Being one of the most famous actresses, singers, and in her later years, supporter and patron of the arts, even several hundreds of years later she was still famous. She was being asked for autographs and praised. Someone had even fainted because Satine Miles was alive and well again.
She lifted her head up when she heard an old and familiar voice, one that she heard whispered in her ear for years in their bed, or calling her name. She turned and looked at him. Only this time, she didn't have a cane and her stark red hair was without a trace of white and silver. Her feet weren't slowed in a shuffle and a limp from a rather bad stage accident that hadn't quite left her the same. Her back was not bent with age, instead she stood tall and straight, the confident cool actress of a thousand masks that all got stripped away at the sight of him.
She was wearing that red gown, the one that she had given to a museum and who knew where that was now. She saw him and tilted her head, long red hair spilling over her shoulder.
"Well, yes, I should hope so, Desmond," she caressed his name in that way. The way she always did, even when she had held his hand in the hospital. With all the love and desire that had been his and his alone despite the partners they allowed to share their bed and bodies over the years. His was the only one who had her love so deeply. She didn't run to him, because he was running to her. but she hastened her step. She didn't want to be apart from him. She had stayed and lived in Asgard with him, and then when she died, to awaken again in Paris... she felt her breath hitch and her eyes start to burn.
A
She lifted her head up when she heard an old and familiar voice, one that she heard whispered in her ear for years in their bed, or calling her name. She turned and looked at him. Only this time, she didn't have a cane and her stark red hair was without a trace of white and silver. Her feet weren't slowed in a shuffle and a limp from a rather bad stage accident that hadn't quite left her the same. Her back was not bent with age, instead she stood tall and straight, the confident cool actress of a thousand masks that all got stripped away at the sight of him.
She was wearing that red gown, the one that she had given to a museum and who knew where that was now. She saw him and tilted her head, long red hair spilling over her shoulder.
"Well, yes, I should hope so, Desmond," she caressed his name in that way. The way she always did, even when she had held his hand in the hospital. With all the love and desire that had been his and his alone despite the partners they allowed to share their bed and bodies over the years. His was the only one who had her love so deeply. She didn't run to him, because he was running to her. but she hastened her step. She didn't want to be apart from him. She had stayed and lived in Asgard with him, and then when she died, to awaken again in Paris... she felt her breath hitch and her eyes start to burn.