Nothing Good Starts In A Getaway Car

by vanderlindemorgan

Summary:

After the trial is revealed to be rigged, Violet Baudelaire becomes separated from her siblings in the Hotel Denouement fire, and she soon realises the only way to escape is with Count Olaf in his car.

Chapter 1

It had come as a shock when Violet had heard the noise of muffled grunting. She felt a wave of dread overcome her as she heard the sound of someone being hauled away. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. She grasped her hands together tightly, wishing she could take her blindfold off and see what was going on, but even though she couldn't see a thing, she knew that whatever was happening, it couldn't be good, and that it almost certainly involved Count Olaf.

"Justice Strauss?!" she called out, hoping to hear some sort of reply, anything to put her mind at ease. Instead, the response she got sent chills through her body. "Justice Strauss cannot reply right now, she's concentrating very deeply on this case" a voice rang out from high above, a voice that made her blood run cold. She recognised that voice from when she was on Mount Fraught, and she had hoped to never hear or see the owner of it again. 

She looked towards her brother, Klaus, hoping he had the same realisation as her. "That voice sounds familiar" she heard him say, the distress evident in his voice. "We have to look" she replied, her fingers already trailing along the edge of the silk blindfold. "If we look, we'll be in contempt of the court" Klaus protested.

"Maybe this court deserves our contempt" Violet retorted, removing the blindfold and tossing it to the side. Her siblings followed suit, and they turned their attention towards the origin of the voices. Violet could her heart beating faster as she looked up and saw her suspicions were confirmed: The Man with A Beard But No Hair and The Woman with Hair But No Beard were gazing down upon them from their position as High Court Judges.

She felt her breath stick in her throat as the realisation dawned on her - the trial was rigged from the start. No wonder Count Olaf was unperturbed by being put on trial, he knew that he wouldn't be convicted no matter what the Baudelaires said. At this point, Violet couldn't even pretend to be shocked at the dastardly turn of events - it was par for the course. Maybe they would be on the run for the rest of their lives, having to constantly evade Count Olaf and his devious schemes. 

"The Baudelaire's have taken off their blindfolds! They are guilty of contempt of court!" The Woman with Hair But No Beard announced. "This court is worthless and dishonorable!" Klaus shouted, his eyes furious and incensed. "Two of those judges are working with Count Olaf!" Violet screamed, looking around the room, pleading for anybody to listen. 

"That's absurd! Justice Strauss can tell you we've served with her on the High Court for many years" The Man with A Beard But No Hair said, glaring at them. "Well, she can't tell you now, because she's just taken a vow of silence". The Baudelaires looked down towards the elevator to see Count Olaf, hauling Justice Strauss off into the hotel elevator, holding a harpoon gun to her throat. "Everyone! Take off your blindfolds, Count Olaf has kidnapped Justice Strauss!" Violet cried out, holding onto a sliver of hope that maybe, for once, somebody will just listen.

"Those brats are liars!" Esme Squalor called out, and the room descended into utter chaos. Some people came to their defence, others believed them to be dirty liars and criminals. Nobody, however, removed their blindfolds. 

Violet looked around, trying to wrestle the feeling of rising panic within her. She saw Count Olaf, still fumbling with the elevator buttons, and without thinking, made a break towards him. She could hear her brother and sister call out to her, probably wondering what possessed her to chase after Count Olaf all on her own. Somehow, she managed to slip through the closing elevator doors and into the carriage. Olaf stared at her, still holding the harpoon gun to Justice Strauss' throat. "Going down, Baudelaire?" he sneered. "I'm going wherever you're going". He merely grunted in response. "Another hostage? Fine, I can work with that. I'm going to the laundry room".

 

Before she could respond to him, she felt the carriage shake as the elevator started to move. Only now realising she left her siblings behind, Violet glanced towards the elevator doors helplessly. What had she done? She ran off without them, abandoned them in the hotel lobby and was now stuck in an elevator as a hostage for a notorious villain. Olaf noticed her alarmed expression and smirked, seemingly pleased with her distress. The elevator came to a stop as the dial signalled their arrival to the laundry room. The doors opened, and Olaf pushed both of them out into the dim hallway. "I have to retrieve the Sugar Bowl, then I'm going back up to the roof to retrieve the Medusoid Mycelium. I'll poison everyone in this godforsaken hotel, and make my escape. And now that I have a Baudelaire as my hostage, I can secure my fortune as well" he proclaimed, pushing them both towards the looming door at the end of the hall. Violet almost felt the need to protest and say that the Baudelaire fortune would never be his, but after seeing the dastardly glint in his eyes decided against it. 

"You can't retrieve the Sugar Bowl without decoding the lock" she murmured. Olaf smiled wickedly at her, pulling Justice Strauss forward. "And that, dear Violet, is where she comes in". Pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket, he untied the strip of fabric around Justice Strauss' mouth. "I found these clues on that waiter I boiled, and I'm sure the answers lie within that black book of yours" Olaf sneered, shooting a devious grin at the Justice. "I'll never tell you! Violet, please, help me overpower this villain!" Justice Strauss cried, staring straight down at the harpoon gun pointed at her neck.

"Don't bother pleading, the other High Court judges are on my side of the Schism. Now, help me open the damn lock. The first clue is 'the medical condition which all three Baudelaires share'" he said, reading off the small scrap of paper in his hands. 

"Peppermint allergy" Violet gulped.

Count Olaf and Justice Strauss both shot her a confused look, before a wicked grin broke out across his face. "Well, well, little Violet Baudelaire has decided to be cooperative for once" Olaf smiled smugly at her, before pushing her down towards the coded lock. "Violet, what are you doing?!" Justice Strauss called out, causing Olaf to press the gun harder against her neck. "Every noble person has failed us. Why should I protect the Sugar Bowl?" Violet spat back, punching in the letters on the small keypad. She heard a small click as part of the lock became undone, before being shoved out of the way. "I know this next one - the weapon that left me an orphan" he growled, typing in the phrase 'Poison Dart' into the small keypad.

"The third clue is the famous unfathomable question in the best known novel by Richard Wright" Olaf announced, rolling his eyes at the volunteers' incessant use of literary references. Violet paused, remembering when Klaus had come to her after he finished reading that book so many years ago. "That's an interesting question..." she mused, before being struck across the face by Olaf. "No one cares, just type it in!" he shouted. Violet turned back towards the lock and typed in the final answer, watching as the light on the lock turned green and the door opened. Olaf sauntered in, pulling Justice Strauss along with him, expecting to see the Sugar Bowl sitting right in front of him. Instead there was a large basket of laundry positioned right under a large open vent. 

"The Sugar Bowl isn't even here!" Violet shouted, watching him rifle through the sheets of laundry sitting under the vent. "The vent doesn't lead to the laundry room, the lock was a decoy!". "Then where is it?" Olaf growled, skulking back towards her. "That secret died with Dewey Denouement" she countered, feeling his eyes bore into her. Olaf glowered at her, almost looking as if he was about to strike her again when he spotted something else out the corner of his eye. Smiling wickedly, he released Justice Strauss from his grip, moving towards a small cart of laundry detergent and other flammable liquid.

"Then I guess he won't be the only volunteer to die today" he laughed, snatching the bottles up in his arms and unscrewing the lids. He dumped the chemicals over the sheets, tossing aside the bottles when he was done. "If I can't get what I want, then nobody else will. Those volunteers never thought I was noble enough, and those judges never thought me to be villainous enough. Well, I'll get my revenge on all of them, and volunteers and villains alike will perish in anguish!" he cursed, producing a small lighter from his pocket. Striding forward, he pried The Incomplete History of Injustice from Justice Strauss' hands and tossed it in the laundry basket. 

 

"How do you even plan on escaping?" Violet asked, feeling a sense of dread as she watched Olaf flick the lighter on and chuck it into the hamper, the sheets igniting instantly. The fire raged, quickly burning through the basket and spreading. "I'll think of something" Olaf snarled, hooking his hand onto the collar of her dress. "Whatever I think of, I know one thing: you're coming with me".

Violet's eyes widened in shock as she pushed him away from her. "I'll never ever go with you" she said coldly. Olaf laughed at her, holding the harpoon gun to his side. "And where else would you go? The hotel will be up in flames in moments. Face it, orphan, I'm your best option" he chortled, motioning his hand towards the ever growing flames. She looked back at Justice Strauss, who stared at her with kind eyes, almost begging for her to come with her. If she went with Justice Strauss, she might be safe. But Justice Strauss had fallen prey to villainy before, and no matter how hard she tried she had failed to protect her and her siblings from Olaf's perfidy. She couldn't run on her own, and spend the rest of her life evading Count Olaf. Maybe he was right. Maybe he really was her best option of escaping. 

Violet sighed, shuffling over towards Count Olaf, his lips curling into a devilish grin. Wrapping a hand around her waist, Olaf guided her towards the hotel elevator, ignoring Justice Strauss' protests in the background. He pressed the button for the lobby and watched as the doors closed, the embers of fire already spilling down the hall towards them. He couldn't believe his luck - he may not have the Sugar Bowl, but he still had a Baudelaire, the eldest one at that. The fortune was as good as his. 

Violet closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but there. She wanted to move his hand off her waist but thought there was no use, as he'd probably threaten her with the harpoon gun or much worse. She’d spent so long on the run, trying to find the answers to her questions and a safe place for her siblings to grow up away from Count Olaf, and she was tired of it. Being noble had failed her siblings and her time and time again, people who claimed to have their best interests in mind fell victim to inattention and villainous schemes, and treachery had followed them wherever they went. Accused of murder, on the run, labelled as arsonists, at this point she just wanted to be able to breathe. Was that really too much to ask?

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the chaos that had descended in the lobby. Nobody had bothered to remove their blindfolds still, and people were either arguing with each other or wandering aimlessly. Olaf snickered. This would be easier than he thought. He strode out of the elevator, with Violet Baudelaire clinging to his side when he was suddenly apprehended by the two remaining Baudelaire siblings. "Violet!" Klaus cried, moving himself in front of Count Olaf. Olaf moved the harpoon gun to Violet's throat, causing her face to grow pale. "Step any closer and your sister gets a harpoon to the neck" he threatened.

Klaus looked at the two of them, a worried look filling his eyes. "Klaus, you need to go. Count Olaf has set fire to the Hotel Denouement and it's spreading quickly. Take Sunny and go!" Violet begged. Klaus' eyes darted between the two of them, beginning to tear up. "No! I'm not leaving without you!" he objected, trying to push forward but finding himself shoved back by Olaf. "You should listen to your sister, orphan. Now get out of the way before I decide to stick this harpoon in her neck".

Klaus looked at his sister for guidance, almost wanting her to suddenly break free so they could run far away for the fire and Count Olaf. He winced, an expression of agony settling on his young features. Violet simply looked back at him with a weak smile, her voice small and soft. "Go. I'll be fine". Klaus blinked slowly, trying to fight back his tears, and nodded, picking up Sunny and dashing off. He decided to try and alert the other patrons of the fire, save as many lives as he could, though he wasn't sure how many would believe him, since all of them refused to listen to their earlier cries. He wanted nothing more than to wrangle his sister from Olaf's clutches and run far away, but sadly, being a thirteen year old boy meant he didn't have the strength to physically confront Olaf on his own, and so was forced to retreat.

 

Violet stared back at him disappearing into the crowd, her mouth gaping as she was trying to swallow her anguished cries. Olaf pulled her along through the lobby, moving the harpoon gun away from her neck allowing her to breathe a bit easier. They made their way through the crowd, nobody bothering to stop them in the confusion and chaos. In fact, they were almost out the door entirely before the Man With A Beard But No Hair and the Woman With Hair But No Beard appeared in their path. "A fire? Olaf, you're finally thinking big!" The Man commended. 

"The Baudelaires are lying, trying to trick everyone. You should stay exactly as you are, right here in this hotel" Olaf countered, lying through his teeth. 

"Typical Olaf, and here I thought you weren't a waste of potential after all" The Woman tutted, looking at him with great disapproval. "After all we did to try to set a bad example for you, and this is how you repay us?" The Man asked. 

"Trust me, I've got what I wanted" Olaf grumbled, reaching into her pocket and snatching a set of keys. "I'll be taking my car back, thank you" he muttered, moving Violet along with him out the set of glass doors, his mentors staring back at him in disappointment. Smoke had already begun to fill the lobby as the fire raged on, creeping further and further up the side of the building. Violet stole one last glance at the lobby, wanting to call out for her siblings but knowing they wouldn't hear her in the chaos. She felt herself being shoved into a black car, detesting her current circumstances leading her to being placed back into the hands of the one person she sought to evade. Olaf slammed the door shut behind her as he moved to the driver's seat, setting the harpoon gun aside next to him and jamming the key into the ignition. "You decided you couldn't run anymore so you chose to come with me. How fitting" he remarked, starting the car.

Violet looked out the window at the burning hotel, tears streaming down her face as they peeled out of the hotel grounds and onto the highway. She thought of her siblings, wondering if they had managed to leave the building in time. She wondered about the rest of the patrons, hoping they'd escaped in time too. But most importantly, she wondered how her life would turn out, now that she had willingly gone with Count Olaf. Violet knew he wouldn't kill her, not until he got a hold of the Baudelaire fortune, but she still shivered thinking of what else he could do. Her mind flashed back to the time he tried to marry her, and how his hands had trailed along her jaw. "You're such a lovely girl, after the wedding I wouldn't dispose of you like your brother and sister" . Violet shook her head, trying to force the memory from her mind. There was no use speculating on what could happen. All she could do was hope that her siblings were safe, and that Count Olaf may have some mercy on her. 

She peered out the window towards the rearview mirror, reflecting the hotel growing distant as they drove off into the unknown. The fire had engulfed the entire building now, standing as a beacon to any other volunteers in the area, to let them know that the Last Safe place was no longer safe. She stared until the hotel had become a blip in the distance. Violet shuffled in her seat, her arms reaching around her legs, cradling herself in a fetal position. She ignored Olaf's smirks as she softly cried into her knees. She had left her siblings alone in a burning building, with no way of knowing if they'd survive. By god, what had she done?

Notes:

I hope this reads ok lmao

please validate me

Chapter 2

The drive along the dirty roads of the city was long and largely uneventful. For the most part, Violet didn’t mind, choosing to mostly gaze out the window, lost in her thoughts. She barely registered her surroundings, and if it wasn’t for the musty smell of the car, she could have closed her eyes and pretended to be somewhere else - in the trolley with her siblings and parents, on their way to Briny Beach. She could pretend to have a family, and be happy. 

The car was as wretched as the last time she had been in it - several empty bottles of various alcoholic substances littered the floor below her, and the windows were dusty and in desperate need of a wash. Part of the seat covering was ripped and scruffed, though she didn’t take much notice of it now. Strangely enough, she didn’t mind the filth and squalor. Maybe at this point she was just used to being in less-than luxurious settings, and Violet knew she’d much rather be in Count Olaf’s car than wandering through the dark and grimy city like a lost puppy. And although the ride was long and boring she wasn’t exactly looking to be entertained or distracted - in fact, she felt that she didn’t have the right to be distracted. She had willingly left the Hotel Denouement with Count Olaf, abandoning her siblings in a time of peril. Even if he had shoved her roughly into the passenger seat, it was her decision fully to leave with him. Where else would you have gone? she thought, her eyes lost in a daze. Violet shut her eyes and shook her head, wanting to block out the thoughts from her mind. There was no justifying what she did. No matter what way you cut it, it still made Violet look absolutely terrible. A certain possibility kept toiling in the back of her mind, playing over and over to taunt her. What if Sunny and Klaus had never made it out in time?

 

After a while of continued silence from her, Olaf had ceased his bragging and general obnoxiousness and had driven in silence. Violet eventually began to recognise several familiar landmarks from a lifetime ago - 667 Dark Avenue, the Fickle Fountain, and finally, the burnt remains of the Baudelaire mansion. She was almost surprised that the wreckage hadn’t been cleared away after all this time, though she figured that since nobody was able to manage the estate currently that the property would remain like that, the charred debris forever holding the memories of a childhood she’d never get back. For the first time ever, she didn’t cry upon seeing the wreckage of what was once her home. It had only been a few months since the fire but it felt like an eternity to Violet.

The memories she had of those happier times became more and more hazy as she grew further and further disconnected from them. She remembered her parents, and the promise she had made to her mother. Violet, you’re the oldest, so you must always look out for your siblings. Will you do that, for us? She sighed, turning her head away from the window. If there was an afterlife, her parents were almost certainly looking down on her in shame. 

