Okay, my second MR fic. This is an alt ending that serves as the beginning of my story. Christian never went back to the Moulin Rouge after Satine told him she was choosing the Duke. That's all you need to know for now...the rest will be explained shortly.

I own no one. And no one owns me.

~Until The End Of Time~

Christian stood in the centre of his cold, empty flat, his ears ringing with Satine's words;

"I am the Hindi Courtesan. And I choose the Maharajah."

It had all been a lie. All of it. The looks, the kisses, the way she said his name when they made love. The slow burn of jealousy and rage was building inside his battered soul, and his once sparkling eyes clouded over.
Crying out an indecypherable mumble, he stumbled out of the flat, and onto the cruel, dark streets of Montmartre. He was completely unaware of the pelting rain, or the whipping wind. He wandered down a darkened alley, and wondered how he could have ever believed in love.


Satine stared at her pale face in the mirror, trying desperately to gather the strength she needed to finish the show. The show MUST go on, right? She was physically and emotionally spent. The pain and horror that had filled Christian's eyes haunted her. She had taken away his innocence, his ideals, and his soul. She could feel it, when he cried out her name.

She slowly stood, and made her way toward the stage. Her heart was broken and her lungs were failing, and still, she stood tall, smiled bravely, and gave the patrons of the Moulin Rouge a show they would never forget.


Christian could hear the music flowing from the Moulin Rouge. The words he had written were floating through the air, taunting him. He stumbled into his flat, soaking wet and exhausted. Pulling out a half-empty bottle of Absinthe, he yanked off the top and sucked down as much of the sickly green liquid as his body could hold. His shaking body convulsed, and the bottle flew from his hands, as most of the fiery liquid came back up.
He collapsed next to the broken shards of glass, his head staring at the torn bottle label. Even the Green Fairy seemed to be laughing at him, calling him a fool. He lifted his heavy head, and felt the world around him spinning as the rhythm of the night thumped into his mind. He picked up a large shard of glass, and studied it carefully, analyzing the jagged edge with absent eyes. Satine's flawless face flashed in a distorted reflection on the dark glass.

"It all ends today," he whispered hoarsly, "yes it all ends today..."

Without a second thought, he pressed the glass against his skin, and smiled miserably, as crimson blood flowed effortlessly from his arms. Slowly, his body began to weaken, and his eyes grew heavy, and he knew that soon, he would feel no pain.


Satine stood in the centre of the stage, surrounded by dancers who despised her and held by a man who loved her. Loved her not for who she was, but for what she was. A Sparkling Diamond. A Hindi Courtesan. Harold was never cruel, but he always put business ahead of everything else. Even his adopted family. She looked down at the Duke, who was smiling contently. He had won. He was getting what he wanted. But he would never have her heart. Her heart belonged only to Christian. But that Christian didn't know that her heart was his...that was what was killing her inside. As she stood in front of Harold, on the stage, in her white wedding gown, she felt the dark, cold hand of death reach into her chest, and take her breath away. Collapsing onto the stage, she could feel darkness surround her, as the audience gasped, and Harold screamed helplessly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Her body was weakening, and she knew that this would be her final act. Her soul was already dead...it was time for her body to follow. She opened her weary eyes, and saw the Duke standing over Harold, his eyes wide with shock. Smiling softly, she took one last, deep, haggard breath, and, as she let go, she sang out her dying words, so that the Duke would know that he had never really had her after all;

"Come...what...may...I will...love him...until the end...of...time..."


Christian's body was discovered by his Bohemian friends only a few hours after the show. Blood, vomit and Absinthe covered the small wooden floor. The Duke fled Montmartre the night of the show, and the next morning, Christian's friends insisted that he be buried next to Satine.

"It's the way he would have wanted it," Toulouse whispered sadly.


Christian opened his eyes slowly, and looked around his flat. The storm was still raging, and his apartment was bitterly cold. He shook his head, as he tried to recall the events of the past evening. But he found that he could remember nothing. He stood slowly, and walked to the window. Peering out, he looked to see if he could see the Moulin Rouge. But he saw nothing. He squinted, wondering what was wrong with his head. There was nothing out his window. No Moulin Rouge, no Montmartre...nothing. All he saw was a strange, light blue mist. He backed away from the window, utterly lost, but strangely calm. He tried again to think of what he did last night, and where he was. Where was everyone? Wasn't last night opening night? Why couldn't he remember anything?


Satine sat up slowly, and rubbed her tired eyes. The morning sun shone into the room, casting a warm glow on the Indian paraphenalia inside it. Satine looked around the room, and tried to recall how she had gotten back into the elephant last night. She found that she couldn't recall much at all about last night. What had she been drinking? She sighed, and pulled herself out of bed, and wandered toward the front of the elephant. She wondered if Christian was awake. Looking out toward his flat, she could see him, standing inside his apartment, looking lost. She smiled, thinking that he looked so unbelievably cute in the morning. She decided that she needed to see him. Dressing quickly, she made her way out of the elephant, and toward Christian's flat.

Satine had no idea what was in store for her on the way.


Okay, that's part one...pt two soon. Please Review!!