Work Text:
Before she leaves her dressing room, Satine drinks another large swallow of the tea she purchased from the apothecary. The taste is horrendous, but she sighs in relief as it helps to ease her sore throat enough to enable her to perform. She’s drunk some before every performance she’s had lately—incorporating this into her pre-show routine—and her symptoms seem to be easing. She didn’t cough at all during her last performance; she didn’t even feel the need to cough.
Satine gives herself one last look in the mirror, checking her makeup, trying her best to ignore the things she can’t fix, like the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, or her hairs that are turning gray. She’ll bring a handkerchief with her just in case—tucked inside the bodice of her costume—but she won’t need it.
There’s no need for the doctor, no need for worrying about the reason behind her cough, no need to be concerned that she can’t seem to catch her breath. Satine hopes that if she just keeps drinking this at regular intervals, her health will continue to improve.
After all, if something else were the matter, the tea wouldn’t be working.