(no subject)
Satine wakes up gasping, her whole body convulsing with shivers. Several moments pass before she can reorient herself -- in her bedroom, tangled in the sheets of her own bed, alone. There is a dent on the pillow beside her, and a note. She grabs at it, smudging the pencil with sweaty palms. It's from Christian; he's returned to the garret to write a new scene. Satine closes her eyes, takes several slow, measured (painless please) breaths, and wills herself to be still.
The summer night is hot and still sullen. From inside her Elephant, she can hear bells toll in far-off parts of the city. The sound pulls her toward the balcony; she wraps herself in a dressing gown and, with increasingly steadier steps, takes herself outside.
She hadn't realized how close it was inside. A thin breeze brushes over her skin, and she gulps at the fresh air greedily. It must be almost four in the morning, but at the moment she's not sure whether she'd rather sleep or wait for sunrise.
Satine watches Paris.
The summer night is hot and still sullen. From inside her Elephant, she can hear bells toll in far-off parts of the city. The sound pulls her toward the balcony; she wraps herself in a dressing gown and, with increasingly steadier steps, takes herself outside.
She hadn't realized how close it was inside. A thin breeze brushes over her skin, and she gulps at the fresh air greedily. It must be almost four in the morning, but at the moment she's not sure whether she'd rather sleep or wait for sunrise.
Satine watches Paris.