it takes a village;
For Beatrice -
Life is for lovers,
But not for you.
I wish I could tell you that this story was one full of buzzing bees, interesting individuals, munchable mangoes and sanguine sunshine. I also wish this was a marvelous tale of how three poor, beleaguered orphans found happiness on an island paradise, where they found their parents waiting for them so they were orphans no longer. Perhaps the eldest would find that she was not actually allergic to peppermints after all, and the youngest would spend her time cooking with her father. There are (in that story) white sand beaches and blue oceans that
stretch as far as the eye can see. Troubles would be solvable in a day, and the magical bookshelf (because the entire world would be a magical one) only gives stories with happy endings.
This is not that story. If it was, Violet Baudelaire would not currently be lying on the floor of her father's study. She would be lying instead in a hammock, sipping a fruity drink with a frilly umbrella in it. It would not be the dead of night, but instead mid-afternoon, the ideal time of day for a nap.
Violet Baudelaire was indeed lying on the floor of her father's study, and it sadly was most certainly the dead of night. It only took her a few moments to stand and get her bearings, padding across barefoot across the hardwood floors. The eldest of the three orphans knew that this was obviously a dream; the house where she and her siblings had spent what could easily be called the best times of their relatively short lives was now only several large pieces of charred wood.
Still, Violet would be hard-pressed to ignore a dream like this. It had been approximately two years, four months, six days, seventeen hours, 4 minutes and three seconds since the last time she'd dreamt something truly good. She pushed open the door to her brother's room, and couldn't stop the way her mouth curved into a smile at the sight.
Klaus Baudelaire's bedroom was a maze of books - all piled neatly, but there was still a definitive path between this stack and that, ending at his bed - where he was currently sleeping. Violet could see nothing except the book resting next to his left hand and his glasses folded on his pillow, but she needed little else then that.
Sunny Baudelaire's room was smaller, and significantly less cluttered. The youngest of the children was about to turn three, and her toddler bed had a chunk missing from where she'd chewed on it with her very strong teeth.
The eldest of the Baudelaire children slipped back into the hallway of the house where she'd had so many good memories, heading to the end of the hall. She had spent hours in her parents' bedroom when she had been very young. Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire were indulgent with their children, always willing to foster more creativity - especially if within eyeshot.
Violet cracked the heavy oak bedroom door, a smile curving on her lips. "Mom? Dad?" She said the words quietly, wishing that this was more then just a dream.
I had mentioned before that this was not that story - the one where the orphans turned out to not be orphans at all, full of sunshine and mangoes and happy endings. Neither, to tell the truth, is it a story of what Violet Baudelaire happens to wish for in her dreams. Violet Baudelaire would soon find out that wishes have a funny habit of being true even before you made them (funny, in this case meaning irreparably tragic.) Perhaps you, too, might take this chance to find those sunny beaches and lazy days instead- I've heard that story may be just down the bookcase to your left.
Violet walked into her parents' bedroom, and she stared at their bed - neatly made, her mother's nightly book on the side table, her father's robe draped over
the footboard. The windows were wide open, the wind picking up in the bluish haze of deep night, tugging at the ends of the satin ribbon tied around her wrist. The fire in the fireplace was long dead and cold.
I'm sorry to say, this is not a happy story.
----
If you had been in Violet's place, you may not have been able to fall asleep on the cold, dusty bed that had belonged to her parents. However, if you were in Violet's place, you likely wouldn't be sleeping at all. You would be kept awake by the future horrors that awaited you. She, on the other hand, has largely accepted the horrible things that happen to her and her siblings; she, where you might not, has learned to adapt. At the moment, there was no indication if Violet had once again adapted, or if she had just collapsed from mental exhaustion. Either way, she was woken by the damp chill that had settled over the bedroom in the night.
She sat up, alone, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"Orphans!" The summons were yelled by someone who Violet could not see, but she expected was Count Olaf. Why he was in their house probably had something to do with why their parents weren't there, she supposed.
"We have to get out of here," said Violet, relatively unconcerned with the fact that she had just woken. Her voice was a whisper, and it was mere seconds before she was on her feet, virtually silent as she crept down the hallway towards her siblings' rooms.
They, too, were sitting up in their beds, eyes wide and frightened. It only took a moment to get Sunny dressed and have Klaus by her side - her hand gripping his as she balanced the weight of her sister on her hip.
"We have to get out of here," Klaus agreed, his hair standing up at all sorts of odd angles.
"Where are we going, Violet?" Sunny asked, her arms wrapped around Violet's neck.
