The Fine Print

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The Fine Print A year had passed, slowly, since the Moulin Rouge was eventually shut down. The Duke failed to seek sympathy of any sort in Satine, shrugging her and the Moulin Rouge off altogether. Like any sane person, they were upset. Satine lost her dream of being a star as Zidler lost his staple actress and therefore, any hope of making a name for himself. With the departure of the Duke, the legacy of the Moulin Rouge was gone. Forever. Of course the citizens of Paris would remember Satine; the Sparkling Diamond. So stunning it was heart breaking. They would remember her health scare an how that alone was enough to cost the Moulin Rouge its life. But in the end, it wasn’t enough for Satine. Following Zidler’s orders might result in more stardom but after the rise and fall of one of the best night clubs in France, the chances were slim. Satine never lost hope that she’d become the next Sarah Bernhardt for with her talent, she was only a wish away. *** “A-Are you alright?” I felt like asking, seeing the absent way she was staring out the window at the bustling life of Paris. She was often disappointed that she wasn’t a part of it. I was sat at my typewriter, assiduously pecking at the keys, occasionally taking glances to admire Satine’s existence. After the tuberculosis scare during her stay at the Moulin Rouge, I was wary of any fall in her health. “Christian,” Satine had a way of sighing my name that stopped my heart at once, “I told you before, I’m just adjusting.” I didn’t bother her with a response. Instead, I pursed my lips and continued writing. I wrote about the week we had spent in my apartment. The strolls and picnics in the late evening that often resulted in goose bumps covering her pale skin and me kissi... ... middle of paper ... ...d in life is you.” With that, Satine placed a less than innocent kiss on my lips and changed my mind. I loved her from the first time I saw her perform, I loved her through the chaos of the Duke, I loved her when I was sure her last bit of life was draining from her and I love her even more now. I left her to bathe and took a seat before my typewriter and began to write about what was now the new beginning of our life and how I vowed to show Satine the less glamorous side of Montmatre; the bohemian side. I wrote about the life we could live if we never kept secrets, if we appreciated even the simplest things in life, if we never felt held down by money or investors and if we spent every moment together, appreciating the time we had left. Truth, beauty, freedom and love. I would die for those words and for the woman who helped teach me the true meaning of them.

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