man into unconsciousness.

          Her eyes snapped open and she let out a sob that echoed through the small garret.

          Standing from the windowsill, she rushed into the closet and grabbed her carpetbag.

          She was leaving.

          She did not cry as she packed her few belongings into the bag. There was no need to cry, for she had realized that the Moulin Rouge was not her home. She was not leaving home…she was leaving hell. This place was not somewhere where a person could live safely, especially when the person was only ten years of age.

          She was almost smiling as she walked into the pouring rain, holding a few francs in her hand for a train ticket…

          For the next eight years, this girl wandered from city to city, working at job after job. At the age of eighteen, she found a job in London that paid decently and gave her a home. It was not until the year 1899 that life for her became interesting, but I am, once again, getting ahead of myself. Let us stay in 1887 for a moment longer and witness anther beginning…