"This-" Violet tried to find the right words. Before she'd woken up on an island, they'd seemed to have no problem articulating themselves, but now that Violet had met the five-year-old version of her sister, things seemed to have changed. Additionally, Violet wasn't quite sure how to answer, because this was home- and home was no longer safe. "We can talk about it later, Sunny." Violet's brows knit as she tried to think of a way out. She couldn't tie up her hair while she gripped Klaus's hand and she didn't even know where to start solving this problem.
There were two ways to get from the second floor of the Baudelaire mansion to the first; she supposed it was far more likely that Count Olaf would be waiting by the grand front staircase. "It's showier," she mumbled to herself, and she shook her head when Klaus raised an eyebrow in question.
It only took a few moments before the Baudelaires planned to once again leave their home by the back stairwell. Violet and Klaus both skipped the fourth step on the second flight because they knew it squeaked, and they both stayed to the sides of the stair treads.
Something had changed in Violet. Maybe it was because of the island, perhaps it was because she was home for the first time in years, but she stopped abruptly - so quickly that Klaus nearly tripped down the stairs.
"What is it?" he asked, squinting up at his sister through his glasses.
"Violet?" Sunny asked, her face pressed against her sister's neck.
"Klaus, take Sunny, and go- out the back garden. Look for-" Justice Strauss. Except that they couldn't, because there was the chance that the judge was dead - burned in the hotel. Even still, even if she wasn't, she'd have to arrest them.
"Look for-" The VFD. They couldn't trust them, and this- Violet didn't want Klaus and Sunny in that life. Not anymore. "- Kit Snicket, alright? Use different names. I'll find you." Kit Snicket was, perhaps, the lesser of a very many evils.
"Violet, we're not leaving you." Violet shook her head at Klaus's protest, and pressed a kiss to Sunny's forehead.
"This is the only way this'll stop, Klaus. I'll find you, I promise." She paused, and then leaned up to kiss her brother's cheek. "I love you." She took a step back, the slick satin ribbon that had been looped around her neck sliding through her fingers so she could tie up her hair. "I need you to keep Sunny safe for me. I'll come find you."
Klaus opened his mouth to protest, but Violet had already turned, mounting the stairs two at a time. She didn't want him here for this- definitely didn't want Sunny in the house. Things had changed. Things always changed.
"There's always something."
----
"Orphans!" Count Olaf's voice rang through the mansion, and his timing couldn't have been more fortuitous (in this case meaning extremely, extremely lucky) because it was exactly when Violet stepped on a squeaky step as she crept down the main staircase.
He was indeed standing at the base of the staircase, his suit covered with what seemed like a thousand eyes, the motif echoed in his cravat pin and in the eyelets of his shoes. Violet shifted her hands behind her as she lifted her chin, her voice carrying through the foyer. "Where are my parents?"
"Where? Oh, my dear Violet, surely you haven't forgotten the tragic death of your parents in a horrible fire?" The smile that curved on his lips dripped with false sympathy.
"No, they didn't. If they did, the house wouldn't be standing." Violet continued to creep closer, her fingers tight on the handle of the pre-pressured nailgun that she'd invented not long before the house burned.
"Oh, logic. Silly girl, haven't you realised that none of this makes sense?" He laughed - a booming, theatrical laugh, before he paused and shook his head before laughing again, this time much more menacing. "Now, where are your bratty brother and sister? I have something for all three of you." He turned away from Violet, the back of his suit covered with just as many eyes as the front.
She pulled out the nailgun, and took the last five steps in a rush, pressing the cold metal against his back. "Don't move."
She could feel him still for just a moment, before he started to laugh. "You threaten me?! Me, the great Count Olaf?!" He turned - moving faster then she realised that he could, one of his hands catching the gun.
He leaned very close to Violet's face, so much that she nearly choked on the smell of his breath. "And now, you've given me all I could ever want."
She didn't realise it was a knife until the white-hot pain made her look down, before she stumbled back and fell onto the grand staircase. VFD was stamped on the handle. Of course VFD is stamped on the handle, Violet thought muzzily as she tried to stop the blood inside her body from finding it's way out. The acronym had seemed to follow them everywhere. She wondered, absurdly, what it stood for this time as she looked up to see Count Olaf standing over her, calmly cleaning his hands with a dirty handkerchief.
---
Violet awoke with a gasp, sitting up as her fingers knotted in the bedsheets. It was only a moment before she scrambled to pull them off, to pull up her shirt to make sure- no. No knife, no scar, no nothing.
It had been a dream.
She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them close as she kept trying to tell herself that it wasn't real. Maybe this was the end of the Baudelaires' story. Perhaps it was, too, the end of the unfortunate events that seemed to follow in their footsteps.
