Thank you to Janice, Diamonte Saber and Scribblers Hands.
Janice- thank you so much for all your help. Yes I'm going to develop Juliet more. Some characters take work to develop while others (like Louise) just jump into the story. Juliet is quieter and that, for me, is harder to write. I'd love to have you as a beta if you don't mind. Thanks.
Author's note : If you read the second chapter before I edited it then you missed the last few paragraphs about Mr. Desmereges so you should go back and read them. I apologize for this chapter, my heater broke and I haven't slept in ages. All I can really think or write about is being cold and tired.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me -Tennyson
As the wind howled outside Christian returned to his empty garret and got into the cold bed. He shivered and coughed, deathly tired but also too frozen to sleep. He lay for a while, remembering. He tried to remember the summer but the harder he tried to more it slipped away.
He knew that Paris once had been warm and beautiful but in the winter everything turned grey and iced over.
We do not mourn when summer dies and winter sets in although it is a bitter loss. Like Satine it was once so vivid that it seemed impossible that it would ever fade. While the snow will melt and the trees will bud Satine will never return. Christian sobbed tearless into his pillow. His eyes had run dry after all the time he had spent in tears.
He must of fallen asleep eventually for he dreamed. Satine was there and he mouth was moving wordlessly and she was crying, although she too had no tears. He had dreamed of her a thousand times but this was different. In all his other dreams she was happy and unreal but this was so real he could almost touch her. He called he name but he couldn't reach her. Finally he heard a voice although he couldn't tell if it was in his head or coming from her.
"She's in London. Go to her."
"Satine!" He yelled his voice cracking. "Satine!"
Christian sat up as he awoke suddenly to a particularly fierce gust of wind shook his garret. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and got out of bed. Glancing at the pocket watch one his bedside table he noted it was only five in the morning. Although he knew it was impossible, his pillow smelt like Satine's odd musky perfume.
The voice was still echoing in his head. London. She's in London. He had previously thought of leaving Paris, maybe even going home to London but that required money and effort he had lost all motivation to live. But now he had a reason to go to London.
Suddenly hit by inspiration he ran to his over flowing desk and pulled crumpled pieces of typewriter paper and tear stained pages of bad poetry aside until he found a what he was looking for. Heavy heartedly he put the battered envelope in his pocket.
Christian pulled a battered trunk out from his closet and shoved a few dirty clothes in it as well as some wrinkled papers. Lastly he packed away his dusty typewriter. Having done that he lumbered into the only other room in his garret, the bathroom where he inspected himself in the cracked mirror. He found himself facing a stranger.
His eyes were blood shot from too little sleep and too much alcohol and his skin was pale and sunken. He ran some cold water through the chipped pipe and washed his face. Then he took his rust razor from the soap dish and shaved his beard for the first time since Satine's death.
Then he dried his face and collected his bags, heading out into the freezing Paris street. It was still early, the sun was just peeking over the horizon and save a few people the city was deserted. His shoes clicked as he walked through the eerily quiet avenues. He reached the train station just as they were opening the gates.
"I'd like a one way ticket to London." He said firmly to the groggy old man in the booth. He collected the money, rubbing his eyes as he stamped the ticket. Christian paid with money from a faded envelope from in his breast pocket. He remembered his mother's words as she handed it to him nearly a year ago.
"Just in case."
He thanked the man and took his ticket. He walked through the station and sat silently on a bench, waiting for the train. It wasn't until he was on the train that the absurdity of what he was doing hit him.
He must be crazy. He'd spent the last if his money. He had left his garret because a dead girl in a dream had told him to. He had no idea where to go in London, he didn't even know who Satine had been talking about. He wondered if he had finally gone mad and for some reason found the idea comforting.
As the train arrived in London, he realized he was home.
