Resurrection

Song fic. Satine looks back on her last days on Earth. WARNING: Sexual content and language.

Synopsis: Satine looks back on her last days on Earth. WARNING: Sexual content and language.

Lyrics by Madonna and respective lyrists. MOULIN ROUGE! Is copyright 20th Century Fox Corp., Baz Luhrman, etc.

There are too many questions
There is not one solution
There is no resurrection
There is so much confusion

I remember peeking through the slit in my dressing screen and seeing him twirling his beaver skin top hat so many times that I was beginning to get dizzy. Look at him, standing there. So shy. Who was he? Where the hell did he come from? Well, most likely England. Bt how old was he? What was his surname? He was different from so many other one-night stands, but I couldn't quite put my finger on how.

Deciding to shove those thoughts aside, I was putting on my usual act and he seems…confused? Why? I was hearing him say something about "We've just met,". Well of course we just met. In my former line of work, a girl meets someone, fucks him to put it frankly, and hopefully leaves with a few Francs in their hand by the time the sun rose over Paris.

So there I was, rolling around on the floor in an orgasmic fit, and yet it did nothing for him. He seemed more embarrassed than aroused. And then, it happened…

And the love profusion
You make me feel
You make me know
And the love vibration
You make me feel
You make it shine

For about five minutes I was whisked away from the windmill and into the sky with him...with such a rare talent. I remember his scent, but most importantly I remember his song. His song for me. That was what was so unusual about him!

There are too many options
There is no consolation
I have lost my illusions
What I want is an explanation

And then, once we were back on Earth, I thought it was just too much. He was too perfect. Just simply amazing. So I slipped on the seductive mask again and pretended to be in love. And then he told me he wasn't the Duke. Well, I don't remember much about what happened next. That little imp Toulouse came in with his Bohemians and so did Harold…with the real Duke. What a repulsive man! I decided I much preferred the poet to the rich man before me. Oh, wait. First, I think the Duke came by when Christian as in my room, and poor Christian made a pathetic attempt at find a finding place. So, I sent the Duke out. And then the "mess" (for that was really what I likened it to) of the play started.

After the "pitch"--not a "mess" as Harold called it--was over, I was left alone in my room. I was contemplating my thoughts of getting out of the bordello soon, until he came up on the elephant. That stupid faux pachyderm always made me nervous, and yet here he was. Christian.

I couldn't believe what he was asking me. H tried to persuade me to fall in love with him. Me! The whore's golden rule was to never fall in love. And yet…there was something so irresistible about him. He was young, handsome, kind, talented, bright blue eyes, black hair…what else could I want? He had just proven to me that he could get over that shyness problem. And when we were wrapped up in this feeling, this power, this emotion called love, something I had sworn never to do, he kissed me. And then everything was right in the world.

And the love profusion
You make me feel
You make me know
And the love direction
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
I got you under my skin

Or so it seemed. I just hadn't been feeling right those past few days. I felt weak at times, and other times like my chest would burst from all the coughing I was doing. I had no energy during rehearsals for the cabaret. This went on and on for several weeks and seemed to be getting worse just as Christian showed up. Such luck!

There is no comprehension
There is real isolation
There is so much destruction
What I want is a celebration

The only thing to get me through "Spectacular! Spectacular!" was Christian. He had a written a beautiful love story about a penniless sitar player and a beautiful courtesan, not to mention a band of bohemians and an evil Maraja from whom the young lovers must hide their love from. The inspiration was obvious. Christian even wrote a beautiful secret love song for us. It was very much our life, our story.

And I know I can feel bad
When I get in a bad mood
And the world can look so sad
Only you make me feel good
I got you under my skin

We made love that night. It was easily the best sex of my life, simply because I was in love and it had real meaning to it. It was simply ours. Our dream, our life, our love made physical.

And the love profusion
You make me feel
You make me know
And the love intention
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel

I got you under my skin

But our dream was about to be shattered. Harold told me that the Duke wanted to see me. Well, I knew what this was about. Harold told me he knew all about my love for Christian, which was something the Duke did not like at all. I remember that night. One of the worst of my short little existence. He tried to rape me. If one thinks about it, I never truly wanted to have sex with any of the men I did have sex with. It was just part of my job. It became an occupation for me, but an obsession with the bourgeois Parisian men.

And to make things worse aside from the physical and physiological torment, I had to lie and tell Christian it was over. But it truy wasn't obviously. I had to, in Harold's words, hurt him to save him. And God knows I did. Chocolat, bless him, saved me from what would make that night an even further hell. Chocolat brought me to Christian, and we agreed to leave that night.

I rushed from Christian's garret to Ziedler's office. Just as I was about to utter my parting words and go out the door, Harold told me something I had certainly thought about, but never had hoped it would come to. I was dying. Of what, I personally never knew. But I did know I had to see Christian one last time as much as he had to see me.

I performed that night and that night only. I saw him and I begged for him to come back to me, to forgive everything. The Duke was there of course, but he got what he deserved in the end, just like Christian and I did.

And I know I can feel bad
When I get in a bad mood
And the world can look so sad
Only you make me feel good

As I laid dying in his arms, I told him he had to go on, to tell our story. Tearfully, he promised me. And now as my sprit passes by the old garret I see the finished manuscript in his hands. I know I will see him again and that our story will be read. It is springtime in Paris. Time to begin anew for him--at least until I see him in Heaven.