[justify]
Wednesday, July 7, 1875
6:30 am.

For all its beauty, the world was ugly.

It was a conclusion Christophe had reached over the years. Yesterday had been a particularly frustrating day at the opera, so after finishing with his work for the day, he had taken a stroll despite the fact that it had quickly been growing dark. Things went on at night that he would rather ignore, but being out later than usual, he hadn't been able to. Walking past and ignoring what all was going on, ignoring the women who hung out near the bars, seeming eagerly ready to defile their bodies like they were less than human and for what? For money. He'd have none of that. He wasn't desperate unlike some other men. He wondered how many of them had wives they could have returned home to instead. He wondered how many of them had even mistresses.

But as the sun rose over the city of Paris, illuminating the buildings and casting shadows against the streets with its golden rays and casting various colors across the sky, it was all supposedly erased, a fresh slate to start over with, and everyone continued on as though there was nothing wrong with the world. The wives of the men he had seen went on, turning the other cheek. The whores counted their money, undoubtedly. And he? He was here, having just woken up from a rather restless sleep. He was disgusted with it all, really. Though he lived in the world, at times like these he felt as though he was merely passing through, waiting for something better to come along, but what was it? By this point he was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to answer that question.

He had already determined that for himself it wasn't religion. Women? He had yet to find one even remotely captivating or worth his time and dedication. From his observations, they were a bunch of gossiping, backstabbing creatures, and while they were nice to look at, their beauty was deceiving. Maybe one day he would be proven wrong, but as of yet, he had not been, so no, women were not the answer. Nor were men. A few were decent companions, but overall, they weren't the answer to any great extent. Sometimes he merely wanted to run away and become a hermit. It was tempting at times. Find himself a piece of land, cultivate it, and once he was able to produce a decent crop, he'd cut himself off from the land. At least it was honest work. But he knew he would go mad without human contact, without laughter, for despite all its ugliness, the world did have some aspects that were far too alluring to give up.

The brooding young man sighed, sitting down on the ledge of the roof, bringing a leg up as he looked out over the city. It was dead, quiet. People were either still sleeping or were in their homes preparing for the day, their boring, repetitive days, so that at the end they could once more drown their "sorrows" in alcohol and a whore before returning home to their already sleeping families. Yes, he was bitter and pessimistic at the moment, but what did it matter? He was here alone. It was early, too early. Hardly anyone had been awake in the men's dormitory when he had awoken and dressed. He hadn't passed but one soul in the halls, but he had avoided all the major passageways that were usually populated during the day. He had headed through the quickest route to the rooftop, and here he sat, seeking solitude before his day had to begin.
[/justify]