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Satine ([info]softest_diamond) wrote in [info]mirage_rpg,
@ 2008-07-13 13:53:00

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Entry tags:arrival, complete, day 7, pheromones, satine, severus snape

Day Seven
Who? Satine and Severus Snape
Where? Hot springs area
When? Sunrise
What? Satine's arrival and pheromone trouble
Rating? NC-17 for unbridled passion
Status: Complete



It seemed that death was always a sudden and unwelcome visitor. Spectacular, Spectacular! had not gone swimmingly. A whole mess had been happening for quite a few days, and Satine's soul was weary. Worse than her soul, however, was the condition of her body. Consumption was by no means a kind disease; it was a plague of the poor. Though she was successful and well loved, Satine did not have money, nor did she have time. From the moment she'd found out that she was ill, she knew that she was dying - and fast. Still, this was her chance to be a real actress instead of just a courtesan. It was her chance to fulfill her dream and maybe, just maybe, she'd get to leave the Moulin Rouge for a short time. Over the course of the past few weeks, however, her world had crumbled around her. She'd found Christian, loved him, lost him. She'd been forced into the arms of The Duke, loved him in a different way, and lost everything. She was tired, she was alone, and that performance was all she had left. It was the sunset of her life. Though Christian had returned to her, and they had reconciled, the damage was already done and she was condemned to an early end.

His hands were so warm as she laid there in his arms, a stark contrast to the gradual freeze moving over her body. "I'm cold, Christian," she mumbled, though lack of breath prevented her words from getting very far. "I'm so cold." Holding onto him would not help her now. Where she was going, it was necessary that she go alone. Born into nothing, she was leaving nothing behind. But no, it was not nothing. It was a love that had given her life meaning. As she watched Christian, she trembled, too weak to try to comfort him. He was saying words, but she heard them as if she were under water. He sounded so far away. It was at that moment that she realized that this was the end. The curtain had almost completely fallen. Mustering her last few breaths, she looked at him tenderly, fighting to send forth her last will.

"Tell our story Christian...that way I'll...I'll always be...with you..."

Her eyes closed for the last time, and Satine, The Sparkling Diamond, became part of the world's history, or so she thought. It seemed that a lonely planet cared for the flickering starlight that was Satine's life.

Sensation slowly entered her body, eradicating that chill blackness that had settled inside of her. She became aware of the soft sound of water, perhaps a few waves here and there. Heat of some sort flowed over her skin like a breath. There was soft grass around her, and smooth rock also, which was less than comfortable considering the amount of diamonds on her dress. As awareness flowed over her, Satine could not stand it anymore. She attempted to open her eyes and, indeed, they opened, revealing to her a place that was clearly not the Moulin Rouge, nor Paris, nor anywhere else she'd ever been nor heard about in tales. As humans are generally logical creatures, her brain began to work, assessing the situation. She had died of consumption. Of that, she was certain. This was a lush, beautiful land somewhere after death. This, then, was heaven, or perhaps the Elysian fields. She very much preferred the idea of Elysian fields to the idea of becoming an angel who sat on a cloud and never got to truly perform, only sing hymns of praise.

Sitting up, slowly, as not to hurt herself or get any nasty shocks, she raised a hand to delicately rub her eyes. She was still dressed in full stage garb, diamond headdress sparkling in the rising sun. "Where am I?" she whispered, putting a hand to her throat. "And what do I do now?"



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[info]softest_diamond
2008-07-14 04:40 pm UTC (link)
Oh dear, that look. The courtesan had seen that look before; it wasn't difficult for the trained eye to notice. It wasn't that she was vain or full of herself, she just knew how easy it was for men to be struck stupid by a woman who knew herself and knew how to present herself to men so that they would be taken with her. She'd seen that look in hundreds of thousands of customers, in The Duke, in Christian. It was a neutral look, neither good nor evil, though it was immensely powerful. As fate would have it, however, she was powerless against it. Such a look was what she lived for. As far as most people were concerned, Satine was a piece of art on loan to the world. She was to be looked at, admired, adored. A decade or so in such a position had taught her to embrace it, to own it, to love it. She loved the look, and that love was enough to fool the man who gave it into thinking that she loved him.

Such trickery was not meant with malice. It was meant with the best of intentions. Who, after all, didn't want to feel loved? That was what had made life with Christian both so wonderful and so difficult. Satine was a woman who, really, belonged to no one but the Moulin Rouge. She was an object, not a subject. She had given him, however, the fragment of her heart that she could call her own, and she would never regret it. It seemed that the afterlife, without Christian, was a transition back to normal. It was no accident that she was who she had become if she remained the same in The After as in The Before.

The offered hand was a welcome relief as well as a test, and one that she'd hoped would eventually come. Was she tangible or some spirit, an image made of smoke and mirrors? Satine carefully grasped his hand with her fingers; they did not pass right through. A smile crossed her lips as he assisted her in rising, her bells jingling a bit more. Even more surprising, he was not cold, nor did he seem to recoil from a strange frigidity in her fingers. The icy cold of death was no longer upon her.

"Severus Snape...?" Well, that certainly wasn't French. His voice seemed more like Christian's, as well. British, then? She wouldn't ask. It seemed rude. So there weren't separate countries in the afterlife... It was time to turn on the charm. Meeting new people was always her forté because she could be so warm and welcoming yet so very distant and mysterious. "My, that certainly sounds exotic. Intriguing, if you will allow me. And while the pleasure may be yours, Sir, the thanks for such delightful company in such a short time in an unfamiliar place belongs to me. As do your most beautiful words."

Further study only brought more questions to her mind. His clothing was unorthodox, to say the least, hardly the fashion of 1899 Paris. Then again, he wasn't Parisian, so that might explain it. In the back of her mind there was a slight gasp. Had the English already moved on to blaze the trail of twentieth century fashion? It could not be! And his face...though he seemed sweet and kind, there was something very hard, very sad about him. Part of him reminded her of The Duke, though the kind parts of that man, what few there were, and part of him reminded her of Harold. Though neither man that she could see in this Monsieur Severus Snape was quite right. He was interesting. He was someone that she felt like she could help, given enough time and energy, to feel even a little better. Satine so adored the damaged and broken people of the world.

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