A/N: This is narrated by Satine. Enjoy.     :o)

CHAPTER ONE

The mark of my life's turning point was when I was the tender age of 14, young and innocent. It was a pleasant fall night in the inner city of Paris, where I lived in my apartment with my uncle. My uncle had taken me under his wing after my parents had died and we lived alone in our tiny apartment, hoping to earn enough money to find a better way of life. I had not seen him in days, but this was not unusual as he sometimes worked late or went to a saloon after work. I had just gotten home from work and was beginning to relax after a long day when a loud series of knocks interrupted my peace. At the door was a co-worker of my uncle's and he explained firstly that he had some unfortunate news concerning my uncle. The man removed his ragged hat in respect and told me that there had been an explosion at the factory several days ago.

My uncle had died in the accident. The management did not report the incident to avoid any legal prosecution, though even if they had been found out there was rarely justice for working class families who lost someone dear to them. I remembered when the man next door, Mr. Hanover, had lost his right hand in a faulty machine – the boss gave him a week's wages and fired him. Mr. Hanover tried to fight the factory owner in court only to be defeated, most likely because the owner had bribed the court in his favor. Mr. Hanover, disabled and not being able to pay the rent for long, was turned out by the landlord and I never heard of him again.

It is general knowledge in the inner city that the corruption in business and in government could not be changed, only accepted. With this knowledge, I understood that my uncle's co-worker's condolences was the only closure I would receive. I thanked the man for taking the time to inform me of my uncle's fate - which otherwise I probably would have never found out - and sorrowfully shook his hand.

Though my uncle and I were not very close, I appreciated his generosity and knew he was a good man. My uncle was all I had in the world and now I was utterly alone. I fought with myself not to cry – there was a crisis at hand and I needed to be strong. I was left with nothing but an empty apartment and very little money. My meager wages at the sewing factory was nowhere near enough to keep up with the rent. I was sure the landlord was bound to discover my secret and would call the authorities to rid of me, so I outsmarted him and left the next morning before he had the chance.

            As soon as I stepped out onto the street, I was swept up in a crowd of city folk and since I had no particular destination, I decided to follow them. The crowd went in no specific direction, just crossing streets from time to time or turning a corner. Every so often, a person pushed their way out to go off to work and a new person shoved their way in as they left their apartment.

I felt at ease while walking with the crowd. Though I hadn't anyplace to go, they were all so sure of where they were going. Somehow being pressed up against these strangers as we shoved along the streets, I felt apart of their journey, which was quite comforting to believe I had a place to go and someone to go with.

I soon lost track of where we were going. I was too intrigued with the splendor of the city. Though there was poverty and filth, I could not help but admire how tall the detailed buildings were and the beautiful, weathered statues along the sidewalks. Hardly having time for myself trying to earn a day's wages, I was sadly not familiar with my home city, thus I was amazed during my first tour.

 I thought perhaps with my new life, I would become a productive citizen of the city and not remain a nameless cog of a factory's industry. Perhaps if luck was on my side, I would have the chance to explore the city and learn new things. Being forced to leave school at 9 years of age to go to work, I was always eager to learn and experience new things. Though I was overworked and tired, I still had the mind of a child.

Walking along the streets that lovely day, I dreamed of a better life, just waiting for me to seize it. I passed many shops and buildings, sometimes watching the workers in the windows. Inspired by my observations, I imagined myself in their occupations, considering each one for my new life. I had envisioned myself working at many jobs, such jobs as a baker, a nurse and a dress shop owner. They all seemed to be fairly interesting careers, but nothing had struck me as the perfect one.

And then, there it was. It's attractive, colorful billboard and it's enormous, intricately carved entrance doors stole away my attention. It was the city theatre; a large, beautiful building that had no doubt housed the great plays of the world and was where the famous actors and actresses of France came to perform.

I had once gone to a theatre with my grandmother when I was young. I didn't remember what play we had gone to see, but I vividly remembered the heavy make-up, the ornate costumes, the bright lights, the delightful music, the cheering when the curtain fell . . . and most of all, the star of the show, Madam Hannifin. Madam Hannifin had a booming, enchanting voice that filled even the backs of the theatre and the way she spoke the simplest lines drove the audience into tears. When the play had come to an end, the audience clapped wildly and threw roses at her feet as she curtsied. I remembered I'd told my grandmother that some day I would be just like Madam Hannifin and everyone would love me as they did her. My grandmother laughed affectionately and told me that if the theatre was where my heart was, then I should do anything it takes to follow my dream. Going to that play with my grandmother had completely escaped my mind for years, but it was there on that street, gazing up at the grand theatre, that I remembered my true calling – to be a real actress.

FROM BEETLE: Thanks for reading; the story still has some ways to go. I know how you're probably thinking it's going to go, but I promise, it'll be very different than what you expect. Please review for me and let me know what you think of it . . . I'll love you forever if you do – and I still will even if you don't.   :o)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Moulin Rouge or any of it's characters, just my story.