Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own the rights to Moulin Rouge, nor do I claim
any. The plot in this fic is created by me, so no usurping, please! Thank
you!
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Sandrine stared at Zidler, her eyes wide with expressions of horror. "If this is a joke Zidler, it was said in the worst taste."
Zidler's expression of seriousness deepened. "Satine died last year. It was consumption."
Sandrine sat back on the bed slowly. "No. NO. I finally come back for her and she is dead! No. It's just not possible. Fate would not be so cruel."
Zidler moved to the mantle over the fireplace and stared up at his reflection in the mirror.
Sandrine looked up. "What of the Moulin Rouge? Why is it empty?"
"Satine got her chance to be an actress. But in order to do so, the Moulin Rouge was given to the Duke...on opening night, your sister and her lover defied him. He has made it so that The Moulin Rouge will die along with Satine."
"Lover?" Sandrine asked.
"A writer, named Christian. He wrote the script for the play we preformed. Satine...she loved him," Zidler responded.
Sandrine slumped forward. "Love?" She rose in anger. "LOVE? How could you have let that happen?"
Zidler's mouth opened and closed.
"A whore can not love! You said it yourself Harry! We are here to lift our skirts and give men a good show. Love is a convenience for the fortunate." Sandrine's chest rose and fell. She blinked her eyes furiously to hold back the tears in her eyes. "I promised I would come back for her. She was the reason I was free from this place."
Zidler frowned. "She died from consumption. Be content to know that she died knowing love."
Sandrine laughed bitterly. "It is not love that I blame for this." She walked toward the balcony and looked to the side at the building that she had grown up in. "I blame the Moulin Rouge."
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A/N: Short chapter. Please R/R and tell me what you think.
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Sandrine stared at Zidler, her eyes wide with expressions of horror. "If this is a joke Zidler, it was said in the worst taste."
Zidler's expression of seriousness deepened. "Satine died last year. It was consumption."
Sandrine sat back on the bed slowly. "No. NO. I finally come back for her and she is dead! No. It's just not possible. Fate would not be so cruel."
Zidler moved to the mantle over the fireplace and stared up at his reflection in the mirror.
Sandrine looked up. "What of the Moulin Rouge? Why is it empty?"
"Satine got her chance to be an actress. But in order to do so, the Moulin Rouge was given to the Duke...on opening night, your sister and her lover defied him. He has made it so that The Moulin Rouge will die along with Satine."
"Lover?" Sandrine asked.
"A writer, named Christian. He wrote the script for the play we preformed. Satine...she loved him," Zidler responded.
Sandrine slumped forward. "Love?" She rose in anger. "LOVE? How could you have let that happen?"
Zidler's mouth opened and closed.
"A whore can not love! You said it yourself Harry! We are here to lift our skirts and give men a good show. Love is a convenience for the fortunate." Sandrine's chest rose and fell. She blinked her eyes furiously to hold back the tears in her eyes. "I promised I would come back for her. She was the reason I was free from this place."
Zidler frowned. "She died from consumption. Be content to know that she died knowing love."
Sandrine laughed bitterly. "It is not love that I blame for this." She walked toward the balcony and looked to the side at the building that she had grown up in. "I blame the Moulin Rouge."
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A/N: Short chapter. Please R/R and tell me what you think.
