Chapter Three

"I will make you a star," hissed the Duke into her ear. Satine had nothing left in her but to remain silent in agreement at his attractive yet loathsome offer. The Duke swelled with the kind of pride a man takes in himself when tossing a scrap of superfluous meat after dinner to a starving cur limping by on the street. The Duke gloated within at how indebted this pretty creature must feel towards him, how she would surely repay him after their grand supper.

Satine noticed the Duke's nostrils flaring and his face glistening. She knew that the tension was building inside of him – she would have to act while she was still in a physical position to do so, for his grip would undoubtedly be asphyxiating and escape would be futile. Though she felt sickened at the thought of playing his game, Satine knew she must be a shining actress in this moment, if ever in her life.

Satine glanced once again towards the door, to make sure that the Duke's silent henchman had left them to their feast. She unclenched her fist and peered down at the perfume vial she'd been gripping so tightly, the glass hot from her touch. She rose suddenly, the legs of her chair scraping loudly as awkwardly and nervously as she felt. With her hands delicately behind her back, she appeared coy, which would appeal to the Duke yet served as a means to hide the poison.

"Dear Duke," she cooed, "I'm afraid I'm far too nervous to eat just yet!" She giggled girlishly, advancing slowly towards the seated Duke. She was far too terrified to look him in the eye, which she could luckily pawn off as being bashful. She only had the courage to quickly glance at his eager face – he was entranced.

"And why should you be nervous, my pet?" The Duke squeaked in anticipation.

"Why, you make me feel like a … virgin," Satine elongated the last word in a breathy tone. The Duke visibly quivered at the term, pinned to his chair in wonderment of the siren. Satine gave the impression of a blushing bride, yet the Duke was oblivious to her exceedingly whitening pallor in the dim candle-light of the room. Satine seated herself on the edge of the dinner table, her thin frame covering the Duke's goblet of wine from his sight.

Leaning closer, Satine whispered into his ear, "I just wanted to give you a quick kiss before dinner, my darling. A thank you for all you have done," with that Satine winced as she traced her lips from his ear to the side of his cheek and to his thin little mouth, and massaged his dry lips ever so sensually in a kiss. The Duke closed his eyes in sweet ecstasy, savoring the faint touch of her soft lips. As he did so, Satine swiftly overturned the vial she held behind her back, its contents dripping quietly into the wine.

Tucking the vial into her palm, Satine released the Duke from her kiss of death and smiled sweetly at his stunned face. A wave of guilt swept over Satine as she acknowledged the distinct light of life, however terrible it was, beaming from the Duke's wide eyes. How quickly that would vanish once he washed his nervous, dry throat with the tainted wine!

Before she could stare any longer into the face of a man she would shortly be cause of life's end, she backed away and resumed her place at the opposite end of the immaculate table.

"Dinner first," Satine scolded the impatient Duke, waving a finger in his direction. The Duke shook his head, returning to his sensible self. He had not wanted to forget the order he so passionately clung to in life. Rules were rules.

"Of course! Dinner first, my sweet!" He flashed his crooked smile and began to devour the meat on his plate, trying to speed the process at all costs – even indigestion. Satine could not help but flinch as she watched him tear and gnash at the flesh with the same fervor he would have undoubtedly used with her. One sip, and it would be over. She glanced outside, wondering if Christian were pacing about in his garret. Would he be pleased? Horrified? There would not be much time for either reaction – as soon as she arrived, they would have to pack what was necessary and take immediate flight.

Satine's thoughts were interrupted by a loud, awkward slurping sound. Satine's head whipped in the Duke's direction. The Duke gulped the wine in massive quantity with as much zeal as he offered the meat. This was it.

With a loud "Ahh" the Duke clunked the half-empty goblet on the table with a thud, his lip moist with wine. His face suddenly contorted into an ugly snarl.

"Satine, dear, have you tasted the wine tonight? It tastes rather bitter…" the Duke trailed off as he reached for a napkin and began to dab at the beads of sweat rolling from his forehead.

Satine said nothing, but simply stared in amazement at the spectacle that was about to take place. In a violent motion, the Duke shot out of his chair abruptly and began tripping backwards, howling in pain. He gasped for air, and a nauseating gurgling sound bubbled from within his throat.

"You… you did this!" the Duke stammered, only a whisper left of his voice. His legs buckled underneath him, and he fell to a wriggling heap in the moonlight. Satine stood in apprehension and observed like a scientist studying the effects of an experiment.

The Duke writhed and fought with the poison that was seizing his organs. He moaned so loudly that Satine was frightened someone would come to check on them. But no one came. He only continued to seizure, a pitiful beast succumbing to his fate.

As the Duke hacked and coughed, sputtering for air, Satine simultaneously began to feel one of her ravaging fits rise from deep inside. Almost in perfect rotation, the Duke gasped and screamed, and then Satine choked as she coughed splats of blood onto her hand. Then the Duke would struggle once more, then Satine. She had never felt the cough come so harsh and painful as it did now. Satine wondered if this was God's punishment for what she had done – was she to die just as pathetic as he, in this dreary Gothic Tower?

After some minutes had passed, so did her fit; and she felt relatively well again. It had come and gone with such vehemence that it had frightened her, but there was no time to ponder upon it now. Her gaze returned to the Duke, now nearly dead. With his eyes turned completely bloodshot red in agony, and a pink froth spilling from his mouth, the Duke began to resemble a fallen demon. The last signs of life twitched in the Duke, and finally he was still after such a struggle.

Satine tripped as she flew to his side, and crawled the rest of the way. Shaking uncontrollably, Satine held a hand above his wide-open mouth. She felt no breath rising from inside - he was certainly dead. Satine gazed in astonishment at the warm yet lifeless body before her. It was time to go, before anyone came inquiring about the noises.

Below, on the street, a stunned and heartbroken Christian had heard the faint moans of the Duke echoing from the Gothic Tower above. She actually went through with it, Christian thought to himself, disgusted and disappointed. Christian felt the pain sear through his body and threaten to break him into pieces, like the strings of an instrument winding tighter and tighter round a tuning key until they were about to snap. Not only had he his own imagination to haunt him, he had just heard the revolting sounds of pleasure first-hand! Would she pretend the Duke was him? Would she do that thing afterwards where she traced little hearts on his chest?

Tears began to well in Christian's eyes, and a dizzying spell overtook him. He had to take action. She had broken his heart! Yes, he had always known that it was apart of the contract, but as their love grew he had developed a glimmering hope that she would've rather ran away with him than disrobe for that detestable Duke. Christian decided that perhaps he ought to take a break from Paris, from the Moulin Rouge… he thought it best he leave tonight for home in England – leave before seeing her again changed his mind.