At last, the car had turned into a familiar street, much to her dread. She stole a brief glance at Justice Strauss’ bright and well-loved home, knowing that it would quite possibly remain empty for many months to come. “Hurry up, orphan!” Olaf growled, yanking her out of the passenger seat and breaking her train of thought. She felt herself being pushed up the front steps into the Count’s dilapidated manor, thinking back to the last time she had stepped foot in that horrid place. She’d been a wide-eyed innocent girl, still grieving for her parents, still hopeful that things could get better. Now, she stepped inside, a shadow of who she used to be. Among the numerous other counts of questionable behaviour she had to partake in to ensure her survival, she had failed at the one thing she had always resolved to do. And that had stung more than any dark deed she might have committed.

Olaf followed close behind her, slamming the door shut with such a force that the entire house rattled. Violet felt herself jump slightly in response, a reaction she didn’t expect herself to have. Shouldn’t she be used to such things by now?

Violet stared up at him, her voice stuck in her throat. A thousand different things she wanted to say to him crossed her mind but she couldn’t find the strength to verbalise them. The way he loomed over her small stature didn’t frighten her nearly as much as it had when they first met. She had grown accustomed to his constant presence in her life, and subconsciously felt herself relax towards certain things he did. Still, that didn’t make the position she had placed herself in anymore pleasurable. Olaf looked at her briefly, his lips curled into his trademark villainous smirk, before he pushed past her, heading for the staircase. She blinked slowly, surprised at his dismissal of her, and asked in a small voice “So...what should I do now?”. Violet felt silly for asking, as the answer would probably either be him ordering her to clean something, or mercifully instructing her to stay in her room.

Olaf grunted, stopping himself on the landing to glower down at her. “Go to your room or something, and don’t leave unless I tell you to” he muttered, waving her away before disappearing upstairs. Violet didn’t hesitate to follow his orders - after all, it was better to keep Olaf content rather than have him be raging mad at her. She climbed the stairs, finding herself moving towards the attic room her siblings and her shared during their brief stay under Olaf’s guardianship. It felt so long ago at that point - they couldn’t have been with him for more than two weeks or so.  She traced her hands against the peeling wallpaper, guiding herself. When she finally found herself in the attic, she found it hadn’t changed a bit since she last saw it. The hammock Klaus had slept in was still tied against the rafters, and the covers were peeled back on the small cramped bed. At least this time she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about taking the only bed.

She sat herself down, the bed creaking under her weight. It was amazing the thing hadn’t collapsed during their initial stay. Violet removed her shoes and socks, placing them neatly against the foot of the bed. With not much else to do, she figured she would just go to bed and try to forget about the day's dismal events. Momentarily she considered removing her dress, not wanting to fall asleep in her clothes, but after remembering Olaf’s penchant for barging into rooms unannounced she decided against it.

Grabbing onto the threadbare blanket, she rested her head on the worn out pillow and closed her eyes, trying not to let her mind wander to memories of Klaus and Sunny. She thought back to how the hotel had looked in the distance, the entire building engulfed in bright red embers, smoke billowing into the clouds. At least she hadn’t aided in this one - not like she had at Caligari Carnival. She still shuddered remembering the feeling of Olaf’s hands against hers, guiding her torch towards the well-worn copy of The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations. If she knew that he had already seen through their disguises long before, she would have spat in his face and ran away, Klaus and Sunny in tow. She had felt disgusted with herself at the time for committing such a heinous act, but now, when she thought about it, it seemed trivial in comparison to the misery she had experienced. So what if she had burned down a carnival - as far as she knew nobody was killed in the blaze. She did it to protect herself and what remained of her small family. What she did at the hotel was no different, right?

 

Her eyes began to become heavy as she drifted off into sleep. The room was cold and dark, and the temperature worsened throughout the night. She woke up at several different points, finding herself shivering every time. With no clock, she had no way of telling the time everytime she awoke, though from a quick peek outside the window she could tell it was late - the sun had disappeared, replaced by the glowing light of the moon. The night was still and quiet, the silence being occasionally punctured by the sound of a car speeding down the small suburban street. 

At some point she must have finally fallen into a deep sleep for when she next awoke it was to the sound of banging on the attic door. Violet blinked slowly, her eyes bleary from the lack of proper sleep. “Wake up!” she heard Count Olaf’s voice boom, shaking her from her groggy state. Slowly, she lifted herself off the bed and opened the door. “Get me a coffee, orphan, and while your at it fetch the morning paper” he commanded, turning on his heel down the small hallway. Violet obeyed him, setting out towards the kitchen. She grabbed the kettle from its resting place on the counter and filled it with water, lighting the stove with a box of matches she found tossed carelessly into a drawer.

She wasn’t shocked in the least that he was practically ordering her around like a maid. She thought back to when she was in his care the first time and how many difficult chores he forced her to endure. She shuddered at the revelation that she’d have to continue doing such things for him but without the added help of her brother and sister. Violet finished the coffee and brought it to Olaf in the dining room. He didn’t bother to face her, and only acknowledged her with a small “thanks” muttered under his breath. It was so unlike him to be polite in any capacity, but she didn’t bother to push it and was instead grateful for his rare display of gratitude. 

Violet hurried out of the room after that, eager to make good on his second request to avoid any sort of punishment or menacing. She turned the lock to the front door and pulled it open, streams of morning light flooding in around her. Spotting the paper, she scooped it up in her arm and closed the door. She hadn’t wanted to but she caught a glimpse of the front page headline and her heart sank. Fire breaks out at the Hotel Denouement, 10 confirmed dead . She folded out the paper, scanning the page until she found what she was looking for: the names of the deceased. Frank Denouement, Ernest Denouement, Carmelita Spats, Jerome Squalor, a couple of other names she didn’t recognise and Justice Strauss. Finally, she reached the names that she had prayed wouldn’t be there, but she knew all too well would.

Klaus Baudelaire and Sunny Baudelaire .

She stumbled on her feet, her throat feeling tight and closed. The room around her began to feel distorted, so strange and so wrong. She read the page over and over to see if she had read it right, to see if by some divine intervention the page would change to say “Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire survive the Hotel Denouement fire”. Violet choked out a soft cry as tears began to fall from her blue eyes, covering her burning face like a blanket. She could hear Olaf calling out to her in the background but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered now. Not a single goddamn thing mattered now. 

In her haze she managed to stumble over to a chair resting by the door, crashing onto it. The same thought ran through her mind on repeat as if it was trying to torture her. Your siblings are dead. You left them, and now they’re dead . It almost didn’t seem real - at least when her parents perished, she still had Klaus and Sunny to grieve with and help her through. This time, she was truly alone. She was the last surviving Baudelaire.

“I thought I told you to get the paper!” Olaf shouted, tearing through the room towards her. He stopped slightly when he saw the shattered look on her face, observing her from a few feet away. Violet looked up at him, her eyes burning with hate and grief. She shoved the paper to his chest and thrust past him, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. Running up the stairs, she had anticipated for him to scream after her or try to stop her, but he didn’t. If anything, she was glad to be left alone. It was her worst nightmare come true - she was all alone in the world now, no family left, everyone who ever tried to help her ending up dead or abandoning her. Maybe it was what she deserved. After all, she didn’t exactly do anything to stop the hotel fire. She had helped Count Olaf access the laundry room in the first place. And she failed at the last promise she made to her parents.

Once she reached the small attic room, Violet slammed the door shut and pushed the rickety bed in front of it. She was not in the mood for doing anymore chores for Count Olaf, and certainly didn’t want to be badgered by him. Once she was satisfied with her small barricade, she flopped into the hammock and buried her face into the folds of fabric, not even trying to stop the cascade of tears flowing from her eyes. Klaus and Sunny were gone, and it was her fault, and there was nothing she could do. It should have been me...it should have been me! Memories flashed across her mind from before the fire, when she had a proper family. They all had a certain gleam to them, a coat of metaphorical bright paint to signify how distant and faint that part of her life was. She could remember Klaus rushing to tell her about a book he had just finished reading, and how Sunny used to go through her teething rings so quickly. She remembered how they all used to go to the Fickle Fountain for picnics, Klaus often stopping in his favourite bookstore on the way and Violet picking up some oil and soldering irons for her inventions. Their life had changed dramatically since the untimely death of their parents but they stayed strong because they had each other. If it wasn’t for them, and the ever present plots of villainy by Count Olaf to steal their fortune, she would have probably dissolved into a tearful mess with severe survivors guilt. Without them now, she couldn’t even be sure that she wouldn’t become catatonic and consumed by grief.

Even if she wasn’t the one who started the hotel fire, she didn’t do anything to stop it, and would be forever plagued by the fact that her brother and sister would be alive and well if it wasn’t for her. If only she had pulled free from Count Olaf’s grasp, or let them come with her, if she had done literally anything else she’d be able to rest a bit easier. Instead, she had told them to leave, insisting that she’d be fine and that everything would be ok. She deserved to be stuck in this miserable house, playing maid to the man who tried to kill her. If there was any way she could atone for her sins properly she would, but she supposed being a slave to Count Olaf was as good as she was gonna get. Violet sobbed into the hammock, feeling the weight of her choices heavy on her shoulders. She had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. 

Notes:

and another chapter done! i'll try to update this weekly if i can.

can't help but feel this chapter is a bit short but eh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 3

Olaf had left her alone for the rest of the day to her relief. As the day wore on and the afternoon sun shone through the dirty windows, she could hear the sound of a piano playing somewhere. Part of her wondered if it was Olaf playing - after all, who else would have created the score for all of his shows? Nevertheless, the melancholic echoes added the perfect soundtrack to her agony, the notes waxing and waning through the air distantly. Her mind hadn’t stopped racing since reading that headline, endless waves of guilt washing over her like a stormy sea crashing against a mountain of sharp rocks. Klaus and Sunny are dead...and it’s my fault. I let him into the laundry. If he hadn’t gotten in, he wouldn’t have started the fire, and they’d be alive and it all started with me! Clutching her hands close to her chest, she choked out a sob as her forehead started to throb with a dull ache. She must be dehydrated from crying so much. She’d go get water eventually, when she was forced to. Until then, she’d stay exactly where she was, curled up into the hammock deep in grief.

It was later on when Violet finally managed to uncurl herself from the ball she had wrapped herself in. Stepping out of the hammock, she scuffed her feet against the filthy floor, her mind almost completely disconnected from her body. Her body was pretty much on autopilot at this point. Moving the bed away from its new position in front of the door, she opened the door slightly and drifted out of the room. It was dark at that point, and hunger was forcing her out of her confines. She didn't bother to turn on any of the lights, figuring it would be best if she could just move in and out as fast as possible. If she moved quietly, she’d probably be able to avoid Olaf too, and maybe be able to root through his kitchen and find something edible. 

 

Her footsteps were silent and calculated, careful not to hit any of the spots in the floor that would cause creaks and alert him of her movement. Peering down the small staircase, she saw the second floor to be void of any human activity. If she had to guess where Olaf would be, it would probably be in his ominous tower room. Sneaking slowly, she descended down the stairwell and into the kitchen, the still silent air hanging around her. Rooting through the pantry, she came across a box of assorted pastas. Sighing, Violet pulled the box out and turned it over in her hands. This would have to do, she thought. She checked back to see if there was any sauce she could make with it but found nothing. Violet set the box on the table and went about finding a pot to cook it in. She found one in one of the counter cupboards and filled it up with water, striking a match and lighting the highly temperamental gas stove.

The pasta cooked quickly enough, and with some butter Violet had found in the fridge managed to be a satisfactory meal. She chose to seclude herself in the kitchen, pulling up one of the bar stools to eat at the counter. Sitting in complete silence, she once again speculated where exactly Olaf could be. She’d been left to her own devices all day, something unexpected and wholeheartedly welcome to her. Looking down at her bowl, Violet thought of Sunny. If she was here she would have no doubt been able to cook up something far better than she had. Despite being a toddler, it was obvious to anyone that Sunny was going to grow up to be an accomplished chef in the culinary arts. 

Was going to grow up . She stopped herself, a lump forming in her throat. Sunny would never get the chance to grow up now. Now that she was - Violet shook her head. No, she wouldn’t allow herself. She couldn’t cry again. Finishing up her pasta, she dumped the dish into the sink and retreated back up to the attic room, fighting back tears and wishing to forget the day entirely. 

The next few days had more or less followed the same pattern - Violet would do the bare minimum of chores Olaf had asked of her, bringing him coffee every morning and keeping the kitchen in order, gleamingly clean as to his request. She figured she had her work cut out for her, but still found the task to be mindnumbing enough to distract her from her thoughts. Other than that they had largely avoided each other. Violet occupied herself by wandering the manor forlornly like a lost soul. Once or twice she had tried to sit herself down in his library and peruse through some of the books there but the minute she picked one up she thought of Klaus and how passionate he had been in library sciences, causing her eyes to mist over and whatever book she was holding to fall from her grasp as she dug her fingers into her arms, her knuckles turning white with the amount of pressure as she rocked herself forward. 

Violet had stayed mostly inside the house, though sometimes she would sit out in the back garden, staring blankly at the overgrown vines and ivy. The front door had remained locked the entire time. She thought it was odd Olaf wasn’t keeping a closer eye on her, but thinking back to what he said at the hotel, it all made sense. He thinks I have nowhere else to go, so I won’t even bother trying to escape . And he was right. Whether she liked it or not, this manor was her home for the foreseeable future, and she’d have to make the most of it.

 

A few days had passed, and Violet found it increasingly harder to sleep. The blanket barely did enough to cover her, leaving her to shiver in the cold. She had been forced to take off her deep purple dress and launder it before it accumulated anymore dirt and grime. The dress was still drying against the window, with stray drops of water dripping onto the floor in a steady rhythm, leaving her to lie in bed in only a lacy bra and panties. The sound would be comforting if she could focus on anything else but the icy cold air. To make matters worse, her own guilt was eating away at her too like a termite at wood. 

She turned on her side, the small hairs on her skin standing on end. Shoving her face into her arms, Violet winced as she wriggled her toes in a desperate attempt to warm them up. It was no use, without some more adequate cover she surely wouldn’t sleep that night. Propping herself up, she looked down towards the door. He wouldn’t care enough about her to provide her with anything, would he? Violet groaned. She might as well try. Rolling out of the poor excuse for a blanket, Violet lifted herself up, becoming instantly aware of how exposed she was like this. Maybe the humiliation of having her beg in her underwear would allow him some semblance of charity. 

 

It wasn’t hard to find his room - despite never being in there, she had a pretty good guess of where it was after seeing Olaf stumble in there drunk multiple times. Taking a deep breath, she pressed down on the handle and pushed the door open lightly. The room, like the rest of the house, was an absolute mess. Piles of used clothes littered the floor, as well as the vanity under the wide windows. Loose leafs of paper were spread across every surface, as well as several empty wine glasses, and a damp musty smell hung in the air, causing her nose to wrinkle up slightly. There must be a leak or something somewhere, she thought, and made a mental note to investigate into it in the coming days. To her surprise Olaf was awake, reclining in an armchair in the far corner of the room, a half filled glass of whiskey in his hand. He turned towards her and raised his brow at her. “What are you doing here?”.

Violet stepped further into the room, her fingers twirling nervously. She could feel his eyes bore into her as she looked down into the floor, becoming even more aware of her state of dress, or lack thereof. “I...uh...I couldn’t sleep...it’s cold upstairs” she mumbled, her cheeks turning slightly pink. Olaf regarded her with a snide smirk, taking a sip from the glass. “And what do you want me to do about it?” he drawled, swirling the melting ice around in the glass. Violet retreated further into herself, grabbing a loose strand of hair to braid. “I don’t...I just want an extra cover, maybe...” she muttered, taking a slight step back as her fingers twisted through the strand of hair, weaving themselves together into a small plait. It was uncharacteristically meek of her to falter so easily, but she had no energy to put up a fight or deal with any sort of backlash. The sooner she got another blanket, the sooner she could go back upstairs and wallow in her own despair. 

Olaf placed the glass on a small table beside him and stared at her, his eyes gleaming deviously. “And what makes you think I’d give you something, orphan?”. She could feel his eyes study her, trailing down her small figure intensely. Why is he looking at me like that?  “Nevermind...I’ll just go” she responded, turning away slightly. Olaf shook his head at her. “Violet, Violet, Violet. Come here” he instigated, motioning his hand for her to come closer. She followed his instruction without question, positioning herself so that she was just in front of his knees. Looking up, he studied her intensely. It didn’t take a genius to see that something was bothering her, and with what he had seen a few days earlier he could take a pretty good guess at what it was. 

