Later that evening, after the treaty had been signed and all three nations returned home, Roderich found himself to be alone since Elizaveta was forced to return to her own country because of the treaty. He silently walked around his home, never having felt this lonely until now. He then entered the music room and looked to his violin; perhaps some music would be helpful to distract him from his loneliness. He picked up the wooden instrument, set it on his shoulder, and then looked about the room to find some music that seemed fitting. After a moment, his eyes fell upon a piece of music that he decided Elizaveta probably left because the composer was Hungarian. This piece was called "Gloomy Sunday." As he played, the depressing melody started to trigger memories that he would normally keep under wraps. Memories of him and Elizaveta came to mind as he played. They were so pleasant, so wonderful; tears came to his eyes just to remember them. They were memories that he wanted to re-live, but he knew he would never get the chance to again. The tears that welled in his eyes now began to roll down his face as he continued to play this piece of music that both depressed him and entranced him. He started to openly cry as he knew that he would never get his wife back because of the Treaty of Versailles. The marriage that was for political purposes became much more than it should have been, and only he and Hungary knew it. They had fallen in love and had their minds in the world where no one could break them apart. Of course, neither one of them expected the Treaty of Versailles to break them, or even for the treaty to even exist. Once he had finished playing the song, these thoughts drove Roderich to take the sheet music into the bathroom and draw up a warm bath.
Elizaveta had cried the remainder of the day when she returned home to her country. She hated Bushy-Brows, and she hated the wine-freak. Why would they do this to her and Roderich? Why did they have to separate them? This both upset her and infuriated her. It was unfair. She didn't care that it was because of Roderich declaring war on Serbia that World War I had began. For the moment, she didn't even care that Ludwig was being punished for what her husband did. What she cared about was that she had lost the one person she cared so much for and loved with all of her heart. It was then that she began to hear piano notes from her neighbor's house. She got out of bed and went to the window, wanting to be closer to the notes and closer to the memory of her beloved husband. As she listened to the notes, she soon recognized the song as "Gloomy Sunday." It was a song with a reputation in her country, but that didn't matter to her. She had the want to listen to such depressing music. The music made her hold onto the memories of her Austrian. As she listened, she cried again. She hated having their moments together now become nothing more than memories, and now that would be the fate of those times because of stupid England, stupid France, and the even more stupid Treaty of Versailles. She hated it and became even more depressed as she reminded herself that there was nothing she could do about it. When the song ended in the other house, Elizaveta suddenly had an urge. She had the urge to go to the bureau where she kept her war uniform and items, the urge to look into the drawer and remove something from it.
A couple of days later, Ludwig received the divorce papers for Roderich and Elizaveta along with a note from his boss saying to deliver the papers to them. It said that they had tried to deliver them the papers for two days and did not receive a reply. This wasn't much of a surprise to the German since he knew his brother well enough to know that he often procrastinated on work and put that second to music on his priority list. He then took the papers and set off for Austria. When he got to his brother's house, he knocked on the door. "Roderich, it's Ludwig." He noticed that Roderich's mailbox was full of mail from the past two days. This concerned him. Even though the aristocrat procrastinated, he got the mail every day. He knocked on the door again, calling to the Austrian. There was still no response. He turned the doorknob and found that the door was unlocked. Ludwig then entered the house with heavy suspicion. He walked through the house, calling his brother's name as he went. "Roderich? Roderich, where are you? It's Ludwig. I have something for you." He looked through the places Roderich would normally be at, such as the kitchen where he would bake, the music room where he would play, and even his bedroom. He then went to looking through all the other rooms, leaving the bathroom for last unintentionally. Once he had gone through all the rooms and found them empty, it was then that he entered the bathroom and found the hand hanging over the edge of the claw-foot tub with blood slowly dripping from the pale fingertips into a red pool that had formed on the white tile floor. Ludwig set the papers down and went over to the side of the tub. What he saw shocked him. There lay his brother in a bathtub filled with red water. The right arm had three slits going up from the wrist to the crook of his elbow; this was the hand that dripped blood onto the white tiles. The left arm had these same three lines, except these had music notes carved into the skin. At first, the German did not understand the meaning behind the carvings until he noticed the sheet music that lay on a chair next to the tub along with a bloody straight razor. The title was "Gloomy Sunday," a song that he did not recognize. He also found that the sheet had a message written on it in blood. Until death do us part. The blue eyes widened at the words, and for some reason he was starting to tell himself that no, his brother was not dead; he didn't just commit suicide. Not caring that he would have blood on him, he brought an arm under the pale body and brought him up into a sitting position. The Austrian's head flopped down to his chest; his skin felt cool to the touch. That meant that he had been there for a little bit, maybe even a day or two. Tears stung at the German's eyes as he lowered the body back into the watery grave that it had placed itself in. His brother was indeed dead, and he had indeed killed himself with a razor blade. How he had the willpower to do so was beyond the comprehension of the younger nation. However, he now had to get to Hungary to tell Elizaveta the news and then return home to report the suicide.
