𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚢𝚜 : 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.

                              𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝
                                              𝙞.

Behind the glitz and glee of the spectacular Moulin Rouge was only a vanquished showgirl, losing hope in her deteriorating beauty and style. The Sparkling Diamond had it all, she was the lead cabaret actress at the Moulin Rouge after all! Men at her feet, money stuffed into the cleavage of her breasts during a lewd performance and a well paying job. However, Satine had nothing. The truth was, Satine couldn't go on with her act anymore knowing that her entire life at the night club was coming to an end, she was simply miserable and lifeless. Her fair, creme skin had not a blemish on it but felt as if it was melting and pooling onto the ground beneath her. The woman's slender figure was perfect and desired by many others, yet Satine felt as if her whole body was so brittle that it could snap in half! How awful she now felt in those glamorous and enticing costumes—which usually made her feel excited and full of jubilance—that hugged her bosom and rubbed against her shoulders. Locks of curly copper hair were doted on before performances by stylists and resulted in Satine looking truly ravishing, an ancient and erotic goddess of fertility brought to life in just a few hours. She loathed in her dismay after she saw that she indeed was bald, only to look at herself in the mirror once more and find her hair on her head just as she had left it moments before. What was happening to her? Was Satine delusional or ill? No no, she was simply stressed. Her superiors at the Moulin Rouge, big men with long mustaches in tight suits of many bright hues that reeked of cheap booze had spoken with dread that the nightclub she and many other women called home was to be closed down if Harold Zidler could not find the proper funds. Satine hadn't told anyone of what she had heard, thus slowly driving herself to mild insanity and deep worry of what to do. Without the Moulin Rouge, Satine would have nothing. She'd be living on the streets with nothing to her name, huddling by a corner as her fingers froze and her nose dribbled with moisture, small tears making their way down her dainty cheeks. She would not let that happen to her or anyone else that slept under the eyes of the red windmill as long as she was conscious and breathing. She couldn't let that happen to her "sisters" on stage, Satine would not let poverty drag her down once again after she had successfully worked her way to the top.
Satine was in her dressing room, a large spacious area that smelled faintly of rose water and peaches was filled with expensive goods and gifts from some of the wealthiest men in Paris after having an arousing night with the one and only Sparkling Diamond were given right into her arched and gloved palms after her moonlit evening of service was done. Red velvet furniture, her absolute favorite, was cleaned daily by the nightclub's maids who were often envious of The Sparkling Diamond's fame and fortune. A small maroon loveseat squished into the corner of the room was opposite to the opulent mirror that Satine regularly stared at herself in out of curiosity to see how time had made her age. Once, in the woman's youth, Satine had fluttery eyelashes that complimented her smile that resembled a dazzling crescent moon in the night sky. Now, Satine had to use lamp black and soot on her eyelashes to make them appear longer and more healthier. Satine had still looked bewitching even if she was in her early thirties, she maintained her age quite well but her emotional state poorly in most cases—a bad habit that she developed due to her donning and adapting to something similar to an act as she performed—she always seemed to manage, though. Humming a short and bittersweet song she had sung the previous night under the hot stage lights of her beloved night club, Satine took a deep breath and paced around her dressing room. Her deep red stiletto heels echoed as she took a few steps, stopping in her tracks as she heard a knock at her door.
"May I come in, cherub?" the voice of Harold Zidler, a plump and jolly middle aged man who singlehandedly founded the Moulin Rouge and favorited Satine above all other dancers, called from behind the door. The two had a relationship that mirrored something of a father-daughter bond that ran deep between both's veins. Despite trusting each other with the most important things the world could ever know, Satine wouldn't dare inform Zidler of what she had overheard and why she was an emotional mess.
"Of course, dear Harold! I'm just straightening out my makeup and accessories for tonight's show," Satine replied as she quickly shuffled towards her vanity and pulled open a few drawers that were filled to the brim with various blushes, powders and even lipstick and rouge.
Zidler swung open the door with a smile on his face. The short man man had a bushy mustache that happened to twitch whenever he spoke and a beard the color of a steamed carrot. He wore a red tuxedo that hugged his waist and brought out his ample stomach, folded at his neck into a fashionable collar and tucked into his black shoes.
"I have big, big news!" he explained, holding out his hand for Satine to take. For the first time in mere weeks, Satine's brown eyes genuinely glistened and brightened upon seeing her closest friend so enthusiastic. Satine grasped Zidler's hands, only to be twirled around by the man and then dramatically be lifted off of her feet. Setting Satine down on her loveseat, Zidler began to speak.
"We're inviting a writer to the nightclub to draft us a show in the upcoming months along with our performances from our lovely courtesans and you, of course." Zidler explained, raising his eyebrows. Satine's face contorted into a grin. This was perfect! The writer would compose a beautiful and extravagant show to perform, thus giving Zidler the money from the audience to pay his funds to keep the Moulin Rouge.
"The writer is a friend of Toulouse Lautrec, whom I'm incredibly happy to have you work with your long time bohemian friend again when he arrives! The boy is supposedly from England and shows a lot of potential according to Toulouse. Oh! I've met with him once before, just as he arrived to Montmartre and spoke quite fondly of you, my dear. Maybe he'll want to spend his first night in the sheets with you once he arrives. You know how those artists are, they can't get enough of their sexual inspiration," Zidler finished off his detailed speech to Satine with an impudent laugh.
Satine grinned, "perhaps that could be doable, Zidler..." she started to say before giggling, "of course I can seduce the poor boy."
"Ah, ah, ah," Zidler shook his head, "it's not so much seduction as it is charming, my dear. The boy is naïve, Satine, he's caught up in the bohemian revolution. He's intense, though, quite passionate about his beliefs. It's nothing you can't handle, lovey." Zidler proceeded to pat Satine's back and kiss both of her cheeks before he reminded her of the evening show she was supposed to perform in tonight.
As Satine began to get herself ready for her next performance, she couldn't help but imagine all of the prosperity the bohemian writer would give to the Moulin Rouge. Not only did the penniless writer seem to sound promising in terms of bringing financial success, he just so happened to fit Satine's ideal description of someone she could truly love. The Sparkling Diamond never wanted to be in love, she even outright refused falling in love in most cases, being content with her act on stage. She was used to selling it to various men night after night. If she had to choose, though, what kind of man she'd settle down with, she'd settle down with a gentle, young and bright man who would do nothing to hurt her. Satine couldn't help but think what if Zidler had hired the writer for other reasons besides his funding of the Moulin Rouge? Nevermind that, though, she had a show to prepare for!