It's set three years after Satine died, and left Christian to greive. THe Moulin Rouge has turned back into the dance hall/brothel, and is getting along fine. Christian finally finished writting his story, and is all cleaned up and dressed, and ready to fulfill the second half of his promise to the dead love of his life, Satine, to move on, and find someone else to love.
Evelyn, a young girl, who has amazing talent, but is too shy, and doesn't know it, moves from her home in America, to Fran
I gasped slightly, as the cold metal scraped across my skin. The razor blade was sharp, and precise, and the hairs fell easily, leaving me with a smooth face. Once there was no trace of the beard I had grown over the past few years, I cleaned my face, and walked back out into the main room. I looked around the dingy little room, and sighed. Pictures and notes, and other momentos covered my walls. The only things I have to connect myself to Sarine.
As I sat on the bed, and fiddled idly with a scrap piece of paper, the memories came flooding back.
"You've got to move on." Satine's voice was scratchy, and her hand was cold, as she ran it over my face.
"No." I sobbed. The roses continued to fall. The crowd cheered, and it made me so mad, I wanted to get up and murder them all.
"Yes. Christian, look at me. Promise me you'll move on. Promise me you'll write your story." Her voice cracked as she said 'move on'.
I didn't answer, I just wiped the sweat from her forehead, and the blood from her lips. She looked as delicate and fragile as the rose petals that fluttered around us.
"Christian." She said sternly, after a delicate little cough. I looked into her dark blue, blood-shot eyes. "Promise me."
I nodded. "I - I...promise."
"Write your story, for me."
I nodded, as my tears dripped off of my face, and onto her cheek. The salty water mingled with the blood slowly dripping from her mouth, and turned a weapy red color.
"I love you." I sobbed, in a dry, croaky voice.
"Come what may..." Satine whispered.
And then her head dropped, spilling her red hair over the petal-ladden floor, like blood. Her eyes stared up at me. I could still see the residue message that she had failed to say: "I will love you till my dying day".
I wiped the unshed tear from my eye, then I stood up and just started tidying up the already spotless room, and then I gave up with a sigh, and sat on the windowsill, and stared down at the disgusting town I had once considered beautiful. Prostitutes and drug addicts wandered around, looking for someone to give them their next fix.
And that's when I saw her.
She stood out from the sumbags of the town. She wore her jet black hair piled upon her head, in tight messy bun. Her plain grey dress gave her the sort of air of a business woman, or a professoinal of some sort. She walked with a kind of dignity you don't see in these areas.
And then, as if she felt me looking, she looked up, and met my eyes. Her eyes were wide and dark dark blue. My breath caught in my throat. She had pale, creamy skin that seemed to glow in the morning sunlight. Her face was small, and angular, and very petite. Even from this distance, I could see the red blush color her cheeks, at finding a stranger staring. I smiled slightly, and it almost hurt to smile, seeing as how I hadn't smiled at all these last three years.
She smirked, then looked down, and continued walking. I watched her walk in and out of shops, with no extra bags. It made me almost chuckle. Why would she go into these shops if she didn't plan to write anything?
For some reason, I didn't get bored of watching her slowly walk around the small market place.
And then, I realized she was getting persued. They were catching up, and the girl just happened to turn down an alley way at that precise moment.