“Something’s on your mind. Care to tell me what it is?” Olaf asked. Of course, he already knew what it was - he’d read the front page of the paper after she had roughly shoved it into his chest. Part of him was relieved at the news the two other Baudelaires had perished in the blaze. It meant that he wouldn’t have to worry about any daring rescue attempts or feats of escape on Violet’s end. He could see the grief plain in her eyes and tactfully chose to leave her for the following days, figuring he had earned enough of her ire with everything he had already put her through. Besides, Olaf hadn’t thought through any of this - the plan had started and stopped with him driving away in the getaway car with the eldest Baudelaire, and he was interested to see where this could go.

Violet’s eyes burned, a few stray tears lingering in the corners. Lifting a hand up to brush them away, she managed to croak out a few words, nonsensically strung together. “Klaus...and Sunny...are...they’re…”. Stopping briefly, she took a deep breath. Just keep breathing. You might as well say it to someone . “They’re dead” she blurted out. Something about admitting it broke her further, as if saying it out loud made it more real. Somehow, she still managed to hold the flood of tears back, not wanting Olaf to see her snivelling and weak.

“Yes, I saw it in the paper. Unfortunate really” he mused, taking another sip of the whiskey. Violet looked at him incredulously. “You say that as if you’re not the one who started the fire” she replied coldly, her cheeks burning. 

Olaf shrugged in response. “So, I started a fire. They had the opportunity to leave, but they stayed behind. It’s not my fault they decided to be daring and try to warn everyone”.

Violet couldn’t help herself at this point. The tears had already started to fall, trailing down her soft porcelain cheeks. The reaction hadn’t been a surprise in the least to Olaf, after all, what other response were you supposed to have while talking about the death of your only remaining family. At the back of his mind, he almost felt a strange sort of resonance with her, reminding himself of his own past after the death of his father. He could see that Violet was in the same dark place he had been. What surprised him though, was when Violet pulled her arms up to rub her eyes, her voice small and wracked with guilt. “I know. It’s...it’s my fault…” she whispered.

Olaf raised his brow at her. “How exactly have you come to that conclusion?” he prodded. She blames herself. An idea started to form in his head as he started to realise what he could do with this new development. 

“I told them to leave...I could have got away, or got them to follow us...I could have snatched the harpoon from you and ran far away with them. But I did nothing” Violet confided to him, her voice becoming even more soft and fragile the more she spoke. It felt strange to confide in such a wicked man, though her options for people to talk to were limited at this point in time. 

 

This was all too perfect - her self-hatred and blame could be corrupted and used to his advantage. His mind already conjured up fantasies of all the dastardly deeds they could embark on, all the fires that could be set. It would be the perfect final middle finger to Beatrice too - corrupt her perfect little daughter and use her to destroy the last of the so-called noble organization she had invested so much of her life and moral code in.“But instead you came with me. You were selfish, only thinking of your own survival, and you crawled into my car, begging me to take you away” Olaf asserted. 

Violet blinked through her tears, nodding in agreement. It was the final piece of confirmation for her - if even he could see how all of this was caused by her, then it must be undoubtedly true. “Wasn’t it you who decoded the lock too? Allowing me access to the laundry room?” Olaf added, seeing her hands start to fidget anxiously. Let the guilt stack on top of her, until she broke from the weight of it all. He shifted slightly in the armchair and motioned for her to sit next to him, and to his pleasure she followed without hesitation. “Your inaction killed your siblings”.

Violet nestled herself into the chair, her hands wrestling with each other furiously as her mind ran in circles. It’s your fault. Your fault. Your fault. “I thought they’d be fine...I didn’t-”.

Suddenly, Olaf’s hands were on hers, trying to stop them from their endless toil. “There’s no excusing it, Baudelaire. You killed your brother and sister” he sneered. His words caused Violet to shake her head violently, muttering over and over to herself “No! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!”. Olaf took the opportunity to trail his hand along the top of her head, tracing the strands of her hair ever so slightly. Violet almost took no notice of this, as her mind was too busy feeding into her relentless guilt. If you had done something, they’d still be here. His hands continued to stroke through her hair, the feeling grounding her slightly more in her current reality. Shame continued to fester within her, leading her to cry out in frustration. “I thought admitting this all would help, but it’s just made things worse! I just want this torment to stop!” she sobbed, digging her nails into her cheeks. 

 

Olaf moved his hand away from her hair, leaving her to feel a sense of emptiness. It had been strangely comforting, the feeling of his fingers running through her hair, and even if it hadn’t distracted her from the torture, it helped to stop her from devolving even deeper into her own mind. Smirking slightly, Olaf hummed “Well, sadly, I can’t do anything to ease your conscience. I can, however, offer a way or two to help you forget”. 

She turned to look towards him, her bright blue eyes widening. “...How?”. She had to know. If there was a way to stop the pain, even for a little while, she needed it. Olaf smiled to himself, holding up the almost empty glass of whiskey to his side. If he did this right, she’d shatter completely, bending to his whims as if she was a marionette. “Sex, mainly. And alcohol” he admitted bluntly. 

Violet blinked at him for a moment, stunned at what he was saying. After processing what he had just said, she leapt to her feet and shook her head fervently. “What? No, that’s...that’s gross” she said. Suddenly remembering her immodest state, she folded her arms over her chest in a desperate attempt to cover herself. Still, it didn’t stop Olaf’s eyes from wandering down her petite body. She couldn’t believe it - here she was, trying to open up about the persistent guilt slowly eating at her from the inside, and he takes her here? For a second, she wondered if it would be such a bad idea to take him up on the offer. But she was still only fifteen, and she knew nothing of what men and women did together. The closest contact she had with anyone of the opposite sex was with Quigley Quagmire, and even that had been a quick peck on the lips. 

Olaf merely shrugged in response. “Didn’t think you’d be up for it. Still, the offers there if you change your mind” he muttered, downing the last of the whiskey and depositing the glass back onto the small side table. Violet continued to stare at him, toying with her hands mindlessly. She wondered for the first time ever how old he was. He was certainly at least three decades her senior, if she had to guess she’d say early to mid 40s. It would be highly inappropriate, and bad of her if she got in bed with him. But, as she was starting to realise, she wasn’t exactly the paragon of perfection she once believed herself to be. 

Glancing towards the empty glass of whiskey, Violet remembered the second half of his suggestion. Surely it would be just as bad to drown herself in alcohol at such a young age? “Can I…?” she asked, her voice faltering before she could finish the rest of her request. Olaf picked up on what she wanted and stood up, grabbing the empty glass. Reaching behind the armchair, he produced a half empty bottle of whiskey. “I wouldn’t usually let an orphan such as yourself near my scotch, but I’m happy to make an exception this time” he remarked, unscrewing the bottle cap and filling the glass to the brim. Pushing the glass into her hands, his eyes sparkled dangerously. “Drink it”. 

Violet followed his instruction without hesitation, bringing the glass to her lips. She sipped on it hastily, feeling the alcohol burn against her throat as she tried carefully not to spill any on herself. It was the strongest thing she had ever consumed, but she didn’t mind the taste. And true to Olaf’s word, with each sip she felt the fog in her mind start to clear. The cycle of blame came to a halt as she began to relax, giving in to the relief. Violet stopped herself just short of finishing the entire glass as her eyes began to become heavy and her ankles started to wobble. How much alcohol had she consumed exactly? Looking down, the glass was a fairly standard size for one to pour whiskey in, though she figured that she’d be relatively lightweight due to her young age and inexperience with drinking. 

 

She noticed Olaf’s devilish smirk, seeming to be awfully pleased with himself. He moved his fingers under the glass and pushed it further up towards her. “All of it now” he droned, stepping closer to her side. It didn’t take any more encouragement for Violet to gulp the remainder of the liquid down, her head spinning with the last drop trailing down her throat. “Good girl” Olaf purred, removing the glass from her grip. She could feel herself start to become very dizzy, the room beginning to rock unsteadily around her. “How do you feel?”.

“Kind of dazed, to be honest” she replied.

“Just as I thought. You’ve never drunk before, have you?” he asked, allowing her to use his arms to steady herself on the floor. Violet shook her head in response. “Would you like any more?”.

“No...It’s fine…” she murmured, her senses becoming numb as she leant against his side. Normally she wouldn’t want any sort of close contact with him, but after she divulged such personal matters to him she felt it trivial to care about such things. Her mind creeped back towards the reason why she had come to him in the first place. Shifting her gaze towards him, she asked “Would I be able to get an extra blanket?” in a small voice.

Olaf smiled down at her, trailing his stray hand along her jaw. “If that is what you want, though in your current state, do you really want to trudge up all those stairs by yourself?”. She blinked, not entirely understanding what he was proposing. “What do you mean by that?” she queried. 

“You could stay in here. I wouldn’t turn away a lovely girl such as yourself”.

Violet glimpsed at his bed, thinking over the implications of such an offer. It would be more convenient for her, and she’d probably be able to sleep better under the extra cover. But it was his bed, and she already expressed her distaste for any sort of intimate activity between them. “You...wouldn’t try anything?” she asked, her eyes widening. Was she really going to spend the night sleeping in Count Olaf’s bed? 

He rolled his eyes in response. “No, not unless you ask. How little faith do you have in me, Baudelaire?” he grumbled, guiding her over to the side of the bed. Violet sighed, climbing under the covers. “Considering your previous remarks, no, I don’t have much in the way of faith towards you” she snorted, burying herself deep into the covers as he moved his way to the opposite side of the bed. Her brain felt like it was swimming in whiskey, which was honestly a welcomed relief from the tumultuous torment her mind repeatedly unleashed on her, but she wasn’t used to hard liquor. She had never slept beside a man before, so that experience was quite foreign to her as well. It felt wrong, so forbidden and taboo, but she figured with so many misdeeds stacking up against her, sleeping beside a much older man was on the lower rung of them. 

“Goodnight” she murmured, not expecting much of a reply from him. Settling herself, she felt herself start to drift off to sleep when she felt his hand rest on her hip. His touch startled her slightly, but she was too tired and drunk to protest, and truth be told, the contact wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Without another thought towards it, she closed her eyes again, descending into a deep sleep.

Notes:

i finished this at 2:30 in the morning

leave kudos and reviews if ya want, trust me i appreciate the support and boost to my ego

Chapter 4

When Violet was younger, she only had dreams sparingly, and the minute she woke up she rarely if ever remembered them. Since her parents died though, she’d had a recurring dream that followed her for months on end. Well, perhaps dream isn’t the proper term, it was more of a nightmare really. The nightmare started off mundane enough - she would be sitting on the trolley with Klaus and Sunny, headed towards Briny Beach. She’d look out the window to observe the city, before turning back to see both of her siblings had vanished. She’d panic, searching around for them, screaming their names but with no sound coming from her mouth. The trolley carriage would suddenly light up in flames and Violet would find herself trapped. Sometimes she swore she could feel the rising heat against her skin.

The dream would usually shift then to her standing in the ruins of the Baudelaire mansion, the smoke still smoldering as ash crumbled under her feet. A few steps ahead she could see Count Olaf, his back turned to her. She’d try to run, but found herself stuck to the ground, unable to move. Olaf would then turn to face her, giving her the most triumphantly terrifying grin she had ever seen, and the dream would end with her waking up in a cold sweat.

Now, after many months of having the same recurring nightmare, Violet eventually became numb to it. The nightmare also began to become less frequent the longer the months wore on. All things considered, she should have been prepared for when it struck her that night.

What she wasn’t prepared for was the part when Count Olaf approached her, gesturing down to her hands. “If I had known what you were capable of, I would have snatched you up earlier” he said, his Cheshire grin taunting her. Looking around, she saw the setting had changed to the Hotel Denouement lobby, or what was left of it. Following his gaze, she looked down to see herself holding an empty bottle of kerosene and a box of matches. 

Startled, Violet’s eyes shot open as she cried out, her small body quickly jolting up in fright. It took her a minute to realise that she wasn’t in the burnt rubble of the Hotel Denouement. Instead, she glanced at her surroundings, her eyes adjusting to the light. She was safe - it was all just a horrid dream, it wasn’t real, nothing could hurt her. 

 

“For fucks sake, orphan, do you always wake up screaming?” Olaf complained gruffly, rolling over on his side and reminding Violet of where she was. That’s right, she was in Count Olaf’s bedroom. Groaning softly, she rubbed her cheeks in embarrassment. What on Earth was she doing there, with him, in her underwear no less? Suddenly, she became acutely aware of where his hand was positioned, still resting lightly on her waist. “I...I just had a nightmare” she murmured, lying back down under the covers. Olaf, still mostly half asleep, merely grunted in response. “Go back to sleep, orphan…”.

Violet sighed and turned away from him, trying to covertly maneuver his hand off her. She could feel his steady breath against her neck, causing her to shiver slightly. This was wrong, why was she doing this? Why did she have to get drunk and fall asleep with him? Her misdeeds were only stacking at this point, threatening to drag her down further into the abyss. You're so pathetic. You couldn’t handle the guilt so you drowned your sorrows in alcohol, getting so drunk you passed out in the bed of an older man, the vile villain who has plagued your life. How sad is that? She could hear a small voice berating her mercilessly. It’s not that bad...it’s not like we had sex or anything , she thought, shrinking further into herself. 

But he did offer it, and you considered it, didn’t you? 

No! I just...only for a second maybe...nothing more! She buried her face in her hands, wishing that the voice would just shut up already. Handling grief is tough for any person to deal with, but the self-blame and being at war with oneself on top of that adds a whole new dimension to her suffering. Violet never expected her fall from grace to be like this, much less with him. 

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a splitting headache. Groaning lightly, she stumbled out of bed and into the small ensuite bathroom, hoping that Olaf would have some paracetamol or any sort of painkillers lying around. It didn’t look like much alcohol at the time, but Violet knew that at her age and with her small body weight, it was enough to get her wasted. Thankfully as she riffled through the cabinets her hand closed around a small box of painkillers. Checking the packaging, she saw they weren’t expired yet and punched two pills out, cradling them in her palm. She snuck back into the bedroom to grab the empty whiskey glass and filled it up with water, washing the pills down her throat. 

“Dear god, don’t tell me you're a morning person” she heard a voice ring out from behind her. She spun around to see Count Olaf leaning in the doorway, his usual scowl settled on his face. “Oh...uh...good morning. Sorry if I woke you up” she stuttered, setting the glass down on the sink. He looked at her in vague annoyance before strutting off, tossing his dressing gown aside and picking up a grey shirt that had been discarded somewhere on the floor. “Get me a coffee” he commanded, pulling the shirt over his head and reaching for a white neckerchief. 

It took a solid minute for Violet to realise he had said something, having been lost in her own head. She blinked slowly and nodded to herself. “Right...coffee” she muttered to nobody in particular, feeling her feet move by themselves as she made her way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. She knew exactly how he liked his coffee, and almost instinctively moved around the small kitchen, filling the metal coffee pot with water and clicking the lid shut. Flicking the gas on, she wondered if she should pour a cup for herself as well. Her headache had cleared up, but she still felt dazed as all hell. Does coffee help with a hangover? She furrowed her brow, trying to remember if she had read any books about alcohol's effect on the human body. Sadly, she couldn’t recall a single thing she had ever read in her haze. 

 

Gazing down, Violet chided herself for not running upstairs first to get dressed properly. Her dress would be dry by now and she was eager to have some proper cover on, feeling that Olaf perhaps enjoyed it a little too much that she was in her underwear all night. She’d have to go get it after finishing the coffee. 

Setting out two mugs, she filled one with just coffee grounds and water, the other with a slight bit of milk and a teaspoon of sugar. Coffee wasn’t something she was partial to, but she wasn’t exactly against it either. She grabbed both mugs and roamed back upstairs, where she found Count Olaf reclining on a lounge that was placed underneath one of the hall's windows. “Here” she mumbled, passing the drink over to him. Olaf stared at her, slightly amused at her meekness. “I see you’ve made one for yourself” he commented, gesturing towards the other mug in Violet’s hands.

“Oh, yeah” she replied almost robotically. She shifted awkwardly on the spot, not really knowing what else to say. “I didn’t take you for much of a coffee drinker. Then again, I didn’t take you for someone to enjoy hard liquor either. What else don’t I know about you, Violet Baudelaire?” Olaf questioned. If he could manage to wrangle out more secrets from her, he could surely use them against her, further corrupting her self image.

“Probably a lot” Violet muttered, blowing the steam away from the mug. “You never exactly took the time to get to know me, before all of this”. She took a slight sip, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste. Clearly she hadn’t put enough sugar in. 