Maybe it is the beginning.
Life is for lovers,
But not for you.
I wish I could tell you that this story was one full of buzzing bees, interesting individuals, munchable mangoes and sanguine sunshine. I also wish this was a marvelous tale of how three poor, beleaguered orphans found happiness on an island paradise, where they found their parents waiting for them so they were orphans no longer. Perhaps the eldest would find that she was not actually allergic to peppermints after all, and the youngest would spend her time cooking with her father. There are (in that story) white sand beaches and blue oceans that
stretch as far as the eye can see. Troubles would be solvable in a day, and the magical bookshelf (because the entire world would be a magical one) only gives stories with happy endings.
This is not that story. If it was, Violet Baudelaire would not currently be lying on the floor of her father's study. She would be lying instead in a hammock, sipping a fruity drink with a frilly umbrella in it. It would not be the dead of night, but instead mid-afternoon, the ideal time of day for a nap.
Violet Baudelaire was indeed lying on the floor of her father's study, and it sadly was most certainly the dead of night. It only took her a few moments to stand and get her bearings, padding across barefoot across the hardwood floors. The eldest of the three orphans knew that this was obviously a dream; the house where she and her siblings had spent what could easily be called the best times of their relatively short lives was now only several large pieces of charred wood.
Still, Violet would be hard-pressed to ignore a dream like this. It had been approximately two years, four months, six days, seventeen hours, 4 minutes and three seconds since the last time she'd dreamt something truly good. She pushed open the door to her brother's room, and couldn't stop the way her mouth curved into a smile at the sight.
Klaus Baudelaire's bedroom was a maze of books - all piled neatly, but there was still a definitive path between this stack and that, ending at his bed - where he was currently sleeping. Violet could see nothing except the book resting next to his left hand and his glasses folded on his pillow, but she needed little else then that.
Sunny Baudelaire's room was smaller, and significantly less cluttered. The youngest of the children was about to turn three, and her toddler bed had a chunk missing from where she'd chewed on it with her very strong teeth.
The eldest of the Baudelaire children slipped back into the hallway of the house where she'd had so many good memories, heading to the end of the hall. She had spent hours in her parents' bedroom when she had been very young. Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire were indulgent with their children, always willing to foster more creativity - especially if within eyeshot.
Violet cracked the heavy oak bedroom door, a smile curving on her lips. "Mom? Dad?" She said the words quietly, wishing that this was more then just a dream.
I had mentioned before that this was not that story - the one where the orphans turned out to not be orphans at all, full of sunshine and mangoes and happy endings. Neither, to tell the truth, is it a story of what Violet Baudelaire happens to wish for in her dreams. Violet Baudelaire would soon find out that wishes have a funny habit of being true even before you made them (funny, in this case meaning irreparably tragic.) Perhaps you, too, might take this chance to find those sunny beaches and lazy days instead- I've heard that story may be just down the bookcase to your left.
Violet walked into her parents' bedroom, and she stared at their bed - neatly made, her mother's nightly book on the side table, her father's robe draped over
the footboard. The windows were wide open, the wind picking up in the bluish haze of deep night, tugging at the ends of the satin ribbon tied around her wrist. The fire in the fireplace was long dead and cold.
I'm sorry to say, this is not a happy story.
----
If you had been in Violet's place, you may not have been able to fall asleep on the cold, dusty bed that had belonged to her parents. However, if you were in Violet's place, you likely wouldn't be sleeping at all. You would be kept awake by the future horrors that awaited you. She, on the other hand, has largely accepted the horrible things that happen to her and her siblings; she, where you might not, has learned to adapt. At the moment, there was no indication if Violet had once again adapted, or if she had just collapsed from mental exhaustion. Either way, she was woken by the damp chill that had settled over the bedroom in the night.
She sat up, alone, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"Orphans!" The summons were yelled by someone who Violet could not see, but she expected was Count Olaf. Why he was in their house probably had something to do with why their parents weren't there, she supposed.
"We have to get out of here," said Violet, relatively unconcerned with the fact that she had just woken. Her voice was a whisper, and it was mere seconds before she was on her feet, virtually silent as she crept down the hallway towards her siblings' rooms.
They, too, were sitting up in their beds, eyes wide and frightened. It only took a moment to get Sunny dressed and have Klaus by her side - her hand gripping his as she balanced the weight of her sister on her hip.
"We have to get out of here," Klaus agreed, his hair standing up at all sorts of odd angles.
"Where are we going, Violet?" Sunny asked, her arms wrapped around Violet's neck.
