--
Two
~*~
She'd always gotten her way, and it had done nothing but destroy her.
As the youngest of five children, she was her mummy's princess. Nothing ever came between what she desired and obtaining it: a new ring, a book of sonnets, a velvet dress; her every whim had always been satisfied.
She basked in all the attention, never lifting a finger to clean dishes or mop floors at the café her parents owned. Her brothers had long since packed up and left: inquisitive Alexander went to Greece to study history, William traveled London to publish his novel, and Christophe followed him in order to teach music. Marie and her sister Adele were left to help their parents operate the restaurant.
She never listened to her mother when she was reprimanded to eat her vegetables or clean her teeth. Instead of doing what she was asked, she ran about the streets with the filthy urchins from dawn until dusk, returning home only to watch the evening's show.
Adele, with her deep-set eyes and chestnut curls, sprawled nightly atop the piano and sang wretchedly melodramatic love songs. At the age of twelve, Marie was content with watching the spectacle. Sometimes she played the piano for her sister, but out of sheer indolence, she often hopped up after two or three songs and demanded that her father or mother play for Adele. She helped her sister with makeup and costumes, but always gave her mother a snappish "Non, Maman," when asked to help with the wash or ironing.
When Adele got married six years later, Marie took her sister's place, earning all the more affection. She sang, but never danced, just as she had done up her sister's hair, but never wiped down oily countertops.
She met Harold when he came into the restaurant with his father, a few short months before the building was incinerated in a fire. Marie's family lost every possession: their antique china and velvet drapery, as well as each-hard earned franc.
In desperation, Marie had flung herself into a marriage to Harold. She'd threaded her arms about his neck and whispered promises of success, that she'd learn what she'd refused to for her whole life.
She'd lain abed for weeks following the rushed ceremony, for she knew not how to take care of herself. She could tie corsets with expert hands and she had often traced her sister's eyes in black and her mouth in crimson, but she'd never so much submerged a cup in water or scrubbed a dirty floor. Harold still waited for the day when his wife would keep her promise to him.
When Harold opened the Moulin Rouge and began taking in girls, Marie rose from bed only to get them ready for shows. She was an expert with solely the rouge brush and the whalebone. Tartan's cheeks became smeared in soot from cleaning the fireplaces; Antoinette's hands were blistered from the scalding water she used to wash the soiled laundry.
Marie cared for Satine as though the flaming-haired young woman was her own daughter, and using her past experience as a performer, taught the girl to read music. The two women played the piano together on quiet nights, while Nini griped and groused as she scrubbed the bathtubs.
After Elizabeth's foot had been crushed in the can-can, Marie's futile attempts to pull herself out of her sluggish ways diminished. Elizabeth did everything for the girls before rehearsals and shows, mending Juno's torn bloomers and plaiting Arabia's hair. Marie only rose from bed to help Satine into a resplendent dress or make tea for Harold and herself. She found solace in cigarettes and lovemaking.
Upon discovering Satine's consumption, Marie became afraid. If she lost the beautiful young woman, there would be even less of a reason to wake in the morning. She was silent when Harold told Satine of her illness, listening to the starlet's rough gasp of pain and realization.
With baleful eyes, she'd taken on unfamiliar punctuality on Opening Night. When Satine's breath faded from her body in the poet's arms, Marie's brittle heart cracked in half, for her own idle actions had done nothing to help anyone, not even herself. Last minute attentiveness and productivity could not have saved the nightclub, nor its starlet and supporting cast.
She lay in bed that night, listening to Harold's deep, slumber-thick breathing, and wished for once to escape the duvets and pillows that had become her home since her vows had been said. She did not sleep for many nights, picking up the shattered pieces of her past mistakes, and her soul.
For the first time in her life, she hadn't had her greatest wish granted.
--
~*~
A/N: I had the most problems with that chapter. I hope it's not completely horrible.
Two
~*~
She'd always gotten her way, and it had done nothing but destroy her.
As the youngest of five children, she was her mummy's princess. Nothing ever came between what she desired and obtaining it: a new ring, a book of sonnets, a velvet dress; her every whim had always been satisfied.
She basked in all the attention, never lifting a finger to clean dishes or mop floors at the café her parents owned. Her brothers had long since packed up and left: inquisitive Alexander went to Greece to study history, William traveled London to publish his novel, and Christophe followed him in order to teach music. Marie and her sister Adele were left to help their parents operate the restaurant.
She never listened to her mother when she was reprimanded to eat her vegetables or clean her teeth. Instead of doing what she was asked, she ran about the streets with the filthy urchins from dawn until dusk, returning home only to watch the evening's show.
Adele, with her deep-set eyes and chestnut curls, sprawled nightly atop the piano and sang wretchedly melodramatic love songs. At the age of twelve, Marie was content with watching the spectacle. Sometimes she played the piano for her sister, but out of sheer indolence, she often hopped up after two or three songs and demanded that her father or mother play for Adele. She helped her sister with makeup and costumes, but always gave her mother a snappish "Non, Maman," when asked to help with the wash or ironing.
When Adele got married six years later, Marie took her sister's place, earning all the more affection. She sang, but never danced, just as she had done up her sister's hair, but never wiped down oily countertops.
She met Harold when he came into the restaurant with his father, a few short months before the building was incinerated in a fire. Marie's family lost every possession: their antique china and velvet drapery, as well as each-hard earned franc.
In desperation, Marie had flung herself into a marriage to Harold. She'd threaded her arms about his neck and whispered promises of success, that she'd learn what she'd refused to for her whole life.
She'd lain abed for weeks following the rushed ceremony, for she knew not how to take care of herself. She could tie corsets with expert hands and she had often traced her sister's eyes in black and her mouth in crimson, but she'd never so much submerged a cup in water or scrubbed a dirty floor. Harold still waited for the day when his wife would keep her promise to him.
When Harold opened the Moulin Rouge and began taking in girls, Marie rose from bed only to get them ready for shows. She was an expert with solely the rouge brush and the whalebone. Tartan's cheeks became smeared in soot from cleaning the fireplaces; Antoinette's hands were blistered from the scalding water she used to wash the soiled laundry.
Marie cared for Satine as though the flaming-haired young woman was her own daughter, and using her past experience as a performer, taught the girl to read music. The two women played the piano together on quiet nights, while Nini griped and groused as she scrubbed the bathtubs.
After Elizabeth's foot had been crushed in the can-can, Marie's futile attempts to pull herself out of her sluggish ways diminished. Elizabeth did everything for the girls before rehearsals and shows, mending Juno's torn bloomers and plaiting Arabia's hair. Marie only rose from bed to help Satine into a resplendent dress or make tea for Harold and herself. She found solace in cigarettes and lovemaking.
Upon discovering Satine's consumption, Marie became afraid. If she lost the beautiful young woman, there would be even less of a reason to wake in the morning. She was silent when Harold told Satine of her illness, listening to the starlet's rough gasp of pain and realization.
With baleful eyes, she'd taken on unfamiliar punctuality on Opening Night. When Satine's breath faded from her body in the poet's arms, Marie's brittle heart cracked in half, for her own idle actions had done nothing to help anyone, not even herself. Last minute attentiveness and productivity could not have saved the nightclub, nor its starlet and supporting cast.
She lay in bed that night, listening to Harold's deep, slumber-thick breathing, and wished for once to escape the duvets and pillows that had become her home since her vows had been said. She did not sleep for many nights, picking up the shattered pieces of her past mistakes, and her soul.
For the first time in her life, she hadn't had her greatest wish granted.
--
~*~
A/N: I had the most problems with that chapter. I hope it's not completely horrible.