Christian bundled his coat closer to his chest. He walked down a narrow street way. The street way was filled with vendors. An afternoon of snow flurries filled the air. The sky was grey and dreary. There were plenty of people on the sidewalks; artists, prostitutes, homeless people, drunken people.

Christian looked at one of the vendors. A bearded man was selling flowers. Christian took out some coins and handed them to the bearded man. Christian took a bundle of pink flowers. As Christian continued to walk, he looked at the flowers. Some of the edges were black and some petals were drooping. The flowers were already dying.

Christian reached the end of the narrow street way, crossing to a hilly area. It was one of the only patches of green in Monmarte. Beyond the graveyard was the river. The river where he had once rowed Satine on . . . and the Duke.

Christian opened the rusty gate. The sky was beginning to grow a little blacker. Mist began to slowly fill the graveyard.

Christian made his way to Satine's grave.

The story of Satine's grave and funeral was not much to talk about. The Duke left and closed down the Moulin Rouge and left everyone broke. Christian, Toulouse, Satie, the Doctor, Chocolat, and the Argentinean had scrapped up as much money as they possibly could.

However, the church would not allow a proper burial. Christian managed to convince the priest to get a proper grave in a real cemetery, because courtesans were very immoral to the church.

After that, there was nothing else for Christian to live for. Nothing else to do. Her grave had sealed Christian's relationship with Satine. It was over for Christian after that. Satine had been taken care of.

Christian took the little pink flowers and gently put them in front of Satine's little gray grave.

SATINE BELLOW

1869 - 1899

Christian did not have enough money to engrave a saying. But in his heart he knew what he would engrave.

Christian sighed heavily but didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to talk to the grave, he didn't believe in that. He truly wanted to kneel before the grave and cover it with tears, but he tried to hold himself back. What was he even doing out here in the first place?

Christian put his hands in his pocket, and turned to the entrance of the grave. He could barley see it. The nighttime had arrived, and the moon was shining. The mist had risen up a bit more, and it was hard to see.

Suddenly, the mist began to part in two. Then, there was a woman standing in the shadows.

Christian drew in a breath.

"Hello?" He called out. His voice trembled a bit.

The woman was clearer now. She wore all white. She had red hair, but there were traces of blonde. She had shining blue eyes. Her eyes could almost stare through your soul. Her thin lips were drawn in a frown. Her eyes were wide.

"Christian…"

Her haunting voice chilled the air. Christian gasped. It was the woman in the mirror! It was a woman all in white.
"Who are you?" Christian yelled out. He looked around. He suddenly grew nervous. The woman in white stretched her hand out towards him, wanting him to come closer. Christian looked around, he was now frightened.

Christian began to blow raspberries. This always seemed calmed him a bit. He shook his face, softly patting his cheeks. "This is absurd."

The woman's eyes never left him. She stood, her hand outstretched. Then, the woman began to speak. No, not speak. The woman began to sing.

Her voice was high-pitched, much like her speaking voice. It ended in barley a whisper, but wobbled as she sang. It was breathy and haunting.

"Christian James. I remember you."

Christian did not know what to do. So, he sang back.

"Are you of this world? Have I imagined you?"

"You see I am a ghost, before you. I am not flesh and

blood. Believe your eyes. Kind sir, my name is Anne. Anne Catherick. And believe my words I tell no lies. Monmarte was my home in childhood. Though I didn't live here long. Killed by him when just a girl, though I did nothing wrong. Imprisoned in a dark tower, by a man of guile and treachery. The truth will see the light, I vow it! No he thinks that he can silence me. I have a secret one I must share with you. I must find the one I seek to spare her what I've been through!"

The woman in white, Anne, had to take a breath, she was so excited. Christian could not move from his spot. He had to listen to her voice.

"I'll tell you of my cruel tormentor. When I think of him I'm filled with shame. I'll tell you who he is this instant. You will not forget his name."

Anne stopped. Then she whispered, "The Duke."

Christian's eyes widened. "The Duke?" He whispered as well. Christian stared at Anne. But then a thought hit him. What was he doing? He must be dreaming! This woman claims she is a ghost. That's absurd!

"Who are you really? A ghost? I don't believe it."

Anne came closer to him. She held out her hand. Christian lifted his hand up, and tried to grasp hers. His hand fell right through her. Christian looked up at Anne in horror.

"What do you want with me?! And what is this you claim about the Duke?"

"We need to save her. We must save her. From him."

"Who? From save who from who? The Duke?" Christian tried to read her eyes. "Save a woman from the Duke?"

"Yes! Yes! You must help me! We must find her." She sang.

"What do you mean?" Christian said, exasperated. He didn't understand this woman at all. He was still trying to get all this through his head.

"We must save her!" Anne sang again.

Anne continued repeating it. Christian put his hands over his ears, closing his eyes. What was going on?

"NO!" He shouted. Christian opened his eyes. The woman in white was still there. "I don't understand this. You're not real. You can't be. I'm-I'm just dreaming. Oh, Jesus."

Christian began to run. He ran to the rusty gate and quickly opened it.

"You must save her! Or else she'll end up like the woman you loved." Anne said. She began to make sense, instead of babbling.

As soon as Christian heard that, he stopped dead in his tracks. He looked toward the woman.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. Please, come back. I must tell you everything."

Christian stared at the woman. She seemed normal…yet transparent. She couldn't be a ghost, though. Ghosts weren't real. Christian felt his skin grow colder. He had to leave.

Christian shut the gate quickly, and ran down the narrow streets of Monmarte.