“Violet, before all of this I was hunting you and your siblings down and trying to steal your enormous fortune. Chasing after you lot doesn’t leave much time for any greeting card moments” Olaf fired back, gesturing for her to sit down next to him. She paused for a moment before complying, settling herself down a few inches away. 

She didn’t know fully why, but something in her was telling her to stick closer to him. He hadn’t turned her away after she confessed the single most awful thing she had ever done. Was he to be her salvation? Was that the ultimate outcome of the situation? Violet took another large sip of her coffee. Who knew it would end up like this?

“You wouldn’t have wanted to know any of us even if you did” Violet mused. “That’s not the kind of person you are”.

“And what kind of person do you think I am, Violet?” Olaf asked, watching her face closely. He could see that far off look in her eyes, the same one from the night before. She was already starting to crumble. With a bit more of a push, he could force her to spiral even further, and if he pulled it off correctly, become both her confidant and the instigator to her destruction.

“Wicked. Vile. Cruel” She replied. 

“I won’t refute those statements. But, Baudelaire, considering your recent actions, I don’t think you should be trying to take any sort of moral high ground. You and I aren’t so different after all” He pressed, depositing his coffee cup on the window ledge and snaking his hand towards her bare knee, stroking it softly.

Violet blinked slowly before shaking her head. “Don’t say that. We’re not the same” she responded coldly, her hands tightening around the warm mug. Don’t lie to yourself. You're a coward. A selfish, deceptive coward . She winced. “No, that’s not true” she whispered softly. 

You killed your siblings. You left them. It’s all your fault.

“Shut up!” Violet shouted, her hair falling over her porcelain white skin. Olaf kept himself composed but internally grinned from ear to ear. This would be easier than he thought. She was already tearing herself apart. His grip on her knee became firm as he pressed down. “You say that, and yet here you are. Have already forgotten what became of your siblings? Because of your actions, they burnt to a crisp in the Hotel Denouement fire. Instead of escaping with them, you came with me to my car and left them to die” he said in a slow, taunting voice.

 

Violet trembled, the last moments she saw Klaus and Sunny playing back in her mind. “I’m not...I...I’m sorry…” she cried.

“Abandoning your siblings, aiding me in burning down Caligari Carnival, holding Esme hostage to try to strike up a trade with me, murdering Dewey Denouement…” Olaf recounted, adding extra emphasis on that last part. His grip had become even tighter, almost to the point of bruising her, but he didn’t let up. He wouldn’t let her turn away from him - she had to confront herself, face the reality of her choices. Violet gazed up at him helplessly. “Your misdemeanors are just continuing to stack, Violet. Ask yourself again: are we both so different after all?”.

Violet sobbed, shaking her head. “No...we aren’t”.

Olaf loosened his grip on her knee, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Good girl” he uttered, drawing his arm over her shoulders and pulling her towards him. He felt a sense of victory as she didn’t recoil from his touch, instead folding herself into him. Olaf took a moment to gaze upon his prize, trailing a stray hand over her lovely features. Even with her mind broken and shattered, she was absolutely breathtaking. He wouldn’t deny that back when he tried to fraudulently marry her that he had partially angled for her as his beautiful blushing bride, his interest separate from her fortune. Alas, the plan had been foiled and he presumed to have forever lost the opportunity to snare the eldest Baudelaire for himself, but with this he could turn her into something even more captivating - something dark and deadly. 

Violet continued to shrink into herself, wanting to desperately melt into the floor below her. He still wasn’t turning her away - he had tried to give her a way to forget, a way which temporarily worked, but as soon as she woke up that morning the desolate fog that covered her mind had crept back in. Her sanity was beginning to crack with every horrid misdeed she had committed coming to light. Olaf didn’t need to remind her - her brain was doing a damn good job of showing her herself just how much of a terrible person she truly was inside.

She sat that way with him for who knows how long, letting him trail his fingers through her soft strands of hair. When he eventually did stop and stand up from the couch, drinking the last of the lukewarm coffee, Violet felt hollow. The warmth of his touch had disappeared and she desperately wanted it back, to grasp out for him and never let go. 

“I’ll be going out for a few hours, so just clean the dishes and then do whatever you want. Consider this your day off” he explained, discarding the mug on the windowsill behind him. Violet nodded, her eyes pleading as she watched him stride down the stairwell. “When will you be back?” she asked in a small voice.

Olaf shrugged. “Later, some time” he replied, descending further down the stairs. “Don’t go up into the tower room, and don’t go outside. That is all”. And with that, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Violet could hear the sound of the lock click as she looked down into her half empty coffee mug. She felt a yearning for him, a need to scream out for him to not leave her all alone in the vast sea of darkness. Instead, she picked up the two coffee mugs and took them down to the kitchen, depositing them into the sink. Afterwards, Violet made her way upstairs to dress herself. Her fingers stumbled over the edges of the collar as she pulled the dress over her head, feeling a rising heat in her cheeks. Oh god, she’d actually let Count Olaf see her in her underwear. The very thought of which had been unspeakable only a few days earlier. 

Smoothing her hands over the skirt, Violet used the rest of the day to wander around the manor, looking into rooms boredly. Eventually she stumbled upon an old broken cassette deck. Eager to use her hands again, she set to work trying to repair it. Her toolset was limited given her circumstances but she managed to make do with a few choice objects from the kitchen, and after identifying the problem quickly fixed up the old machine. Pressing down on the play button, she saw the cassette spools turn, confirming that her repair job had worked. She had wanted to test it with an actual tape but sadly only found a discarded microphone and the connected cord in the drawer she originally found it in. 

With not much else to do, Violet sat in the library, waiting for Count Olaf to return. The minutes turned to hours as she cradled herself tighter, feeling the throes of guilt creep up onto her, and letting herself be consumed by them. When she heard the front door lock turn a few hours later, Violet almost jumped to greet him. He was surprised but pleased to see her glancing up at him like a lost puppy. Damn, he really had done a number on her. 

The rest of the evening played out, with Violet throwing together a last minute meal with the few ingredients she had in the cupboard for dinner. Olaf would have usually complained but didn’t find it in him that night to make a fuss. He was too busy after all congratulating himself on successfully infiltrating the mind of Violet Baudelaire, poisoning it with self-doubt and blame. And if all went according to plan, then hopefully later tonight, or in the next few days, the cycle would be complete, and Violet’s mind would be truly and utterly broken. 

Violet had stayed close by him throughout the entire meal, picking at her food slightly. When he offered her a glass of red she jumped at the chance, consuming the liquid with ease. And later, before she wandered off upstairs to the cold attic room he chucked her an extra duvet to sleep under. Be her saviour, her confidant, the one she runs to when the grief becomes too much. And even though he was disappointed that she didn’t once again come to him in the night, he knew it was only a matter of time before she fully cracked. 

 

That time came three days later during the darkest hours of the night. Violet had found herself drifting towards Olaf throughout the day, not knowing what else to do with herself. She only barely noticed, but he hadn’t had her do a great many chores the days following her initial breakdown. She still cooked and kept things sort of tidy, but apart from that she had been mostly free to roam. So why did she find herself drawn to him? Earlier that night, she had found him in his study, going over some old manuscripts dating back a few years. He regarded her with a slight raised brow as she settled herself down into one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, watching him. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a bit more secure in herself being around him. If anything at least watching him was a slight distraction from her torment. 

She couldn’t sleep of course, though not because of the persistent cold. The thoughts were becoming louder, more urgent, clamouring for her attention. Olaf had given her a flask of whiskey before she had gone to bed, in case she couldn’t sleep later on she guessed. Violet had already gone through most of the flask, but even hard liquor couldn’t silence her grief tonight. 

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. The voices played over like a broken record. Violet wanted to muffle them out, but they kept getting louder no matter how much more she drank. “Shut up! I know it’s my fault. Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” she hissed, digging her nails into the mattress. Why wasn’t this working? Alcohol had worked before. She knew for a fact that she was dazed and drunk as all fuck, so what was missing? She sat herself up in bed. Maybe she needed more alcohol.

 

Or maybe, she needed something else.

 

She remembered what Count Olaf had said to her a few nights before when she had asked about ways to forget the pain. “Sex, mainly. And alcohol” . She had initially rejected the proposal, feeling it to be inappropriate and slightly disgusting, but where was she now? Maybe it’s what she needed. To get in bed with a much older man would be bad of her, but bad things didn’t always have to make her hurt - drinking had already taught her that much. This could be the final step, the final piece of herself she had to let go of in order to fully descend into madness. 

Without thinking, Violet found herself creeping out of bed and down the hall, her heart pounding in her chest. The whiskey made her mind hazy, but even then she could feel the full weight of what she was about to do. She was going to lose her virginity to Count Olaf. 

Reaching his bedroom door, she traced her hands over the wood slowly, taking in the feeling of the grooves under her fingertips. Trailing down to the handle, she pressed on it slightly and pushed the door open. Olaf was awake, sitting upright in bed reading some sort of book. 

He shot her a quick look, barely taking his eyes away from the pages. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight” he mused, flicking the page over.

Violet curled her toes nervously and bit her lip, casting her eyes aside. “Olaf, I...I was wondering...if I could…” she stammered, feeling herself tremor slightly.

Olaf clicked his tongue in disapproval and set the book aside, shifting his position so he could fully look at her. “Come here, you're shaking like you've seen a ghost”. Violet obeyed, moving further on into the room and stopping herself at the edge of the bed. Her fingers grazed the fabric of her dress lightly as she gulped, trying to force herself to speak. “I was wondering...if I could take you up on that offer, from a few nights ago?”.

Olaf looked at her, grinning like a devil. She had fallen right into the palm of his hands, just as he wanted. He’d be able to break her, destroy the perfect, good little girl Violet Baudelaire was and transform her into a dangerous woman, a true force to be reckoned with. 

“Well, I did say before that I wouldn’t turn away a lovely girl such as yourself”.

Notes:

*procrastinates on writing smut*

@ me pls stop writing at 3-4 am in the morning

ALSO i only proofread this once, lemme know if any of it sounds odd

Chapter 5

Notes:

first time writing smut, so don't bully me too much in the comments.

The anxiety and anticipation was mounting within her as she felt the pace of her breath start to quicken, her chest rising and falling in succession. Was she really about to do this? Violet squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block out the nervous thoughts that had started to form. No, she couldn’t back out now. This was something she had to do. She had to fully let go of her childhood innocence and fully embrace her flaws and mistakes - let her fragile mind shatter into a million small pieces, maybe so that she could pick them up together later and form something new, or maybe just leave them broken, accepting her perpetual state of mourning. Whatever she chose to do after this didn’t matter. As long as she could ignore the pain for a little while longer, she’d make as many bad choices and missteps as it took for her to keep running.

 

“Violet!”.

 

She blinked slowly, suddenly being transported back to reality. Olaf was staring down at her, his shiny eyes filled with anticipation, his hand cupped around her cheek. Violet allowed herself to relax slightly. Don’t think too much about it. Just breathe, ok?

Olaf took a moment to appreciate the work he had already done on her. Here she was, looking lost and frail but gorgeous as ever, standing before him after asking him to do the one thing that he’d have sworn months ago he’d never get the chance to do. For a plan that he was essentially making up as he went along, it was going rather well. He could see it now - both of them, running towards the getaway car after setting fire to a building, the remaining volunteers looking at them with a mix of shock and appall. The thought was enough to stir arousement within him as he hooked one finger around the collar of her dress, trailing the fabric lightly. “Take off your dress” he ordered, his voice low and husky.

Immediately, Violet obeyed without question, her hands practically flying to undo the pearly white buttons holding the shirt closed. She shrugged off the dress and it let fall to her feet, revealing her cotton panties and lacy bra, slightly more grey from only being poorly laundered in the upstairs bathroom sink. Olaf pulled her closer to him as his hands snaked around her back, reaching for the clasp of her bra and undoing it swiftly, tossing it aside without a moment's thought. She felt her cheeks start to burn as she had never been this bare in front of a man before. Underwear was one thing, but this? Don’t think about it. You have to do this. You have to forget. 

She felt Olaf’s hands grasp around her waist as he lifted her onto the bed, setting her down carefully before shedding his nightshirt and kneeling between her legs. Olaf shot her a toothy smirk as he traced his hand down her thigh. She was so perfect, untouched by any other. He knew he’d have to take it slow for her first time, though he was delighted at the prospect of finally being able to mark her as his. To break her fully and claim her as his very own at the same time. Hooking a finger through her panties, he pulled them off, causing Violet to almost instinctively curl up in response. He waited for her to relax again, easing down towards her. As much as he wanted to be rough with her, this wasn’t just about fucking her. It was about destroying the last remains of her “perfect girl” persona, ruining her for the rest of her life.  

Violet swallowed, not entirely sure what to do with herself. Feeling restless, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him towards her into a soft kiss. Olaf leaned into her lips, barely able to contain his desire for her. Pulling away from her momentarily, he breaks into a wolfish grin. “Eager aren’t we?” he jests before he kisses her again, this time with such intensity that Violet feels the heat in her cheeks rise. She didn’t know what she was doing, or if this was something she should feel ashamed of, but she knew that she didn’t want it to stop. Suddenly, she felt a finger trace her folds, lingering over her clit. Violet tried stifling a moan, almost feeling embarrassed to show that she was in fact enjoying this. 

“Don’t feel ashamed. You might as well enjoy this” Olaf assured her, continuing to rub lazy circles around her clit. She gulped, feeling slightly worried that he had noticed her tense up. Though her thoughts began to dissolve as she felt his mouth against her neck, kissing her roughly. The haze clouding her mind began to vanish as she focused on him, feeling his bony fingers tease her. There was a certain clarity to it all, when you focused all of your attention to one thing. She felt her eyes close as she slipped into a sort of trance, her breath becoming hitched as she moaned softly. 

 

Though she couldn’t see anything, she could feel him shift his position, edging himself further down towards her legs. Violet felt a slight inclination to protest, but once she felt his tongue on her all was lost. Her body felt buzzed as he worked his tongue against her, long drawn out moans slipping from her lips like a common whore. Guilt, shame, hatred - none of it mattered. Not then at least. 

It wasn’t long before Violet started to feel the pressure start to mount, her head feeling like a million electric volts were being charged into her as she cried out, arching her back as she felt her orgasm ripple through her. Collapsing on the mattress, her cheeks burned red as she panted, feeling limp and dazed. Olaf looked at her, enjoying the picture in front of him. After this, he would be able to fully enjoy her without any pesky distractions or her own inhibitions hindering him. All the pieces were falling right into place, and with Violet getting caught up in the moment, she’d be his to keep, and hers to lose. 

Violet’s eyes fluttered, basking in the strange sort of serenity, her mind absolutely clear for once since this whole ordeal began. She barely paid any notice to Olaf undressing himself as he positioned himself between her legs. This was the right thing to do after all. If she could block out the pain, continue to feel absolutely nothing, then everything could finally be alright. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him in worry. “Will...will this hurt?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Olaf sighed, moving one of his hands to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, it probably will” he admitted bluntly. “I can’t do anything to make it not. But i’ll go easy on you”. 

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. “Ok...just...just do it”. 

Without warning, he pushed himself inside her, letting out a low groan as he felt her walls tighten around him. Fuck, she was so tight. He couldn’t believe he actually did it - he coaxed her into his bed, seducing the eldest Baudelaire and breaking her forevermore. Violet gasped, tears starting to prick the edges of her eyes, decorating them with a shiny glaze. She felt something rip inside her as he pushed deeper, further increasing the stinging pain between her legs. 

Wrapping an arm around her back, he began to move at a slow and steady pace, fucking her gently. Violet, trying best she could to ignore the persistent pain inside her, dug her hands through his hair, feeling the wispy tufts rub against her fingers. Letting the sensations wash over her, the pain started to lessen, being replaced by a similar pleasure to what she had felt before when he was using his tongue on her. The more he moved, the deeper he pressed his cock inside her, she felt everything start to fall away around her. It felt nice, she liked it, at least she thinks she does. Feeling the way he moved in and out of her helped her stay grounded in reality. 

Olaf started to move faster, moaning slightly as he thrust deep inside her. He pulled her in for a hard kiss, grabbing a handful of her hair as he increased the pace of his thrusts, feeling his pending desire building. “Fuck…” he groaned, lurching against her as he came inside her, panting against her skin and feeling his cum dribble down his cock. Hanging his head, he pulled out of her and set himself to rest beside her. 

Violet winced slightly as she felt him pull out of her and let her knees fall, the strange feeling of stickiness staining her thighs. She peered down to see her inner thighs covered in blood. Sighing, she flopped back down and closed her eyes. So it was true - you did bleed. 