Thoughts of the scene he had just found circled his mind as the German went to Elizaveta's place. So many questions that would forever be left unanswered also came to mind. Why did Roderich do it? What gave him the motivation to slit open his veins and let his life drain out of him? It was so uncharacteristic of him; it worried Ludwig deeply, unless he was secretly depressed without the German being aware. He had heard of depressed people often hiding the fact that they are depressed or suicidal. He decided this to be the most reasonable explanation to his brother's unreasonable death. He arrived at the Hungarian's home and knocked. "Elizaveta, it's Ludwig. I have something to give you and news for you." There was no response. Just as at Roderich's house, no footsteps or voices were heard from the other side of the door. He grew suspicious again. He silently hoped that Elizaveta had not gone down the same road as her husband. He kicked the door down and immediately went into the bathroom, praying that she didn't do the same thing that he did. He sighed with relief when he saw that the bathroom had no one in it and was perfectly clean. He then checked the rest of the house in search of the now widow. He called her name as he went. "Elizaveta? Elizaveta! Where are you?" The last place he checked was the bedroom. When he opened the door to the room, he found her sitting on the floor with her legs splayed in front of her and her back to the wall. As he stepped inside the room, his eyes widened again. The woman's chin was on her shoulder and she looked like she was sleeping. However, she had a bullet hole in her left temple and a splatter of blood and brains going across the wall. With shaky legs, Ludwig stepped closer and noticed that a gun was in her left hand. He trembled and dropped to his knees, pressing his fingers to her throat with a slim hope that she was actually sleeping and not dead. Her pulse could not be found, and her skin was also cool to the touch. His blue eyes looked to the wall where blood and brains had splattered and dripped to the floor. He pressed his hand to the splatter and found that the scarlet liquid had dried onto the wall, as if paint had simply been thrown onto the wall. He brought both hands down, and one of them landed on paper. He looked down to see a note that Elizaveta had also written. Until death do us part. Nobody mentioned war. Ludwig bit his lip and then stood up. This was also uncharacteristic of her. What on earth was going on? He sighed, knowing that now he had to report back home with divorce papers and two reports of suicide. As he left, the notes of "Gloomy Sunday" began to drift from the neighbor's house, as if trying to follow the German and entrance him like it did the other two.
(There you have it. This story combines both ending of World War I along with the legend of the song, "Gloomy Sunday." The story begins with a Hungarian composer named Rezso Seress. He works as a composer in Paris, France. In December of 1932, Seress kept trying to make a living as a composer and kept failing miserably because the French music publishers were unimpressed with his works. Still, he continued on. He wanted to become internationally known as a song writer, but his girlfriend kept saying that it was an insecure job and kept pressuring him into getting a 9 to 5 job like everyone else. Of course, he persisted with song writing and ignored the pressure. One Sunday afternoon, Seress and his girlfriend argued to the point where she was tired of being with him and left him. When she left, he began to play his feelings out on the piano. The sound he ended up producing was one of deep melancholy for the bad weather outside and the loss of his girlfriend. This inspired him to take an old postcard and write down what he played. Thirty minutes later, "Gloomy Sunday" was born. He took the song to one publisher that turned him down because they didn't like how depressing it sounded. He took it to another publisher, and they accepted his piece. It was soon published and sent all over the world. However, it also became what they called a "suicide song." People that either heard the song or played it would commit suicide soon after. One of these people was Seress's girlfriend, who was found dead in her room with the sheet music to "Gloomy Sunday" in her hand. Cause of death? She had poisoned herself. The legend still lives on about people committing suicide after hearing the song. Well, I've heard the song several times, and yet I am still alive. I was inspired by it to write this story. Although the years are off by a lot, it still makes for an excellent story.)