There was a boy

A very strange, enchanted boy

They say he wandered very far, very far

Over land and sea

A little shy

And sad of eye

But very wise

Was he

The Moulin Rose. A nightclub, a dancehall and a bordello. Ruled over by Sandy Ryerson, Kingdom of night-time pleasures, where the rich played with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most handsome of all these was the man I loved. Kurt. A courtesan, he sold his love to men. They called him the ‘Sparkling Diamond'. And he was the star... of the Moulin Rose. I don't even know why I'm writing this. I'm a penniless composer, not a writer. But I feel, that the world should know our story. The man I loved, is...

The greatest thing you'll ever learn

is just to love, and be loved in return.

Blaine walks inside his new apartment, and lets his rucksack fall on the floor to open his arms, while the brightest of all smiles lights up his face.

There he is. Against his parents and his whole family. He made it.

Alright, perhaps this old and dusty flat on the fifth floor of a building which looks like it's going to come down soon is not the luxurious villa in which he's grown up, but he doesn't care. He will get used to it, sooner or later.

He closes the door behind him and walks to the window, staring with adoring eyes at the city beneath him. New York is as amazing as he has always dreamt - even its most horrible neighbourhood.

He knows that he could probably - or better, most certainly - have the most expensive and beautiful flat in Avenue A, if he wanted it. He should just call his parents, and pronounce the words ‘I'm sorry, father. I take it all back. I will be a lawyer, I promise.'

But the fact is, he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to be a lawyer and marry a woman he could never love and have children, just to make his parents happy. He wants to write songs about truth, beauty, freedom and that which he believes in above all things: love. He wants to make art and help people and find the man of his dreams.

So he doesn't care. He doesn't care if he will have to live in a studio flat that stinks and probably has a problem with rats and cockroaches. He doesn't care if he will have to survive with the little amount of money his brother Cooper manages to send him without their parents knowing it.

This is all that he wants. This is all that he needs.

So he flings the window open, letting fresh air inside, and crosses his arms.

His brand new life has just started.

Blaine grabs a pen, and looks at the blank page in front of him.

That's the moment. He will write a song. No, not a song - the song. The song about love.

Suddenly, he realises that there's a problem. A big problem.

He has never been in love.

Suddenly, he hears a loud crash that makes him almost fall from his chair. With eyes wide with fear, he turns around slowly, ready to scream or cry for help.

But he has absolutely no voice to scream, because there, hanging by a rope, just fallen from an enormous hole in the roof, covered in dust and lime, is an unconscious, beautiful woman.

Before he can even realise what the hell is happening, a short girl, dressed as a nun, storms in the room. "How do you do?" she asks with a bright smile, and she goes on talking without even trying to listen to an answer. "My name is Rachel Barbra Patti Lea Berry. Well, actually Patti and Lea are not part of my real name, they are just stage names, you know? Like Patti LuPone and Lea Salonga. Because they are stars. And so am I."

She stumbles across the room, trying to avoid the rubbles in her way, and walks to the unconscious woman who is hanging, without stopping talking. Blaine can't even say a word. Seriously, what the heck-

"I'm terribly sorry", she declares, touching her chest lightly, "we were upstairs rehearsing a play."

"What?!" Blaine finally manages to shriek, shocked.

A play. God, it has always been his dream to perform in and write the music for a play. A real play, with professionals and a stage and lights and an audience applauding and crying and laughing out loud-

"A play, I said! The most stunning and breath-taking you've ever seen. It's called Spectacular Spectacular. It's set in Switzerland!" she announces, eyes shining with wonder.

Blaine stares at her and then at the hanging woman, blinking.

So there's a girl hanging by a rope, because she and the nun - Rachel - were rehearsing a play that is set in Switzerland. Of course. Fine. Not weird at all.

Understanding his confusion, Rachel lowers her voice, covering her mouth as if she was telling the most dangerous of all secrets.

"This is Santana. She's Hispanic." she says, pointing at her with her thumb, "she suffers from rage attacks. At least, with me. If she gets angry, she will probably start yelling something about a place called Lima Heights and then will beat you up until you're unconscious. So, sometimes, well, actually every time I can, I spill in her water some kind of medicine, we can say. A friend, his name is Sandy, gives it to me; he's very reliable, I swear! Even though I really can't stand him most of the time. Anyway, when her heart pace starts getting too fast, the dru- I mean, the medicine, activates and there she is, perfectly ready to beat you up one moment, unconscious the next. I swear I do it for her! Rage isn't good for your body. I've read it. Somewhere" she babbles, without even trying to breathe. And then she breaks up in a laugh.

Blaine's mouth opens and closes, but he isn't able to say a thing. This has to be a dream. It just can't be reality. In real life women don't fall from roofs and people don't give their friends drugs because they get angry easily. Not even in New York.

... Right?

In that moment, two faces spring from the hole: there's an Asian girl with long, black hair, and a black girl with a weird hat on her head.

"How is she?" a guy's voice shouts from upstairs. Blaine can't see him.

"Wonderful! Miss I-Know-It-All is unconscious" the black girl snaps, clearly annoyed, "Now the scenario won't be finished in time to present to Ryerson tomorrow!"

"Rachel, I still have to finish the music!" complains the Asian one, looking as if she's about to start to cry.

"Oh, come on! On Broadway they wouldn't let a thing like that stop the rehearsal! Someone else will read the part." Rachel answers back, moving her hand as if the thing doesn't bother her at all.

"Where on heaven will we find someone to read the part of a ‘young, sensitive, Swiss poet'?" yells the black girl again.

Rachel gazes at Blaine, while he is still staring at the two figures above him. When she taps her shoulder, he looks her back.

From the moment he sees her wide, not-at-all reassuring smile, he knows that this will lead to no good.