 

“I might as well say it before you do: you were right” Violet mumbled. Olaf snickered, grabbing a discarded cloth next to his bed and using it to wipe himself down. “Told you it would help”. 

Had that really just happened? Did she really just lose her virginity to him? She gulped, rolling over to face Olaf as he pulled the covers over them both. “Should I go?” Violet murmured, not really knowing what to do with herself now.

Olaf simply huffed in response. “No, orphan, you should stay in here. What’s the point in going back upstairs anyway? You’d just be feeling empty and alone all over again”.

Violet stared at him for a moment before crawling under the covers, sighing slightly. “I suppose your right…” she said, not really expecting any sort of reply. All she wanted right then was to just fall asleep and delay the inevitable train of self-hatred that was going to hit her the moment the high of sex wore off. Let her live a little longer without obsessively hating everything she’s ever said or done in her life. 

Curling her arms over her breasts, she shut her eyes and tried to let herself fall off into sleep. She wasn’t that tired, truth be told, but she still hoped that somehow maybe pretending to sleep would help summon the real thing. Violet nudged herself towards Olaf, wanting to feel the warmth of his body against hers. It was...comforting, in a way. It wasn’t anything like the loving and secure feeling of being held by a parent or close family member, but any close human contact was blissful to her right now. And she figured there was no point in being weird or flighty around Olaf anymore, after all he’d literally been inside her so to continue being resistant was ultimately pointless. He was all she had right now, the one person who wouldn’t turn her away for her degeneracy.

Olaf raised his brow at her as he felt her curl into him, but ultimately chose not to comment. It was so much sweeter that she was seeking him out on her own now, and showed how well his conditioning had worked on her. She was lost, alone in the world, believing herself to be an awful monster, and he was her saviour. She was right in the palm of his hands and ready to be bended and played to his heart's desire. 

They both fell asleep some point soon after, the desolate night shifting to day as the early rays of the sun started to shine over the horizon. Olaf was the first to awake, around daybreak to be exact. It was way too early for him, and as he sat up groaning, he turned to look at Violet, still sleeping soundly next to him. He smiled triumphantly as he noticed the cluster of purple hickeys on her neck, maring her perfect porcelain skin. It suddenly occurred to him that there had been no protection between them and he ran his hand through his hair. He’d have to do something about that later, as he was damned if he was leaving the house this early. 

Throwing his arm around her, Olaf settled back down into bed, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead. She belonged entirely to him now: her mind, body and soul.

 

It was the early afternoon when Violet felt herself start to wake, her vision blurry as she looked around the room remembering the events of the night before. Was it all a dream? She looked down to see her thighs still stained with blood as well as the sheets below her. She’d have felt bad about ruining the sheets if they had been clean in the first place, which they almost certainly weren’t. Violet closed her eyes, wanting to sink back into sleep so she wouldn’t have to face what she’d done. She’d gotten in bed with a man more than twice her age. She lost her virginity so she wouldn’t have to face the night alone with her thoughts. 

Strangely enough, she’d noticed the absence of the man beside her. Violet glanced around the room wondering where he could have gone to. She figured he must have woken up long before her and gone out, probably to engage in some act of villainy or the like. She didn’t know what he did when he left the house and she didn’t care - it’d be highly hypocritical for her to judge right now. His absence left a hollow feeling in her. He’d be back soon, surely? It was slightly pathetic, but she wanted to feel him close to her, fold herself into his chest smelling his day-old cologne against her cheeks. She needed him. 

Although she tried to force herself back to sleep, Violet’s mind was awake and active, and with that ready to grill her on her failings all over again. She huffed and pulled herself up and out of the bed, searching through the sheets for her panties. After a minute and a half of writhing through the silk sheets she gave up and figured they probably were kicked off at some point last night. Briefly, she wondered if maybe Olaf took them, though she dismissed that theory with ease. Why would he take her underwear? He’d already gotten what he wanted from her. 

Clipping her bra onto her small chest, Violet looked down at the crumpled dress in front of her witheringly. She was getting tired of wearing that little purple dress. It reminded her too much of that dreadful day at the Hotel Denouement, the last time she would ever see her brother and sister. It was like a relic from a time long since passed. How long had it been since she’d ran away with Count Olaf in his car? Violet had stopped keeping track around her third day there, after she read the Daily Punctilio’s headlining page. The days following she had avoided reading the newspaper altogether, though she did capture a glimpse of the obituary they’d printed in honour of her siblings. It made her tear up, opening the floodgates of sorrow all over again. That had been only two days before. Maybe that was the final push that led her into Count Olaf’s bed. 

With nothing else to wear, she pulled it on over her head and folded out the creases as best she could. It needed to be laundered again as it was starting to accumulate several patches of dirt on the lower skirt. Violet blamed that on the amount of cleaning she did every day. Even though Olaf hadn’t directly ordered her to do anything other than cook meals these past few days, she still found herself tidying up the place. It was something to do, and tinkering with random broken devices she found only kept her entertained for so long. Along with the cassette deck she had fixed up several other things she had found gathering dust in the various rooms - a rotary phone, an electric mixer and a polaroid camera to name a few. There was so much more she wanted to invent and repair but she was hindered by the lack of proper equipment. 

Violet opened the door quietly and peered out into the hall, silently wishing that Olaf would show up right then and there. Of course, he didn’t, leaving her staring out into the cold desolate hallway. Shivering slightly, she found herself wishing the house had some form of central heating. It had only started to turn to spring, so the chilly winter winds were still billowing through the city. Wandering out into the hall, she caught sight of herself in an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. The face staring back at her was one she didn’t recognise - that girl looked tired, dark circles beginning to form under her eyes from the rough lack of sleep. She noticed the dark purple markings on her neck and upper arm and smiled to herself. She’d actually had sex. It had been bad, she knew that, but she didn’t care. She didn’t know if she regretted it or if she felt invigorated by it. 

 

The next few hours were spent with her in the kitchen, polishing random bits of silverware. She’d made herself a small meal of toast and eggs - thankfully Olaf had taken it upon himself to go shopping a few days before, though only for the bare minimum as apparently the only things he considered essential were bread, wine and coffee. Violet rolled her eyes at this. Surely this wasn’t a healthy way to live, right? 

At some point she wandered into the cellar to rummage through the different collections of wine he had stored down there. He wouldn’t notice if a bottle or two went missing, right? Violet shrugged the thought off as she poured a large glass of red wine to the brim, consuming it hurriedly. She wasn’t too fond of the taste but found it to be nonetheless a welcome relief to her psyche. Every now and then she would glance at the small ivory clock hanging near the door. Assuming that it was programmed correctly and wasn’t broken like so many other things in that goddamn house, it was around 5:30. Violet scowled slightly. Why wasn’t he back yet?

Swirling the liquid around, her mind drifted towards VFD and all the things she had learnt about it over the last few months. Until only recently, she had complete confidence in the organization, believing that they were doing their best to try and aid her and what was left of her family in evading Count Olaf. She remembered what Kit Snicket had told her about the Schism that tore the organization apart, and how eager she had been to volunteer to go undercover as a concierge at the hotel. Where were they now? Why hadn’t they tried to search for her? 

Something pulled at her mind about what happened during the trial, what Olaf had said in his statement against them. This is the truth that nobody is willing to tell you - there are no noble people in the world. Violet had dismissed this at the time, angry at him for deflecting blame onto them and twisting the events that had unfolded. But was he really that wrong? 

Something else bothered her. That story about the night at the opera, when VFD had fully fractured. She hadn’t had much opportunity to give it much thought, but mulling it over she remembered it had all happened because her mother and some guy named Lemony stole a sugar bowl from Esme Squalor. Don’t you want to know what happened next? It was a slippery slope. The theft led to a murder, which led to a schism, which led to two retracted marriage proposals and a series of arsons. Violet paused. A murder? Two retracted marriage proposals? The most she knew was a box of poison darts were involved. What Olaf had said after she asserted that her parents were noble played over her mind. She still had so many unanswered questions - what do poison darts have to do with anything? Who was murdered? What did Olaf mean by “two retracted marriage proposals”? 

It seemed VFD and its ethics were a lot more complicated than she originally thought. If they weren’t even trying to search for her now, did that mean they ever really had her best interests in mind? Violet chucked her head back and swallowed the last drops of wine from the glass. Everything was so fucked up. If someone had told her that she’d be grappling with the morality of a secret organization and by extension the world around her a year and a half ago, she would have flat out laughed in their face. But she wasn’t that sweet innocent girl anymore. She’d set fires, she’d relied on treachery, she’d abandoned her only living family and she’d opened her legs like a slut for a man she thought she hated. 

 

The clock hit 6:00 when Olaf had sauntered in, carrying a white shopping bag. “Violet! Come out here, I’ve got something for you” he called out. Violet’s head perked up as she heard the lock turn, sliding off the chair and scurrying to the foyer to greet him. She was so relieved to have him back with her that she smiled softly. “Welcome back”.

He returned the smile, though rather weakly. He pushed the white shopping bag into her arms before extending his arm around her, guiding her into the library. “As fetching as it looks on you, you can’t wear that purple dress for the rest of your life. There’s a few in the bag that you can try on” he explained, clearing the couch of its assortment of papers and scripts for her to sit on. Violet looked down at the bag and up at him. He’d bought something for her? It was entirely unexpected - she’d expected to have to eventually start making her own clothes out of the curtains and drapes (which would prove disastrous, as she detested sewing). 

“Thank you” she whispered as she opened the bag up to rummage through it. Inside were four dresses, a couple of pairs of underwear and a pair of fishnet tights. 

“There is another thing” Olaf said, clearing his throat slightly. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small white box and upon opening it punched a small white pill out into his palm. “Take this” he instructed, holding it out to her.

Violet hesitated. “What is it?” she asked, noticing him become irritated when she didn’t immediately take it. Olaf rolled his eyes at her and pressed it into her hand. “Just take it. Trust me, the last thing anyone needs around here is a pregnant teenager”.

Ohh . Right. Violet hadn’t even considered those consequences from last night. Sheepishly, she nodded and tossed the pill down her throat, not even bothering to fetch a glass of water to go down with it. She sputtered slightly at the feeling of it. Dry swallowing a pill - that was definitely something she was never doing again.

Olaf patted her on the head as he sat down next to her, discarding the box somewhere on the floor. “Good girl” he purred, pushing her forward off the lounge and onto her feet. “Go try those on - I want to see how you look in them”. 

Scurrying off into one of the upstairs bathrooms, she spilled the contents of the bag onto the floor in front of her, sorting through each of the items one at a time. The dresses were, admittedly, very nice. They all had a sort of steampunk aesthetic to them, and two of them included corsets. Violet picked out a black one with a half violet purple bodice and sleeves with a collar that flared out at the top. The dress was held together by a few buttons at the front as well as a blue jewelled clasp. The sleeves cut off at the top of her arms, only being attached to the rest of the dress by a few seams at the bottom. Violet peered into the bag and noticed a black blouse was included with it as well as a light brown leather belt. 

Pulling the dress on, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. The dress wasn’t something she’d have picked out for herself but she liked it in a way. It made her look different, more grown up. She reached for her signature hair ribbon and tied it around the clasp, creating a lovely bow. 

 

Before she left the room she pulled on one of the lacy light blue panties, as she never did end up finding her other pair. Descending down the stairs she presented herself to Count Olaf, shifting nervously. He eyed her, licking his lips deviously. “You look beautiful” he remarked. “I really do have good taste, don’t I?”. It wasn’t hard picking out clothes for her - he had a good idea of her size and as for style she was the sort who could pull off any type of dress. He had to admit he liked her like this - dressed up for him and looking absolutely breathtaking. Olaf hoped she’d like the dresses, though he wasn’t sure why her approval mattered so much to him in the first place. Still, he felt relieved when she replied “Thank you. I like it...I think”. 

Olaf furrowed his brow. “You think? Isn’t that just another way of saying you absolutely love it, and that you agree with my assertion that I have good taste?” he quipped.

Violet shrugged. “I guess so”.

He crooked his finger at her, smirking at her slightly. “Don’t be coy, it’s unbecoming of you” he muttered, standing up so he could face her properly. She looked so small in front of him, as fragile as a bird with a broken wing. Moving a hand to her chin, he noted her change in demeanor as she folded herself into him. He’d still have a while to go before she was what he needed her to be, but for now it was nice that she’d become more receptive towards his touch. The way she’d run towards him when he had returned home, that desperate need for comfort and validation. It was a far cry from the snotty self-righteous orphan he had met all those months ago. He could definitely grow to like this. 

Olaf removed his hand from her and saw her deflate, wondering what she did to lose his touch. Play with her heart, capitalise on her newfound need for his approval, and ultimately profit from her turn to darkness. He’d turn her into something new, something those frustrating volunteers would gasp at in horror. A Baudelaire gone bad. And for the first time ever, this would be something of his own complete doing. His own victory, without the need for any assistance from a troupe or villainous mentors, or an overly vain girlfriend. It was all on him now. 

Let the games begin.

Chapter 6

From an outsider's perspective, it would seem like nothing had changed. If you didn’t look too closely, you’d see Violet still slaving away for Olaf, a certain punishment he supposed for undermining and outwitting him so many times in the past. Violet was still gripped with guilt, her mental state in shambles after rapidly deteriorating for the past while. She carried herself like she had always done, though without a sense of direction or purpose. Olaf knew that with the way she was now he wouldn’t be able to simply yell “burn that building down!” and have her obey without question. He’d already broken her, that had been the easy part, now it was time to pick up the pieces and create something new, something more useful and, dare he admit it, enamouring. It would be a long game, but the longevity wasn’t a concern for him. 

Olaf poured himself another glass of bourbon. It had been his fourth glass that night, though for him compared to how much he usually drank that wasn’t much at all. He wouldn’t personally call himself an alcoholic, though to anyone else it would certainly seem that he was. He scowled slightly at the thought and looked up towards the attic bedroom where Violet was sleeping.

It had been gradual, but she was beginning to draw herself nearer to him. He started to notice her around more often, whether it be standing forlornly in the door of his study or watching him from across the library. Sometimes she’d come sit with him and just stare off into the open space. Times like those he’d pride himself on how well he’d managed to work her already. And if he was going to be honest, he was becoming partial to her company. He’d spent so long hating her for undermining him and chasing her, waiting for the day that she’d submit to him entirely. It was interesting how their dynamic had shifted in only a matter of weeks. Stopping to think about it, he realised he didn’t even hate her anymore. He’d won. The fortune would be his, he had Violet grovelling at his feet, wanting him, needing him.

Tonight was one of the few nights she hadn’t crawled her way back into his bed. Though they hadn’t fucked again since that momentous night, she’d still come to him, looking up at him with those wide blue eyes of hers, once bright with the light of a brilliant mind and now sullied with endless turmoil and troubles he and countless others had put her through. It struck something in him seeing her like that, powerless and at his mercy. The fact alone that she was willingly seeking him out in the night made him delighted. And so, he’d let her sleep there, letting her wake to find herself wrapped up in his arms. She’d stopped struggling and trying to fight against him and accepted this as a part of her life. 

 

Yes, he was slightly annoyed that she had elected to go back up to the attic room that night but after having her linger around for the past few days he figured to just leave it and let her do her own thing. What was she gonna do up there anyway other than sleep?

Olaf grasped out for the bottle next to him and readied himself to pour another glass but upon finding the bottle to be empty he growled and set off in search of more liquor, specifically some wine. Once reaching the cellar he grabbed two bottles of red from the rack and discovered a few to be missing. As someone who drank frequently, Olaf knew how many bottles he kept on hand and could tell when some had disappeared. Could she have... Olaf wondered, before chuckling to himself. That little minx. Turning to alcohol to cope with pain - she really was following his example. Slowly turning herself rotten from the inside, believing herself to be insidious already. If only his former mentors could see him now. Would they still regard him as a failure if they could see the way she cracked before him? 

Part of him wondered if the Beard and Hair even survived the Hotel Denouement fire. There had been an investigation done into the blaze, though really with a police force that incompetant it was a miracle anybody got arrested and tried in this city. No wonder an organization like VFD could exist for so long without being detected. 

Leaving the cellar, he paced back into the library where he poured himself a glass of wine. Now, the next part would be tricky. He’d have to lead her into starting fires. She’d already started one, so she was more than capable, the question was how was he going to get her to light more? He remembered at the trial how she was so willing to still believe in morality and justice. Even after she heard Esme’s testimony of how the Sugar Bowl ended up stolen, she still wanted to believe in VFD and it’s ethics. Though, now that he thought about it, neither Esme or him really went into detail about that actual murder that had taken place on that night. The story had been cut off prematurely by that annoying busybody Justice Strauss, so Violet and her brat siblings had never gotten to hear about what Beatrice and Lemony had done to his father. 