"This-" Violet tried to find the right words. Before she'd woken up on an island, they'd seemed to have no problem articulating themselves, but now that Violet had met the five-year-old version of her sister, things seemed to have changed. Additionally, Violet wasn't quite sure how to answer, because this was home- and home was no longer safe. "We can talk about it later, Sunny." Violet's brows knit as she tried to think of a way out. She couldn't tie up her hair while she gripped Klaus's hand and she didn't even know where to start solving this problem.
There were two ways to get from the second floor of the Baudelaire mansion to the first; she supposed it was far more likely that Count Olaf would be waiting by the grand front staircase. "It's showier," she mumbled to herself, and she shook her head when Klaus raised an eyebrow in question.
It only took a few moments before the Baudelaires planned to once again leave their home by the back stairwell. Violet and Klaus both skipped the fourth step on the second flight because they knew it squeaked, and they both stayed to the sides of the stair treads.
Something had changed in Violet. Maybe it was because of the island, perhaps it was because she was home for the first time in years, but she stopped abruptly - so quickly that Klaus nearly tripped down the stairs.
"What is it?" he asked, squinting up at his sister through his glasses.
"Violet?" Sunny asked, her face pressed against her sister's neck.
"Klaus, take Sunny, and go- out the back garden. Look for-" Justice Strauss. Except that they couldn't, because there was the chance that the judge was dead - burned in the hotel. Even still, even if she wasn't, she'd have to arrest them.
"Look for-" The VFD. They couldn't trust them, and this- Violet didn't want Klaus and Sunny in that life. Not anymore. "- Kit Snicket, alright? Use different names. I'll find you." Kit Snicket was, perhaps, the lesser of a very many evils.
"Violet, we're not leaving you." Violet shook her head at Klaus's protest, and pressed a kiss to Sunny's forehead.
"This is the only way this'll stop, Klaus. I'll find you, I promise." She paused, and then leaned up to kiss her brother's cheek. "I love you." She took a step back, the slick satin ribbon that had been looped around her neck sliding through her fingers so she could tie up her hair. "I need you to keep Sunny safe for me. I'll come find you."
Klaus opened his mouth to protest, but Violet had already turned, mounting the stairs two at a time. She didn't want him here for this- definitely didn't want Sunny in the house. Things had changed. Things always changed.
"There's always something."
----
"Orphans!" Count Olaf's voice rang through the mansion, and his timing couldn't have been more fortuitous (in this case meaning extremely, extremely lucky) because it was exactly when Violet stepped on a squeaky step as she crept down the main staircase.
He was indeed standing at the base of the staircase, his suit covered with what seemed like a thousand eyes, the motif echoed in his cravat pin and in the eyelets of his shoes. Violet shifted her hands behind her as she lifted her chin, her voice carrying through the foyer. "Where are my parents?"
"Where? Oh, my dear Violet, surely you haven't forgotten the tragic death of your parents in a horrible fire?" The smile that curved on his lips dripped with false sympathy.
"No, they didn't. If they did, the house wouldn't be standing." Violet continued to creep closer, her fingers tight on the handle of the pre-pressured nailgun that she'd invented not long before the house burned.
"Oh, logic. Silly girl, haven't you realised that none of this makes sense?" He laughed - a booming, theatrical laugh, before he paused and shook his head before laughing again, this time much more menacing. "Now, where are your bratty brother and sister? I have something for all three of you." He turned away from Violet, the back of his suit covered with just as many eyes as the front.
She pulled out the nailgun, and took the last five steps in a rush, pressing the cold metal against his back. "Don't move."
She could feel him still for just a moment, before he started to laugh. "You threaten me?! Me, the great Count Olaf?!" He turned - moving faster then she realised that he could, one of his hands catching the gun.
He leaned very close to Violet's face, so much that she nearly choked on the smell of his breath. "And now, you've given me all I could ever want."
She didn't realise it was a knife until the white-hot pain made her look down, before she stumbled back and fell onto the grand staircase. VFD was stamped on the handle. Of course VFD is stamped on the handle, Violet thought muzzily as she tried to stop the blood inside her body from finding it's way out. The acronym had seemed to follow them everywhere. She wondered, absurdly, what it stood for this time as she looked up to see Count Olaf standing over her, calmly cleaning his hands with a dirty handkerchief.
---
Violet awoke with a gasp, sitting up as her fingers knotted in the bedsheets. It was only a moment before she scrambled to pull them off, to pull up her shirt to make sure- no. No knife, no scar, no nothing.
It had been a dream.
She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them close as she kept trying to tell herself that it wasn't real. Maybe this was the end of the Baudelaires' story. Perhaps it was, too, the end of the unfortunate events that seemed to follow in their footsteps.
Maybe it is the beginning.