Chapter Quinze
With their escape, you believe that it is the end of this tale, do you not?
I laugh. People are so naïve sometimes.
When Christian and Satine packed their belongings and fled for the train station in the dead of night, they did not go unnoticed. I will not tell you who saw them, for you will find that out soon enough.
They got to the train station and bought their tickets, boarding only moments before the train left.
Once on the train, Satine broke down and wept. Her tears seemed to flood the train and, soon, others were shedding tears as well.
Christian didn't try to understand the reason for her weeping. He just held her close and prayed that she would be all right. Besides, he knew why she was crying.
She had escaped from a hell that had tortured her since she was ten years old. He would be crying, too, if his life were like her's.
By the time they arrived in France, Satine had cried her eyes dry. When they got off the train, though, she found more tears forming.
She was back…and she wasn't afraid.
There was nothing here that could hurt her anymore. She had Christian… and Richard was back in London, far from her.
After getting their luggage in order, the two headed for a small chapel that Satine had attended mass in while she was growing up. They were married there, the only witnesses being themselves, the priest, and God.
After leaving the chapel, they headed into the city of Montmartre, which is where my narration will end…for now…
"Are you alright, darling?" He asked when he noticed Satine had stopped moving. He had been too busy taking in the sights, the smells of his new home to notice that his lover…his wife had stopped moving.
When Satine lifted her head, he saw tears in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" He asked, pulling her into his arms. Satine's tears quickly dampened the shoulder of his shirt.
"I'm sorry," Satine whispered into his shoulder. He pulled back to look into her eyes.
"What are you sorry for?"
"I'm just so…happy…to be home…with you."
He smiled and kissed her, not caring that the street was crowded and people were already staring at them.
"Come on. Let's go find a place to live."
"No! I…I want to go in."
His brow furrowed, "Go in? Go in where?"
"The Moulin Rouge," She said, pointing to a red windmill that's lights were rivaling the brightness of the stars in the night sky.
"You…want to go there?" He asked, shocked.
"Yes."
