Sorry about the lack of punctuation on the last chap. I don't know what the deal is, it goes away when I upload. Hope it's not making this hard to read!
He was drunk.
The red and black velvet drapery that surrounded him seemed to sway in an unfelt breeze. He was flat on his back, staring up at the night sky's stars through the glass ceiling, a feature he had been particularly pleased with when he bought the stone and marble mansion two years ago.
He hadn't thought that he would ever enjoy looking at the sky. He always assumed that he was a creature of the underworld; a man whose fate had condemmed him to a lifetime of darkness; a lifetime without the sun.
Even now, with the freedom that hisaquired fortune had afforded him, he felt unworthy of the sunlight. He never entered this room during the day, the self loathing that consumed him was too overpowering to allow him to step into the warmth of the rays.
Instead, he slept during the day and drank at night. It was a life of numbed bliss; a life filled with the sluggishness of the drink and the equally tranquilizing notes that he pounded out of the expensive piano sitting in the middle of the room.
The piano. He dragged himself to his feet, suddenly remembering the instrument. Not that he could ever forget it; it was the one activity that could barely pass for constructive.
Not that tonight would be constructive. He was too far gone. The fifteen or so steps from where he had been laying to the piano proved a challenge; he had fallen twice.
Once he reached the piano he sat unceremoniously at the keys, taking a moment to caress them gently before erupting into a symphony of anguish.
The notes were so powerful, in fact, that tears began to flow freely, spilling down his face and onto the ivory keys, causing his fingers to slip, making the music sound even darker than it already was.
Finally, he stopped, panting and sweating. He stood suddenly, kicking the piano bench backwards and splintering it against a wall.
It was the fourth bench he had broken in the past year.
He leaned on the piano for support, knowing he was on the verge of becoming ill from too much drink. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with.
There were no mirrors within the empty rooms of his mansion, but he briefly caught his reflection in the highly polished black laquer that covered his most prized possession.
Looking back at him, mocking him, was a gleaming white mask that covered the right side of his face.