Hi! I'm not a new fanfic writer, but this is my first Moulin Rouge fic...so be kind, while I try my hand a something new.
This is simply a "filler" fic. You know, I am taking a scene from the film and adding my own thoughts and narrative. It's a good way to warm up. I own no one, though I keep looking for Christian to pop up on eBay...yum.
Anyhoo, this starts toward the end of the film...Satine has told Christian she doesn't love him...
"Silly of me, to think that you could fall in love with someone like me."
His own naive words rang in his ears. It had been an eerie foreshadowing of what was to come. But that night, that magical night atop the elephant, the night he'd met her...Satine...the love of his life...his soulmate...that night, he truely believed in love.
"Love is a many splendored things, love lift us up where we belong, all you need is love..."
He'd been a fool. A blind, ignorant fool. Love is just a game. A game to be played by those who know how to play it.
She didn't love him. She had never loved him. But she had made him believe...she was a remarkable actress.
His typewriter was the only thing thing in his small flat that he valued. It was the only thing *of any* value. But his heart was broken into a million pieces, and any spark of light and creativity he had in his heart had been snuffed out when Satine told him she was choosing the Duke.
"I am the Hindi Coutesan. And I choose the Maharaja."
He wanted to throw the typewriter through the wall. Instead he sold it. He sold it so that he could pay her. She had performed beautifully. She deserved to be payed.
Standing outside the Moulin Rouge, he closed his eyes, and struggled to forget. Forget all of the beauty and love that they had shared within these walls. Try to forget that there was a time, not so long ago, when he'd believed that love was like oxygen, that love was all you needed. Now, all he needed was her. But it wasn't to be.
He looked at her, battered and broken, as she lay on the stage, the lights glaring down on them, the audience captivated by this strange new twist in the play. He wanted to shake her, and make her tell him she loved him, so that he could die knowing that just once, he had been loved. Instead he glared at her, his eyes wet with tears, and his voice cold as ice.
"...I've paid my whore..."
She was gasping for air, and he was holding out one last hope that she would change her mind. But she wouldn't even look at him. He recalled her conviction when she had told him she didn't love him. Her cold words danced in his head, taunting him, hurting him. She was the Hindi Courtesan. And he was the penniless Sitar player. And he had lost.
"Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love," he choked, tears of rage and agony blanketing his cheeks.
He scrambled from the stage, stopping only briefly, in front of the Duke. He opened his mouth to speak...but he realized that he had nothing to say. He wandered past the Duke, past the shocked patrons of the theatre, pulling off the white jacket, a costume that hid nothing. He wasn't an actor. The audience had no idea how real his emotions were, how much he wanted to scream to the world, "I loved! I loved and I lost, and you will too! Love is an illusion! Love will only destroy you!! Get out while you can, for love...love is just a game!!"
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return!!"
Christian wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die.
"Never knew I could feel like this..."
Satine's trembling voice filled the theatre, echoing in Christian's ears like a siren's song. He shook it off, and tried to continue down the aisle. He wanted to shut her out. She was playing with his heart again.
"...Come back to me, and forgive everything!"
He could feel his heart breaking. Her voice was filled with desperation. Did he dare look back? Look into the eyes of the woman who had destroyed his ideals? Broken his heart? Drowned his soul? He turned, and she cried...
"I love you...until the end of time."
She loved him! This was...too good to be true....could it be that the Hindi Courtesan truley loved the penniless Sitar player after all? Could it be that she was willing to give up a life of luxury for a life of poverty with her love?
"But in the end she hears his song..."
"...And their love is just too strong...."
He felt like he was flying...soaring like a bird, on the wings of true love. A love that had overcome all obstacles.
"Come What May.....Come What May..."
He sang out, so that she would know, so that they would all know, that she had captured his heart, and he would love her until his dying day...
Her eyes fluttered closed. Closed for all of eternity. And he wept. He wept for days. His love was not strong enough to keep her alive...to keep her with him.
But one day, he too would die. He would die, knowing that he had been loved.