If her parents were the pillars of her views of morality, the poster-children if you will of her view on the world, then how would she react when she learned that they were murderers? Olaf’s eyes glimmered as his lips curled into a devious smile. She’d be devastated, wouldn’t she? To find out not even her parents were noble, honest people. He could use this. Tell her in excruciating detail how Beatrice had thrown the poison dart which had killed his father, about how Bertrand had smuggled them in to her during intermission. She might cry out, try to say it was an accident and that they were doing it for a noble reason. But, if he could get her to see the stone cold truth, unmask VFD for who they truly were...then she’d break. She might even abandon her sense of morality all together. Add that in with his own philosophy on morality being relative and he could turn her into the firestarter she always had the potential to be.

From observing those three orphans for so many months, Olaf had always pegged Violet to be the one most likely to turn to the side of darkness. She was intelligent, there was no doubt about that, but she was also highly emotional. She was young, and although she had read many books she hadn’t experienced the true cruelties and moral dubiousness of reality until that year. Violet always strove to protect her siblings, even if it meant sacrificing herself. For her to fail at that, it crushed her. For her to be the reason for their passing...well, the results of that were already laid out in front of him. Being so young, so vulnerable and shouldering the enormous responsibility of being the eldest child, it was a guaranteed recipe for potential darkness to unfold, and if manipulated by the right person, could escalate to full on villainy. Fate had afforded him such a precious opportunity with her, and he’d be foolish to squander it.

 

Discarding the now empty glass to the side, Olaf carefully considered how he would tell her the truth about her parents. Would he confront her straight on, or bait her into asking about them? Surely she still had so many questions she desperately needed answered. He’d have to set a few things in motion first, before he could fully turn her. He needed to locate the few remaining volunteers on what was left of the firefighting side. The newspaper had published an official count of all who died, but again, both the police and the papers were unreliable. Only an idiot believes what they read in the paper anyway. 

There wouldn’t be many left, Olaf thought, stalking off upstairs to his bedroom. The fire had killed a considerable amount, and it seemed that many of the larger threats were neutralised. He already knew he wouldn’t have to worry about that banker’s secretary, as he’d heard news that she had relocated to Winnipeg in order to take over for her mother's crown. Few volunteers were unable to attend the trial, but with enough digging he could locate them and any other VFD stronghold they might have created in the meantime. Tearing his coat off, he thought of one last volunteer that he hadn’t heard a word from in years. The last anyone had seen Kit Snicket was driving away from the aforementioned hotel, days before it’s destruction. Thinking of her made his stomach knot. Where was she now? He didn’t make it a habit to keep up with her escapades, it had been years since they had last spoken after all, but he still held a certain amicable view of her, and he, no matter how much he wanted to destroy the firefighting side harming her never fell in line with any of his plans. 

Pushing the thought from his mind, he sighed as he collapsed into bed, not bothering to even remove the rest of his clothes. He was too tired and drunk to even care about such trivial concerns. He fumbled around with trying to turn on a lamp before ultimately giving up and falling back into the tangled mess of sheets around him. It almost seemed too good to be true with how much was going his way. With any luck, this victorious streak would continue and VFD would be dissolved within a matter of time, his end game complete. 

 

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Violet found herself in Olaf’s presence more often. It was comforting, in a way, to have some other human company. Even if he didn’t talk to her, which he rarely did during those times, it helped fill the hollow void within her. She’d continued her daily routine of cleaning and other mind numbing activities, beginning to settle. This was her life. She couldn’t even imagine a future where she wasn’t there, trapped inside that miserable manor. Though it wasn’t him trapping her, it was herself. She didn’t have any purpose out there anyway. Nothing to live for. With Olaf at least, she could have some semblance of company, and validation. The way he looked at her when she had tried on that dress gave her a slight boost to her self-worth - he approved of her. He liked the way she looked. He gave her reason to go on. 

As Violet swept the floors, she shook her head sadly. When had she become the type of woman to be so desperate for a man's approval? Wasn’t she supposed to be stronger than this?

You were also supposed to protect your siblings. Look how well that turned out.

Violet’s breath slowed as she gripped the broom tighter in her hands. There it was again. That damned voice. She hated how right it was, she hated how every single one of her shortcomings was laid out in front of her from dawn to dusk every day by that godforsaken voice. Most of all, she hated the cold hard truth that she deserved every minute of it. Every thorough lashing and chastisement it unleashed on her, it was the punishment for her own sins. And so, she didn’t even try to fight it. Violet let it swallow her. She wished she had just stayed with Klaus and Sunny in the burning hotel and let the raging flames consume them. Death would have been a kinder fate than whatever this was. 

During these times, when the voices were getting too much, was when she’d seek him out. She’d found an unlikely saviour in him, the feeling of his arms around her as she slept making her feel slightly less empty. What even could their relationship be classed as now? She wasn’t exactly his captive, she came here on her own accord after all. She’d slept with him, only to forget the pain. She found comfort in him, though only because he never turned her away. Was that really all there was to it though? Even Violet felt that was a bit of a dismissive summary of their complex relationship with each other. She couldn’t explain it fully herself, but she was dependent on him.

She sighed and threw the broom to the floor, letting the sound of its clatter reverberate through her. Maybe it would do her good to stop trying to overthink things. Did everything need to be picked apart and analysed to death for some hidden meaning? She was a human, not a case study. She didn’t need to think of the implications of any of her feelings of dependency towards him. It wasn’t important.

Turning around, she glanced up at the looming antique clock that was gathering dust in the corner. The room was dimly lit, but the clock still lit through the darkness to display the time as 1:58. It was still early afternoon. With nothing better to do, she made her way out of the ballroom and sought out to find Olaf. All things considered, apart from his mysterious trips out, he seemed to mostly stay secluded in either his tower room or his study. She had no idea what he did in there - whenever she saw him he’d been going over assorted papers and drinking. She wondered what he planned to do with himself now that he’d practically won. He couldn’t access the fortune, not yet anyway, so any plans for lavish overspending would have to be contained for the future. He was still considered legally dead, so it was no wonder law enforcement hadn’t come after them. 

 

As predicted, Violet found him in his study, sorting through a drawer of old scripts. He looked up at her briefly before continuing on with his work. “Can I help you with something?”.

“I...just wanted to see what you were doing”.

“If you must know, I'm looking through old manuscripts to see if there’s anything worth finishing in here” he replied dryly. 

Violet stepped further into the room and sat herself down on an armchair. “Find anything interesting so far?”.

“No, nothing noteworthy. Though I’m sure you didn’t come in here to listen to me talk about manuscripts. What’s really on your mind?” he asked, setting the stack of papers aside and turning to face her. 

She fumbled with her hands as she looked up at him, her face betraying the feelings of sorrow sowed deep within her. “Just thinking. About everything that’s happened”.

Olaf stood up from his chair and glided over to her, taking her face lightly in his hand. He rubbed his thumb against her chin and sighed. He’d never get tired of looking at her like this, so helpless and vulnerable. “Everything as in…?”.

“The past year, what’s happened since the fire…”.

“Darling, there have been a great number of fires this year so you’ll have to be more specific” Olaf prodded, running a stray hand through her hair. Violet looked at him, surprised and somewhat annoyed at his inability to pick up on what she was talking about. “The Baudelaire fire...the one that started this whole ordeal” she said.

“Oh, right” he replied dismissively, removing his hand from her and walking back over to the desk, beginning to move through the endless leafs of paper once more. Violet looked down at her skirt, focusing on the intricate patterns and detailings of the hem. “I was just wondering how things would have turned out, if the fire had never happened....where would I be now…”.

“Probably with your booky brother and brat sister, no doubt enjoying some mundane adventures befitting a girl your age” he muttered, still not glancing up from the piles of paper. Violet pressed further as her voice began to falter slightly. “Sometimes I wonder if there was anything I could have done...back then…to stop all of this from happening” she admitted.

“Like what exactly?”.

“I don’t know...insisting to mother and father that we stay home, or turning around at the last second before the trolley left…” she rambled, picking at a loose thread of the upholstery. “I know that it probably wouldn’t have done anything but I feel so helpless. I’ve failed everyone around me”. Suddenly, the words began to tumble out of her mouth at an alarming rate as she anxiously babbled, digging her nails into her knees in hopes of feeling any sort of physical pain equal to what she was feeling inside. “I have no family left now, and it’s all my fault! For months I had to look after them, devise ways to help us survive, and all for what? For my carelessness and cowardice to get them killed in some goddamn fire?” she choked out.

She could feel him staring at her but she didn’t care. The words just wouldn’t stop, and she didn’t want them to stop. “And I hate to admit it, but sometimes I’d find myself angry. Not at you, but at my parents. I know it’s wicked of me to think so, it’s not their fault for dying but still …”. Rubbing her eyes, she continued on. “And that will of theirs, why be so intentionally vague about things? Even if it was Mr Poe’s own incompetence that placed us here, shouldn’t have they anticipated this? Maybe write into their will ‘Please place our children with Dr Montgomery Montgomery’, or something a little less easy to misinterpret? And I know I shouldn’t think like this but-”.

Violet stopped her ramble as she felt Olaf’s hand rest against her shoulder. His gaze was full of pity as he lifted her up to stand, causing the hurricane inside Violet’s mind to settle slightly. “Yes, you probably shouldn’t be thinking that way. But come now, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t cry like this” he said, stroking his hand lightly against her shoulder. She stepped closer to him, her eyes focused to the floor as she cried silently. She wanted to curl herself into him and cry into his worn-out jacket but there was something she needed to know - and it was something she’d been wanting the answers to for a very long time. 

“There is...one thing...one thing, I need to ask you”.

Olaf furrowed his brow. “Go on...” he replied cautiously. 

With tears in her eyes, she looked up at him pleadingly, pushing herself to vocalise the suspicion she had held in her heart from the moment she laid eyes on him. “Did you burn down the Baudelaire mansion?”. 

 

He had to admit he was slightly taken aback by this. He supposed it was only logical for the children to see him as the root cause of their predicament after the amount of fires they’d seen him set. And he wouldn’t deny it that the thought had crossed his mind multiple times over the years to burn down the Baudelaire mansion. But for how many fires he had set, this was one he was innocent of. “Is that what you think?” Olaf asked. 

Violet stayed silent as her eyes searched for answers. She wanted to feel anger at him, to blame him for everything that had happened so that she could ease her conscience a bit. But deep down, looking up at him as he was right now, she knew that even if he had set the fire that destroyed her home, it wouldn’t clear her of any wrongdoings or failings. Stop trying to blame everyone else for your mistakes, girl. There’s nobody to blame but yourself for where you are now .

Olaf smirked and before she knew it his lips were on hers as his hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her up closer. Violet blinked in astonishment before leaning into the kiss ever so slightly. Before she knew it, his lips were gone and she was back to feeling bleak and uneasy. 

“I hate to disappoint you, but no, I’m not the one who destroyed the Baudelaire mansion” he revealed, still gripping tightly onto her waist. Violet’s eyes fell as she pondered this new information. Was he telling the truth? If not him, then who? “Do you know who did it?” she asked. Olaf let go of her and stalked back over to the table, gathering the miscellaneous documents together and tossing them haphazardly into one of the drawers. “No, I don’t” he replied casually. “Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the work of someone within the organization. After all, I wasn’t the only person your parents pissed off throughout the years”. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“It means, clever girl, that things aren’t always as they seem. The people you hold closest could be the villains of someone else's story. Morality is relative, and everyone is out for themselves”. He strode towards the door but found himself stopped by a slight tug on the sleeve of his jacket. Looking down, he saw her gazing up at him with her bright blue eyes, pleading with him to tell her more. “What do you know about my parents?” she whispered.

Sighing, he trailed his hand lightly across her forehead and placed a quick kiss on her temple. “I’ll explain later, once i’ve gotten back”. 

By the time Violet knew what was going on, Olaf was already halfway out the door. “Where are you going?” she cried out, following after him into the overgrown yard.

“That’s none of your concern. And get back inside” he ordered.

Violet stopped in the frame of the front door and watched him as he threw open the door of his car. “When...will you be back?”. 

“Do you always have to ask so many questions? Later, around 6:00” he threw up his hands frustratedly, and before she could say anymore, he turned the keys in the ignition and drove off, leaving her to stare after him on the creaky porch. 

She stood that way for a few moments before she made her way back inside, her fingers curling around the lock as she slammed the door shut and set off to make a cup of tea. She hated having to sit there, stewing with the implications of his words and waiting for him to return so he could fill her in on whatever the everloving hell he meant. It was frustrating how intentionally vague everyone around her had been on giving out answers to important and pressing questions. Maybe if she’d known about certain things to do with VFD earlier, or her parents, she could have actually done something meaningful to keep her family safe. Alas, this was how things stood now, and she’d only have to wait a few more hours for some answers. 

 

The hours passed by and after pacing the rooms for an uncomfortable amount of time she found herself drifting towards the tower room. She purposefully avoided the place the entire time she’d been there, as it always made her uncomfortable to be up there, with memories of how she’d been held captive after scaling the tower in a desperate attempt to rescue Sunny from a frighteningly high cage. Climbing the stairs, she lifted the hatch up and immediately coughed at the amount of dust that had been gathering up there. She’d have to give the room a thorough cleaning once she was feeling more up to it. 

Violet knew Olaf wouldn’t want her up there poking through his stuff but she was that desperate for something to do that she disregarded his instructions with ease. After spotting a pile of assorted boxes stashed under a clothes rack of costumes, she knelt down and began to look through them. Most of them were filled with documents and papers with things she only half understood written on them. After failing to make sense of any of it, she tossed them aside and reached for a small shoebox wedged in the corner. 

Upon opening it, she sputtered at the amount of unsettled dust moving it had caused to circulate. Once she was done coughing, she saw the box contained old photographs stacked on top of one another. Sifting through them she saw what appeared to be a much younger Olaf with what she guessed to be former VFD members. Her heart stopped when she pulled out a crumpled photograph of Olaf, his arm strung around Kit Snicket as they stood in front of an opera house. Looking closer, she saw both of them sporting rings on their fingers. The words from the trial started to come back to her. Two retracted marriage proposals . Was this what he meant? Had he been engaged to Kit?

Underneath the photographs she spied a couple of cassette tapes buried at the bottom of the box. There were three exactly, each emblazoned with a glossy permanent marker numbering each side. Remembering the cassette deck she’d fixed up earlier, Violet decided it might be worth properly testing it and so lifted them out of their home in the box and carried them downstairs with her. She didn’t know what was on them, but guessed that it was probably old music or the like. She found the cassette deck exactly where she left it and clicked open the casing for the first tape, inserting it into the machine and pressing down on the lid.

Her finger hovered over the play button as she started to think about what could be on it. Why would it be hidden away like that unless it contained something secret? Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and clicked play.

Notes:

up next: tapes and exposition

just to note quickly, this story is mostly following the netflix show canon as it's been a hot minute since i've read the books.

also i've changed the number of chapters since i've mapped out the events for the rest of the story and determined that it only needs 11 chapters to be told, though this may change if a chapter becomes too long and needs to be split (unlikely).

keep leaving comments and stuff, i love talking to you guys!

Chapter 7

The spools of the tape whirred to life as Violet lifted her finger off the play button, her heart beating at an alarmingly fast rate in her chest. She felt as if she was going to throw up from the sensation, a violent storm lurching in her stomach as she waited for the tape to start and its contents to be revealed.

There was a slight crackle as the recording started before emitting nothing but silence. She wondered for a minute if the tape was blank and that she’d worked herself up for nothing before hearing the unmistakable sound of a man exhaling filling the room. Her breath slowed slightly but her heart rate refused to follow, racing at a thousand miles per hour. She’d know that frustrated but slightly melancholic sigh anywhere - it was the one she’d heard only a few hours before right there in that house.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Venting to a tape recorder. I’m not even sure why I have these or why I would even want any record of this - what purpose does any of this serve in the end? Nobody will ever know the truth” the voice of a younger, much more subdued Count Olaf filled the room. Violet stared at the small device, unsure of what to make of any of this. All she could do was listen on. 

