This is not a story of love alone. It is a story of life, and life is about everything.

Chapter One

There was a darkness over our world even before we realized it. Or perhaps just before she realized it. I knew of it since the day I came to possess remembrance. Not of the nature of the darkness, but of its ominous presence � that was what I knew. That was what took her longer to see.

The concept of darkness is rather a difficult one to grasp. Most people I've met believe they can define it by saying that "darkness" is all that is evil and "light" is all that is good. They are not na�ve � they just believe only in what they were taught. Yet only few of these people, I have noticed, are sincere.

My father, for insta

He stop typing mid-sentence, startled out of the dreary mood of his writing by Satine's casually melodic inquiry: "Christian, what are you doing?"

He looked at the items on the desk in front of him.

"Just writing," he said, giving half a smile. "Why?"

She grinned and shook her head as if to say he was impossible.

"We have visitors. If you'd like me to, I could tell them you're busy now."

"No�" He cut himself off as he became aware of the messy arrangement of his desk. There were print-outs, crumpled sheets of loose-leaf, red and black pens, pencils, and two leather-bound journals that were decades old. Not busy? Perhaps. It seemed like a lie, though, and he did not have to look at the one behind him to know that she was thinking the same.

"No," he said again, "there's no need." He stood and faced her. "Who are they?"

"Your publishers," she replied.

"Ahh." He nodded once, slowly, then once more. "Yes, I remember. I'll be there in a moment. Let me just finish this thought�"

Satine watched amusedly as the writer turned his attention to the screen and resumed his typing.

She left the room. He felt the bleak atmosphere of the script return to him. He pressed on:

My father, for instance, was one of them. It was through his behavior that I came to know of the shadow in my world, the world which later became ours � hers and mine.

He didn't want to say the first words. She didn't want to say anything at all.

So without saying anything at all, Christian helped Satine rise to a sitting position. After a second's contemplation, the performer gingerly her arms around the writer, still feeling tired from the fight with her condition. She was silently crying into his shoulder. They were happy tears, yes, but there was also a sadness in them that she would come to understand many a year later. He returned the embrace fully, shaky after having gone through a whirlwind of powerful emotions, glad that they would be safe now.

But would they really be safe?

While he thought about what could be, she reslished in what was.

"Oh, Christian!" breathed the ecstatic courtesan, tightening her hold on the writer. "I never would've guessed!"

"Of course not," he whispered in return, smiling despite a creeping sensation of doubt. "I'm just a halfling, after all."

She pulled away, confusion taking a minute claim in her eyes.

"Halfling? What�"

"Never mind that. We'll discuss it later. There are more important things to consider now." He cast a furtive glance in the direction of the door, then returned his crystalline gaze to Satine. "We can't stay here � everyone thinks you dead."

The sudden, rather abrupt change from happiness to urgency was seen most clearly then in Satine, whose smile faded in less than a second. For a moment her gaze was blank, like when she had been dying. She took her time in meeting Christian's eyes again.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Of course they do."

"We must leave tonight, now if possible. No one must know �"

"But where would we go?" interrupted the woman. "And we can't just leave without telling anyone." She watched his face take on a grave appearance.

"We have to. No one would want to have anything to do with us."

"But-" Hit by a sense of loyalty, she felt she must protest. "We can't � what about�" She sighed and lowered her head. She did not see his nod, but did feel his fingers brush her cheek in a gesture that said more than words could.

"Will we ever tell anyone," she asked, not putting effort into making it sound like a question.

He shrugged.

"I don't know. Perhaps someday we will. But darling�" With his hand beneath her chin he gently urged her to look up. "We have each other."

A heartbeat later she grinned softly, tearfully. She nodded. He smiled back.

"Yes," she breathed. "That's all that matters." The words tasted bitter, as did the blood on her lips.

They gazed at one another in silence, but not without their minds screaming thoughts. Perhaps because he knew more and saw beyond the present, Christian felt guilt, which almost made his grin falter. Had the circumstances been different � assuming that with those changes he would have had to make this same choice �, he would have wept. As for Satine, she knew not what it was that kept her from an emotional collapse. Her lover's apparent confidence, perhaps.

All their thoughts took up the space of a few seconds but felt like an hour or so.

She inquired, after this short time went by, "Did you ever intend to tell me? About this, this... situation of yours."

He blinked, caught off guard. He hadn't expected that sort of question. He struggled to find words, to form an answer, but found none. And so, after pausing to think, he answered with a question of his own.

"What about you? Were you ever going to tell me about your illness?"

She too was caught in a trap from which she could not escape; thus, she smiled weakly and shrugged, offering feebly, "I would've. Eventually."

"The same goes for me."

They were even and wordless.