As Christian cried over Satine's body Zidler gently pulled him away.

"Christian! She's dead!" he hissed.

Christian moaned. "No, no! It's not true! She can't be dead!"

Marie put a hand over her mouth as though she was about to cry.

"She's… not… dead." said Christian quietly.

Suddenly, Christian stood and Satine slumped to the stage floor.

Toulouse-Lautrec, looking worriedly at Christian, asked, "Are you alright, Christian?"

Christian clenched and unclenched his hands. "No, goddammit! Just leave me alone!"

Tears shone in Christian's eyes as he ran from the stage.

Christian threw himself onto the bed, sobbing.

"My life is meaningless without Satine." he said sadly. Christian rose from the bed and looked at his typewriter. He quickly covered it with a sheet.

"Tell our story, Christian, that way I'll always be with you." Christian said bitterly. "You're not with me now, are you? You aren't here!" he shouted.

"You're…" his voice faltered, "…dead."

Christian began to sob as he walked over to the window, staring at the crimson mill of the Moulin Rouge.

"Come what may, I will love you until my dying day." Christian sang quietly. "Sooner than I thought."