“I suppose I should explain what led me to recording this tape in the first place. The events preceding only happened a few hours before - the late hours of June 13 to be exact. To most others, it would have been a regular evening at the opera. But when you're involved in such an elusive organization, what was meant to be an outing to the opera between colleagues, comrades even, can change so quickly. Beatrice was performing, and although I don’t personally care much for the opera I decided to attend out of obligation, and as a certain favour to my father” . There was a slight pause before he continued, the sound of a glass filling puncturing his words. “Kit accompanied me, along with Esme and Snicket. Like I said, a typical evening on the surface level. It was probably my first outing with Kit since I proposed to her only a week or so before. I remember Esme seeing the ring, glimmering gold against the red satin gloves she wore, and remarking on how gorgeous the topaz ring looked with the rest of her outfit - very “In”, as she said in her own words” .

So they were engaged. Violet glanced down at the photograph still in hand, feeling the crinkles of the paper underneath her fingertips. Her heart slowed as she sat herself down on the floor, smoothing out her dress underneath her as she leaned against the chest of drawers the cassette deck was positioned on. 

“Someone took a photo of Kit and I before we went inside. I don’t remember who, but they gave me a card and said they’d mail me the result in a week. Whatever that's supposed to mean. Before the show started, I briefly saw my father with his colleagues in the fire department. It was a mundane enough chat, we talked mostly about inconsequential topics - recent events, how he was doing, things like that. It had been awhile since I’d last seen him, among various VFD related things and my proposal to Kit I hadn’t had much of a chance to catch up. I did tell him news of my engagement, to which he replied ‘Olaf, my boy, all grown up and getting married’ with that proud, misty eyed look on his face that parents usually get when their kid has achieved some sort of big milestone. At the time it made me cringe slightly, I mean, it was embarrassing having him talk that way in front of my fiancee. But now...I wish I hadn’t been so snide ”. 

There was another pause as he presumably took a swig of whiskey, his voice wobbling slightly as he continued his tale. “The opera started, and predictably it was boring as all hell. I had a hard time keeping my eyes open for most of it. My mind ended up wandering off to other matters concerning VFD. The murmurs of dissent has started to spread through the organization, ideologies being challenged. A schism could be threatening, and that would cause a whole heap of trouble. What that would mean for me, and my relationship with Kit and the others, well, at the time I wasn’t worried. Now, that’s a different story, but it’s funny to think a few hours ago that I had Kit on my right arm, living in ignorance of how everything could change so suddenly and turn on me. 

Snicket hadn’t said much all evening, instead admiring Beatrice from afar with his spyglass. I must have fallen asleep at one point because before I knew it the lights were snapping on and Kit’s hand was tapping on my shoulder. “Is the show over?” I remember groaning in my haze and hearing Kit laugh and say “It’s only intermission. Did you really sleep through the entire first act?”. “Me? Fall asleep during a performance? What do you take me for?” I responded jovially. She just rolled her eyes and handed me a cup of tea she’d poured ”.

 

Violet was confused by all of this. What did the Sugar Bowl have to do with any of this? How did things go so wrong so fast? Stumbling slightly, she hastily hit the pause button on the deck and leaned back, eying the machine nervously. Curiosity broiled inside of her, craving answers and explanations for the mountain of questions she still had. But what if she found out something she shouldn’t have? What if she didn’t want to know the answers, lest they reveal things she didn’t want to hear? Knowledge of VFD didn’t save her and her family from their ultimate fate. Why carry on if not to satisfy some selfish desire?

She had to consider this carefully. So far what she knew was that Olaf and Kit Snicket were engaged at some point in time, and him and Esme Squalor were friends with her mother. An argument about morality triggered the theft of the sugar bowl, leading to the schism. What if she just stopped there? She could eject the tape, throw it back in the box and pretend she never heard anything. What would knowing do for her anyway? Satisfy the burning curiosity that flickered within her, sure, but would it just bring her pain? Knowledge can be a burden. However, if she didn’t play the tapes now, she wouldn’t be sure when she’d have the opportunity to next. What time was it anyway? Looking out the window the sky was still bright with the afternoon sun. How much longer would she have? 

After debating with herself for a moment more, Violet concluded that she had to press on, and so flicked the play button with her delicate little fingers as she settled down onto her backside, cradling her knees to her chin. 

“Beatrice had returned, having been stopped by an admirer on the way who gifted her a small wooden box of some kind. I’d asked her what was in it and she played coy for a moment, raising a gloved finger to her lips before turning to kiss Snicket on the cheek. I didn’t think too much of this, let the woman have her secrets I guess. Esme had started to talk about something to do with fashion as she poured tea for the rest of us. A moment later she was interrupted by a young man who tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to step outside. She looked vaguely annoyed at him interrupting her but still smiled and floated out into the corridor, returning a moment later with a small envelope. I remember thinking to myself “What is with everyone getting gifts tonight?” and being slightly miffed at not being given anything by any beautiful admirers but by then the second act had started and I became distracted once more ”.

The sound of a glass slamming down broke her concentration, rattling her slightly. She heard him chuckle slightly on the recording, though his laughter was void of any happiness and instead betrayed a cruel and furious smirk, the one she’d come to know him by all these years later. “ Why am I even doing this… ” Olaf muttered, before the sounds of the chair creaking back as he downed the rest of the whiskey played out on the recording. It was strange, when you think about it, seeing things from the past. You’re looking at a moment captured in time, one you’ll never be able to re-experience properly without looking at it through the eyes of someone else, whether it be yourself or someone else. 

There was a moment of silence before she heard Olaf exhale frustratedly, musing “I’m already drunk as it is, I might as well keep going... ”. With that, he cleared his throat and started again his tale of woe. “I didn’t pay attention to much of what Beatrice and Esme were talking about. Something about morality or whatever. I didn’t think it was my business to know. I’d later find out it was a discussion about the ownership of the Sugar Bowl. Esme wanted to keep it as part of her tea set, while Beatrice had herself over concerned with its contents. Eventually Esme got all huffy and came to sit up front, flicking her hair back petulantly. At this point I was complaining to Kit about the opera so I didn’t see what fully went down, as the next thing I knew Esme was cursing under her breath and dashing out of the door. Kit got up to follow them, and I tugged at her arm. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the show?” I asked her, before she rolled her eyes at me and said rather curtly “Olaf, you weren’t even that interested in the show to begin with. This seems important”. 

So we both exited out into the foyer, where Beatrice, Snicket and Esme were aiming poison darts at each other. Beatrice was clutching the damned Sugar Bowl in her hand, and immediately I knew what exactly had gotten Esme so enraged - she had a bit of an attachment to it, so why she allowed for VFD to use it to hold something so important honestly baffles me. At some point somebody was going to try to take it, though I guess she didn’t exactly expect the betrayal to come from people so close to her. Neither did I really. Kit tried to mediate things, being forever the peacekeeper and for whatever reason my father chose that exact moment to step out into the foyer” . 

 

Olaf’s voice began to become smaller as she heard him struggle to fight back tears. It was so odd hearing him sound so vulnerable. She’d never considered him to be capable of any emotion other than bitter spite and villainous pride. The fact that he was once in love and engaged to Kit Snicket was all the more crazy. It was clear there were still many things about Olaf she didn’t know. Violet focused her attention back as she heard him clear his throat on the recording. “It was too late though - Beatrice had thrown the dart and it hit him straight in the neck. The poison coated on the tips acts fast, as he was only able to glance at me in shock before collapsing dead to the ground. For a moment the world was still, time stopped for just one moment as his lifeless body fell to the cold marble floors. Nobody said a word, not one thing - just silence, staring at a man who had been alive only moments before. When I finally realised what had happened, having processed the reality of the situation, I felt a number of different emotions. Sorrow. Confusion. Betrayal. But, most notably, anger. Burning, raging fires of hate igniting inside me. I looked up at Snicket and Beatrice, and for the first time such a thought crossed my mind - ‘I wish you were dead’”.

“The rest of the evening blurred past - the police and the coroner were called and Snicket made his daring escape with the Sugar Bowl. For whatever reason he took the fall for Beatrice - so he’s off now. I watched him wait for his brother's taxi on the fire escape above the alley: I should have gone down there and said something. But I didn’t. Esme had joined me at that point, seething with hatred silently as she stood beside me. It was the night we both of swore vengeance on Beatrice and Snicket. I don’t know how that will go down with VFD, after all, they’re both absolutely beloved within the organization, but honestly I don’t give a damn” he continued in a snide tone dripping with hate and bloodlust, before tapering off into a silence that lasted for a solid few moments. “I need another drink… ” he growled before the tape clicked off and ejected itself, waking Violet up from her state of deep concentration.

As she adjusted her position slightly so she could grab the tape, she grappled with the new information that was presented before her. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. Her mother couldn’t be a murderer. Beatrice Baudelaire, renowned opera singer, volunteer, murderer? Violet ran her fingers over the cassette tape, tracing the glossy marking of the number ‘2’ on the front facing side. So it seemed she wasn’t the only Baudelaire to stray from the path of righteousness. She wondered if her mother thought about it, all those years later. Did she ever wake up in the morning and think “I killed a man”? And not just any man, the father of a former close friend. Did she hate herself for her hypocrisy of preaching morality to them, all the while having the memory of seeing a man’s life be extinguished right in front of her? 

Violet felt her guilt through and through, wearing it like a cloak around her for everyone to see. She’d felt disgusted with herself to have betrayed her parents' legacy, knowing how well respected they were to the community and later VFD, but the secret was out. It was all a lie. 

But, surely, she reasoned, it must have been an accident? She didn’t mean to kill Olaf’s father, right? The thought did little to comfort her as she knew that even if her mother hadn’t exactly meant to kill Olaf’s father, she was still aiming for Esme Squalor, and if things had gone differently Esme would be the one with the poison dart to her neck. Either way, her mother was still a murderer. She’d aimed to kill a close friend, all for what? A piece of a tea set? 

Staring down at the tape, Violet wondered once again if she should continue. The first tape had already dropped a bombshell of revelations onto her, who knows what could be on the rest? What next? Uncle Monty being revealed to be secretly committing massive tax fraud? Aunt Josephine having affiliations with the mafia? 

Everything in her told her to not place the next side. To toss it out the window and curl up in the sheets of Olaf’s bed away from the treachery of the world. But she had to know. She had to know why VFD had abandoned him, why he defected to the Firestarter side of the Schism. She had to understand the reason behind all of this. 

 

Against her better judgement, she flipped the tape over and pressed it into the player, her body shaking violently as her fingers fumbled for the play button. 

“So, I’m back doing this again. I swore to myself last time that this would be a one time thing, but then you get one too many glasses of whiskey in you and suddenly you're telling your life story to a damn machine. How the mighty have fallen ” Olaf spat, his speech slurred slightly. “ I’ve been handling it as well as any man could - drinking more than what is socially acceptable at 10:00 AM, descending into utter insanity, mourning the loss of the only family I had left. Nobody from VFD has even bothered trying to contact me, and I haven’t bothered reaching back out to them. Actually, tonight was the first time I’d talked to anyone involved in the organization. Seeing that damned eye insignia everywhere, it mocks me. They serve as nothing more than a constant reminder of what I’ve lost”.

As the tape played on and Violet felt the cold chill of the room nip at her fingertips, she couldn’t help but feel as if time itself had stopped moving forward. Nothing seemed real anymore, the days would go by and the sun would rise and set every morning, the only indicator that any change in time had occurred. Sure, there were clocks around the house, but a device displaying a set of numbers doesn’t do much to make anybody convince themselves that time was in fact real and not a complete illusion. Or at least, it didn’t convince her. She looked out towards the shattered window, hastily covered with some sort of tarp. Nobody out there knew what was going on. They all went about their lives, unaware of the secrets and lies buried beneath, the very events of what occurred on these tapes and so much more happening right in front of them with nobody noticing. So self involved was the general human population, their own ignorance had been a defining factor in what had failed her and her family time and time again. As much as Violet felt herself to be the one at fault, even in her guilt ridden state she could still see how utterly useless the people around her had been.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. And fuck VFD especially. They hadn’t even tried to stop Olaf from going down the path he did, even after it was one of their own who had caused him to spiral in the first place. They seemed to be great at creating their own worst enemies. Violet swallowed, unable to shake the tightness of her throat. So much had started to make sense. Why Olaf had hated her and her siblings so much in the first place, his increased unhingedness with every failed scheme and attempt on their life, the damn eye tattoo that haunted her for months on end. With how VFD had been presented to her from the start, with their masterful propaganda, it was no wonder that she had initially fallen for it and wanted to jump headfirst into the world of volunteers and secret codes. But with this, now...she wanted nothing to do with it. Knowing even more that her mother had been involved in such treachery was the cherry on top. 

There was another pause before the sound of his faltering voice crackled through the room. “Kit and I...she returned the ring. She thought it would be best for us to go our separate ways. I wouldn’t say it came out of nowhere. I fully expected her to do this, and if she didn’t then I would have. The Schism that was threatening before has been thrown into full force. She probably knew how things would turn out in the long run, and no matter how fond she is of me she won’t abandon her brothers or her frustratingly pervasive sense of morality. So, here I am, with a gold and topaz ring, drinking...what even is this ” he fumbled around with the bottle before shrugging. “Jack Daniels. Huh. Anyway, even though I predicted this entirely, I knew that my engagement was going down in flames before my very eyes, it still hurts. I mean...being in a position with someone where you want to marry them, then have that crumble to dust in front of you... ”. 

 

The tape clicked off, signalling for her to snatch the cassette from its resting place. One tape down, two more to go. Violet grabbed the second one from the floor and, flipping it so the side reading ‘3’ was faced up, deposited it into the player. 

“After wandering the tunnels for weeks, it was probably bound to happen that I’d come across someone else under there. That someone, presumably, being an insufferable volunteer. Maybe then they’d be forced to acknowledge my existence and confront the awful and terrible things they were covering up. Maybe it would have been Jacques, or someone like that, trying to convince me that Beatrice had made a mistake and the whole incident should be forgotten and swept under the carpet. Like I’d ever let them talk me into doing that. But no, it was none of them, it was someone entirely unexpected. The funeral for my father had been held the day before, so as usual I’d coped with the evening by drinking too much and collapsing in the parlour room. For whatever reason, when morning came I felt the urge to go wandering through those tunnels again. I spent a good hour to myself pacing the corridors, hearing the sound of the rain fall above. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice when they showed up.

It was the two that had been causing the volunteers to be on edge and nervous for weeks. The Man with a Beard but no Hair, and the Woman with Hair but No Beard. I don’t know their actual names to be honest, but volunteers usually refer to them as the Sinister Duo. They were the ones instigating for a divergence from VFD’s conduct, a move to a more fire-friendly approach. I never expected to encounter them myself honestly ”.

That’s how he’d met them then. Alone, and wandering through the damp darkness of the VFD tunnels. She remembered from her first encounter with the Sinister Duo that sense of fear that had been struck into her heart. In a matter of seconds she was already able to gauge their level of threat and how very capable they were of harming her and her siblings lives. She wondered if Olaf had felt the same way first meeting them. 

“I had to admit, I wasn’t exactly stoked to see them. Even with my reservations towards VFD, I’d heard of the reputation they had earned for themselves, and never wanted to come across them for myself. ‘You look lost’ one of them, the man, remarked.  I responded with ‘How can I be lost? There’s signs everywhere’, trying to hide my nerves under a snarky facade. The two seemed unperturbed by my dry humour and motioned- ”.

 

“Violet!” A voice rang out, and Violet immediately knew that her time had run out and Olaf had returned. Frantically, she moved her hands to the eject button and grabbed the tape from inside the player. Snatching the rest off the floor, she tossed them deep into her pocket and hoped that she’d get another chance to listen to them in the future. The dark revelations had shaken her to her core, but at the same time she couldn’t stop herself from listening on. The yearning and thirst for knowledge was too strong, and she was invested in fully knowing about the organization that had unknowingly hung over her life like a darkened cloud. 

Scurrying out off the floor, she half leapt out of the room and hurried down the hallway to the stairwell where she saw Olaf, waiting for her at the bottom rung expectantly. She tried to plaster on a calm and collected face, pretending that she hadn’t rooted through his stuff and found a collection of audio tapes describing his past. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon” she muttered while trying to pace her breath and disguise the feeling of her heart about to jump out of her chest. She’d directly disobeyed his orders. He’d surely be furious, and no doubt would punish her in some way. What would he do to her then?

“My dear, I’m back at the exact time I said I’d be” he remarked. Staring her down, he furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes at her. Noticing the slight tremble she had when she looked at him, he instantly knew her to be hiding something from him. She was an astonishingly poor actor, she might as well be not trying at all. “Alright, spit it out. What are you up to?”. 

“Hmm?” Violet murmured before averting her gaze, glancing down at her feet to hide her disappointment that he saw right through her. “I’m not up to anything!”. 

