Ah, the carnival season. One of the most beloved times of the year. Days consist of sunshine, wine, and bells of excitement. Parties until dawn and music galore. Most look forward to these moments, but not I. Not anymore. I must not. I can not.
Fifty years ago today, I died during this adored season. This mockery of a wonder filled time. Once again the day comes. The day of which people celebrate their liveliness and joy, oblivious to the pain of the world. My pain.
A beautiful, carnival evening it was when he walked up to me. Dressed was I in my tight-fitting parti-striped ensemble, accompanied by a conical bell adorned hat. Further he ascended toward me.
He approached, excessively warm, and exclaimed with a smile, "My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day! But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."
Amontillado! There was no conceivable way that what Montresor had spoken could be true!
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"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own."
And fools they must be if they fall for such nonsense. My duty shall be to prove them incorrect. All of them. "Come let us go."
Where else? “To your vaults.”
"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchesi" --
Impose? I would be delighted. "I have no engagement; come."
"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted . The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre."
A meager nitre never hurt anyone. "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon; and as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."
The man apparently needed some persuasion, for I grasped his arm, and lead him to his palazzo.
The company for attendants at the Man’s house was oddly scarce. A beautiful home it was to not be filled with tens of workers.
I was handed a flambeaux from one of the wall sconces. It rest upon a single wall belonging to the quiet property. As the two of us dove into the depths of the palazzo, I could not help but to realize how beautiful it was. I was lead through several suites of rooms to an archway that led into the families vaults. We then passed down a long and winding staircase.
He requested for me to be careful as we descended to the catacombs, but I was on the hunt for Amontillado. With no doubt in the universe, would I be careful. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
As we walked, I tuned in to hear the uneven jingle of the bells against my cap. I found myself wondering how much farther away the sweet Amontillado could be. "The pipe?"
"It is farther on," said Montresor; "but observe the white webwork which gleams from these cavern walls."
I did not feel that I could bare it much longer. The depths were getting to me, turning my eyes to filmy orbs of intoxication. "Nitre?" I had finally gathered up the courage and the breath to ask.
"Nitre," He verified. "How long have you had that cough!"
"Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!