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There is a certain poetic justice in how she descends to them. The rich and the powerful have come to the underworld, and she makes them look up to her, glittering above them before she slowly sinks down.
They have come through the gates of Montmartre, into the underworld, flirting with the darkness and filth for moments of glamour, decadence and wild, unashamed lust. Entertainment. They are in her realm, under her spell – all the men for one moment almost reverently quiet as Satine descends, singing. One moment lets her hold all the power, before the wild whirling dance recommences and the hands, ready to give out jewels, start choosing.
She doubts that Zidler sees the symbolism of the routine he lets her do: he sees that it's seductive and classy enough for his little duckling, and he is satisfied.
Nini Legs-in-the-Air might understand, but Satine doesn't ask her. The bitter twist to Nini's smile is too clear: it has been a long time since someone considered anyone below her. She has nowhere to descend from.
---
Christian asks her if it was all an act. Of course, she tells him. She tells him that she is a courtesan, that she is paid to make men believe what they want to believe.
Satine is a very good actress. She's good enough to make herself believe what she wants to believe, when she so chooses.
Christian says that it felt real.
She doesn't tell him that reality always is part act, that all good acting is partly reality. The lines were blurring last night, before the surprisingly naïve and sweet young duke revealed himself as yet another of Toulouse's pretty and tragically penniless bohemians. She was ready to choose him then, her ticket up and away, paid for with her words and her body.
Christian made it far too easy to slip conviction into the pretence, made her feel that this façade could graft itself seamlessly onto her. She could live comfortably in this role in times to come, with him.
The Duke does not blur any lines. Satine needs him all the same.
---
The bohemians are a species apart in the underworld – not quite blending in but belonging all the same by now. Some resent them for it, for living a life here when they could have chosen differently. Satine could have hated them as a reminder of her own lack of choice if Toulouse wasn't so endearing with his ideals and dreams and talk of the bohemian revolution.
And Christian – he finds beauty everywhere and captures it with words. When he turns it into song the world seems to stop and then start turning his way. The birds and the wind listen, men and gods alike are entranced. The queen of the underworld grants him his beloved. Satine falls in love.
---
Satine notices the tangled emotions of the Moulin Rouge, all the love stories that will never be, because there are things the creatures of the underworld can't afford.
Chocolat's watchful gaze and quiet affection, his arms always ready to catch her if she should fall. (She does.)
Toulouse's avid gaze on Christian and her in the small moments his face is unguarded. Maybe he wants her, maybe he wants Christian. Maybe he wants to be Christian. Toulouse is the one who longs for love with every fibre of his being, who believes in it so strongly that he can bring it to life for others. Yet somehow he can never weave that magic for himself.
The narcoleptic Argentinean watches Nini. Nini watches the Duke, watches Christian, watches everybody: spitefully.
Marie tightens corsets and mends dresses and sews costumes and cares when anyone needs her too. Two of the youngest dancing girls keep disappearing into shady nooks together and coming back with their hairdos askew and very red lips. One of the carpenter boys building the stage proposes to one of the courtesans and she laughs in his face.
And Harold Zidler might be the ruler of the Moulin Rouge, but even he is subject to its laws: they are creatures of the underworld. There are many things they cannot afford. Satine lets herself wonder for a moment how many loves he has sacrificed. It doesn't do to dwell. (There's something perilously close to love in his pet names for her, sometimes.)
All the people of the Moulin Rouge notice how their sparkling diamond shines her light on the penniless writer.
---
In the hide-away of Christian's room in the hotel meublé she wears nothing but the sheets from his bed or at most a dressing gown. No costumes, no games.
Wrapped around each other on the window ledge of his room, this is as far away as they'll ever get: the limit of their world. The windmill of the Moulin Rouge is visible over the rooftops.
It's their shelter, a cocoon for their love, until Christian's jealousy cracks the walls and reality starts seeping in. Only song can patch them back together – a song that is hers as much as his, this time. A promise, a contract, come what may.
A soft breeze dances over the roofs and toys with the hem of her dressing gown. Christian turns her in his arms to kiss her and Satine is on top of the world – no need to fly any higher.
---
It feels like a lifetime ago, when she was willing to hand herself to the Duke without a second thought. She still needs him. He holds her way out, the power to lift her up and away. The power to trap her in the underworld forever, in a ruined and shattered Moulin Rouge.
The diamond collar snaps shut around her neck, as icecold as his eyes. She does not shiver.
Down by the stage the Argentinean dances with Nini, a brutal tango, Christian would want to tell Satine later. If he got the chance, he would whisper of the possessive passion, trace the patterns of the tango across the planes of her body. He won't.
From the balcony of the tower she sees him, and the defeated set of Christian's shoulders makes something hitch painfully in Satine's chest. She is a brilliant actress, but her love trips her up and her sharp intake of breath gives it away.
The Duke looks to Christian and grips her hard enough to bruise. And so she starts to plummet back down.
(Chocolat is there to catch her, one more time.)
---
Go, and do not turn back, she tells him. To save his life, not hers. She is already doomed to die behind the curtains of the underworld.
He's living for their love and he would never leave her. For her sake he turns this filthy little world into song. Her love for him will not let him die with her. Better that he lives unhappy but safe.
Satine is the best actress of the Moulin Rouge. Better than the Moulin Rouge. Christian told her once that her act felt real (self-conscious, half-smiling, earnest). She holds on to that half-smile as she puts on the performance of her life (for the life of him).
His words can carry her out, make their love live forever.
She tells him to leave, to live. She is already dying. The magic of his words will get him out, she knows, and finally she somehow knows that they will always get him out: she makes him stay. Love me, hold me. Stay. Tell our love, make it live forever. He cries. Her last breaths are filled with love, painful and full – her love, bright and deep and true, come what may.
It is her dying day. The curtain is down, the petals have fallen like blood over the stage. Satine breathes her love and know that it will live forever.