Musicians play with infinite
skill. Nothing is lacking, for all are on call in this kingdom.
Every art is represented here. Brilliance is not rare. Nor is
beauty.
Conversation is gay and never ending. Humor of all sorts is
heard. Skits are performed to thunderous applause. Joy and good
cheer abound. Laughter fills the halls again and again.
The dances are spirited, with happy couples moving in perfect
timing with the music of world famous bands.
Pluto looks on the festivities, notes when interest fades,
introduces new diversions, keeps the activity ever moving, ever
exciting.
Yet with his best efforts, at times, the sound of revelry
fades. From out the walls, from beyond the moat, the moans and
lamentations, screams of never-ending pain, weeping. Misery lies
without. And all the charades within the castle walls cannot
disguise that this is, indeed, the abode of the damned. Always,
like a blanket of gloom, reality envelopes that great castle.
And finally, in the early morning hours, the guests are
spirited back to their earthly abodes. The musicians put away
their instruments, the entertainers retreat to their dressing
rooms, the great hall is cleaned, and all who have catered the
festivities return once more to their fated punishment.
Only Pluto remains, seated, dour and melancholy, on the great
throne.
No bright and lilting music, no gay conversation, no happy
laughter masks the lamentations from without.
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