Olaf glared at her before reaching for her arm and pulling her closer towards him, tightening his grip on her wrist. Violet gasped a little as she stumbled into him, feeling his hands bruising against her as he stared her down with those cold shiny eyes of his. “By now, I would have thought you’d have realised that hiding things from me is useless. I’m quite a perceptive man, after all” he growled. He felt the side of her dress brush against him and noticed it to be a lot heavier than he would have guessed. Reaching out, he slipped a hand into the pocket and felt his fingers brush against a small object made of what he guessed to be plastic. 

Violet felt her breath hitch as he produced the tape from her pocket. That’s it - she was done for. He would be angry at her for disobeying his orders, and he’d kill her. No, he’d keep her alive, he needed her fortune. He’d just do something depraved, pull away from her entirely and reject her in her darkest hours. The thought of losing his counsel made her whimper and tear up as she watched him study the tape, probably wondering how it ended up in her pocket. “You’ve been in my tower room?” he asked, his voice in a low and dangerous tone. Violet felt herself crumble as she stepped back away from him and cried out “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just...I was so bored, and I didn’t know what to do. Please, don’t hurt me”.

 

Olaf watched the scene in front of him unfold and how she crumbled like a paper doll. The situation was unexpected and she had disobeyed him, but this could work to his advantage. If she’d already listened to the tapes, then she’d know the horrible truth about her mother and father. She’d be even more lost and alone than she had been before. In fact, it was so convenient for him that he wasn’t mad at all that she’d gone against his wishes and perused through his personal items, this was the best outcome after all.

Stroking her cheek, he brushed a hand over her shoulder and led her into the kitchen. “How many did you listen to?” Olaf asked while steering her towards one of the bar stools, guiding her to sit on the one to the far right of the counter. “I-I listened to both sides of the first one, and a bit of Side A of the second” Violet responded, unsure of what to make of this. She didn’t expect him to react so passively. She waited to see if it was a trap, if he would fly into a murderous rage after luring her into a false sense of security but instead she saw him reach for a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. Violet watched as he poured the liquid into the glasses, adding a dash of bitters and a sugar cube to both of them before mixing. “I’m sure you know then, about the night at the opera, and what your mother did” he continued while reaching into the freezer for a few ice cubes. 

“I do...but...I still have so many questions…” Violet murmured as he slid her a glass. Olaf moved into the stool beside her, taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s called an Old Fashioned. You’ll like it” he muttered and gestured to the beverage. She cradled the cup in her hands and lifted it to take a sip. The drink was sweet, a smooth and silky taste that slipped down her throat. It was rich, but not so rich that she’d find herself sick from it. 

“So, you want to know the truth about VFD, do you? You want to know the horrible, vile things they do, the secrets they cover up, the lies they keep?” he asked. “Because it doesn’t just stop at the opera. It goes even deeper, way deeper than you could ever imagine”.

Notes:

everyone is emo here

sorry for uploading late! i was busy the past weekend and didn't get the chance to write when i usually do

also, side note but i made a sideblog on tumblr for writing/violaf stuff bc my main is already crowded with other things. my username is @vanderlindemorgans

Chapter 8

Violet sat there for a moment, not entirely sure of what to say. Her hands were still grasped firmly around the glass of liquor, her knuckles turning white the tighter she clutched her fingers. She still waited to see if this really was a trap, if there was some sort of punishment being doled out that she wasn’t seeing yet. Olaf continued to lightly sip on the rest of the liquid, mostly seeming to be lost in thought. If he did notice her fret, he was doing a damn good job of not showing it. 

She realised that she hadn’t exactly answered his question, and with great urgency blurted out “Yes. I’m ready. I want to know everything”. 

He regarded her with a simple smirk before returning the glass to the countertop, letting his long fingers lightly linger on the edges and tracing the rim of the glass with a ghostly touch. “I suppose I’ll fill you in on what’s on the rest of the tapes. After I met up with those two in the tunnels, they offered me a...position of sorts. In exchange for a single task, I could become an apprentice under them and fulfill my desires for vengeance, as well as several other larger, more tantalising goals” Olaf explained, watching as her eyes became wider. She looked so young in that moment, so fragile and broken. Soon enough, she’d be exactly who he needed her to be. If he could push her on, snuff out that last wisp of virtuous hope she desperately clung to, then she could belong entirely to him. 

“What task did they want you to do?” Violet asked, her voice faltering slightly. Olaf raised his brow and sniggered at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”.

She looked down at her glass despondently. “Oh. Right, arson”.

They sat in silence for a few moments more, neither one of them daring to break the tension in the air. Violet didn’t know what to say - she wanted to know everything, and now the answers were right at her fingertips but she didn’t even know where to start. She wanted to know how a man could lose himself so quickly, and fall into the hands of people who clearly didn’t have the best intentions for him. Though she knew the question was stupid, so she thought to refrain from asking it.

Olaf clicked his finger against the side of glass, silently commanding her to drink more. She sighed and lifted the glass to her lips, allowing the warm liquid to wash down her throat and engulf her crushing heart. “What...uh, where did you set the fire?” she mumbled as she felt her cheeks flush with the warmth of the alcohol she ingested. Olaf shrugged and replied “Just one of those Volunteer bases. Nothing you need to concern yourself with”.

“Did people die?”.

“If nobody had, do you think VFD would have been so quick to class me as their most wanted?”.

Violet gulped. “And the last tape?”.

“Dated a year or so before the Baudelaire fire. Just filled with a bunch of self-reflecting and seething hatred for both of your parents” Olaf answered before sculling the rest of the glass and chucking it back down on the counter. She went to nod in response but found herself stumbling back over the last part of his sentence. “Both of my parents?” Violet turned to face him, confusion blossoming in her eyes. “What did my father ever do to you?”.

Olaf rolled his eyes. “Who do you think gave your mother the poison darts at the opera?”.

Violet felt her breath catch in her throat as her fingers wrapped themselves around the edge of the glass. Oh god. So not only was her mother a murderer, her father was also involved by proxy. Was there really nobody in her life that was a truly good person? She felt herself shake as she tossed her head back and threw the rest of the soothing liquid down her throat. No, it wasn’t enough, the reality of her life was still laid out in front of her, taunting her with the cold hard truth of the cruelties of the world. She needed more. 

He could see the way the weight of the world rested on her shoulders and the way her eyes shattered before him. She was so easy to read, it was practically effortless. She began to get up from her seat, predictably in search of more liquor but he placed his hand firmly down onto her shoulder and reached out for the stray bottle of whiskey beside them. 

 

Violet swallowed as she watched him refill the glass, fixating her eyes on the endless stream of liquid. “Why did you do it?”.

He looked up at her in confusion. “Do what?”.

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before adding “The fires. What made you jump so easily to committing arson?”. God, for someone who prided himself on being perceptive he could really be daft sometimes.

Olaf found himself conflicted for a moment. How would he put this so it could come off as sympathetic and justified? He remembered back to what it felt like starting that first fire. The smell of the gasoline had been so strong, he’d swear that everytime he reminisced that he could still smell it all those years later. He’d gotten used to the smell of lighter fluid, sure, but even still the memory of confronting it for that very first time had permanently burned into his mind that he’d swear it would be the one memory he’d carry with him for years to come, even as others faded to the cruel sands of time. He’d also remembered how nervous he’d been. It was such a huge leap, turning from someone who actively fought against fires to the person dropping the match. But the feeling it gave him afterwards, that rush of adrenaline in his veins, was what made it all worth it. 

Would she also feel that way, starting fires? Considering his words carefully, he answered “Well, I figured it was the best option I could take, or really the only option I could. After, the ‘noble’ side of VFD had made it clear they didn’t want to associate with me anymore”.

Violet took another sip of the whiskey. “But...surely, it was hard for you? Destroying peoples lives and all. Did it ever weigh on your conscience?”.

Olaf sighed. “My dear, with all the fires I’ve set throughout my life, if I took any of it on I’d be as much of a nervous wreck as you. Sure, the first time is always the hardest, but you get a sense of...catharsis afterwards. It’s a moment where you can shed your past and become someone completely new” he rambled. 

She looked down at her hands holding the almost empty glass. Had she really gone through it that quickly? She almost hadn’t noticed. Her mind, though practically swimming in booze, pondered this new information. Shed your past, become a new person? The thought had appealed to her, but she was still unsure. Would setting things on fire really dull the pain, or would it just be more cause to hate herself?

She felt Olaf’s hand brush against her neck as he stroked her chin, humming softly under his breath. “Your thinking of something again” he muttered, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Care to tell me what?”.

“I...I guess I like the idea. Starting anew. But...I just don’t know if something as destructive as fire is really the way to go, especially since it’s already taken so much from me” she mumbled, allowing him to take her chin in his hands and tilt her head up slightly towards him.

“Fire doesn’t have to be bad, darling. It can be weaponized, used in your favour. If you look at it from that perspective, then you can use the flames as a way to forget. Let it all burn down, and once it’s done you can grind the ashes into the dirt. It can make everything you hate disappear so you can create something new, something better”.

 

Violet considered this for a moment. Burn her past to the ground, let it disintegrate into a pile of smoldering and smokey ashes. Was this what she was destined for? Something still in the back of her mind urged her not to do it, that she was awful for even considering such an option, but she drowned those thoughts out with one final sip of whiskey. If everyone around her had done such horrible things, then why should she continue pretending to be noble? She’d already condemned her siblings to their terrible fate, along with countless other misdeeds, so really, in the grand scheme of things, setting a few fires wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe she’d be able to find that feeling of catharsis Olaf had described.

Looking up at him, she searched his face for approval as she nodded. “Show me then...show me how fire can be used to my advantage”. His lips broke into a devious smile as he stood her up and grasped a hand firmly onto her shoulder. “I’d be more than happy to. I already have an idea of what you can practice on”. She leaned into his touch, brushing her head lightly against his chest. He felt so warm, so reassuring. She didn’t know if it was the whiskey getting to her head but she felt her cheeks flush as he led her out into the backyard, guiding her down the dilapidated steps. 

He’d felt her head rest on his chest, and had to stop himself from grinning like a cheshire cat at the close contact. It was ridiculous, but he liked having her so near, leaning on him for protection as if to say “Take me away, take all my pain away”. She probably hadn’t even realised herself how dependent she’d become on him. 

He led her to a discarded barrel towards the back of the yard, filled with random piles of dead leaves and twigs. Olaf reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, flipping the lid open before handing it to her. She looked at it curiously before taking it slowly in her own hands, turning the small metal thing around in her palms. “What...what should I use this on?” she whispered.

Olaf smiled as he pulled out the lone cassette tape he had confiscated off her earlier, holding it up so that she could see it. “How about these?” he offered, pressing the small plastic object into her palm. 

“But…” she stumbled, her eyes widening. “They’re yours...I can’t just…”.

“So? You already know what’s on them. I’ve held onto these for so long and for no good reason either. So go ahead. Burn them” Olaf shrugged. 

Violet hesitated before cautiously throwing the tape into the barrel. The clattering sound it made as it ricocheted off the side and onto the pile of garbage made her shudder nervously. It’s ok, she rationalised. This is what you have to do. Don’t be nervous. Just burn them.

He could see her shake as she produced the rest of the tapes from her dress pocket, depositing them into the barrel and letting them clatter against each other. She stopped before throwing in the last one, reaching towards the cassettes ribbon and pulling it out into a tangled black mess. Dropping the final one into the barrel, Violet looked up at Olaf with her wide blue eyes seeking guidance and approval. He smirked and produced the bottle of whiskey he had brought from the kitchen. Normally he wouldn’t want to waste good liquor, but he rationalised that this was an important moment, the one where Violet Baudelaire would finally step into the darkness and let go of her past, like a phoenix reborn from the ashes. And besides, he had plenty of whiskey stored around the house, he’d survive with one less bottle.

 

Olaf tipped the bottle upside, allowing the liquid to spill all over the plastic casing before carelessly tossing the dejected bottle aside, allowing it to shatter on the ground behind them. Violet felt herself jump slightly as the sound of the shattering glass filled the air before she quickly chided herself for such behaviour. Getting jumpy over a smashed bottle? Seriously? She was admittedly more nervous than she previously thought. 

He watched as she fumbled with the lighter, letting her delicate fingers flick over the switch and her eyes light up as the flame ignited in front of her. She bit her pretty pink lips as she watched the flame dance, her face betraying the feelings of anxiety swelling inside. He resisted the urge to snatch her up there and then and taste those sweet lips, letting them utter the words he had longed to hear her say for so long. I need you Olaf . Instead, he ran his hand through her hair as he held out a stray receipt he had found in his pocket, silently urging for her to take it. 

She snatched it up quickly and with half a moment's pause held the scrap of paper over the flickering flame. She watched the way it climbed up the edges, turning them brown and then black in its rampage of destruction. He guided her hand towards the barrel and with a deep breath she let the paper go, letting it flutter through the air on its journey downwards. 

A moment later the entire barrel was basked in the warm orange glow of the raging embers. Violet felt herself fold into Olaf instinctively as she watched the black spools of tape crumple and melt into a pool of liquid, the hard plastic of its casing being consumed by the inferno of flames. Just an hour ago she had been listening to those tapes, and now they were gone, lit up in smoke as though they were nothing, as if the truths they held meant absolutely nothing at all. No, they didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not the past, not any of the heinous things she had done, none of it. That feeling there as she curled her hands against herself, the sound of the crackling embers filling the air, that was all she cared about. 

She clicked the lighter closed and allowed herself to be held by him, leaning her head slightly against his chest as she watched the tapes disintegrate into black sludge before her. They stood like that for awhile, simply gazing into the flames. The old Violet Baudelaire was gone, lost to the billowing vortex of flames. She was more than happy to see her go, as she yearned to embrace the future and what it held for her. She’d become the phoenix, letting the ashes wash off her as she spread her wings and flew on. 

Olaf pressed her tightly against him, running a hand lightly over her cheek. “It’s just you and me now, Violet Baudelaire” he deliberated, his eyes still transfixed on the fire below. Violet nodded and sighed, her fingers running over the strands of her ribbon tied to her collar “I’m...still not sure I fully understand” she muttered. 

“In time, you will” he replied, grinning slightly as she moved a hand over his, curling her fingers over in his palms. Those small gestures that so long ago seemed to be out of reach were now something he could enjoy constantly, with no prompting or pressure at all. He’d gotten everything he ever wanted - an enormous fortune, the soon-to-be entire collapse of VFD, and the eldest Baudelaire daughter pliant and submissive to him. All those years of starting fires, chasing after raggedy orphans, all of it culminated in this moment right here. She’d soon start more fires, and the fantasy he had of them running away as the burning screams of the Volunteers filled the background, sweeping her up into a kiss as they fled into the night, jetset Bonnie and Clyde, was drawing even closer to becoming a reality. 

 

“Can we go inside?” she whispered, breaking him out of his daydream. He grinned at her as he moved his hand down to her waist. “If that’s what you want, then sure” he replied, gently steering her away from the still burning inferno of flames. Violet stole one last glance at the tapes, which had almost melted away into an unrecognisable blob by that point, before leaning into him as he gently guided her up the stairs and into the house. Her mind was a whirlwind of memories, clouded like the black smoke she’d seen outside. She almost didn’t notice him pick her up into his arms bridal-style and begin to carry her up the stairs if it weren’t for the sudden feeling of being displaced and the warm feeling of his chest against hers. He’d never held her like this before. It was...nice. 

He let her bury herself into him as he brought her into the bedroom, resting her gently on the bed. Her fingers lingered over his arms as he set her down, wanting him to stay there, close to her, for as long as possible. “Olaf, I-”.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere” he reassured, resting himself down next to her. Violet glanced out the window and saw the luminous light of the moon radiate through the sky. She hadn’t even noticed the sun begin to set earlier, and wondered how late it was exactly. Her thoughts were pulled to a standstill as she felt Olaf’s lips graze the top of her head lightly as he cupped her cheek in his hand. Violet let herself be moved by him, let his hands wander down her arms as he pulled her into a deep kiss. She let her eyes flutter closed as she felt her mind descend into a drug-like haze. This was fine. This was what she wanted to do. This was who she was meant to be.

She felt slightly alarmed when she felt him slip his tongue into her mouth, before shrugging the feeling off and leaning forward, further into him. She wanted him closer, she wanted his hands all over her. She might as well stop denying it and accept that as much as it mystified her, she wanted him. And as frustrating as it was to admit, he certainly wasn’t lacking in talent when it came to matters in the bedroom.

Before she knew it, his lips were on her neck, bruising as he shoved her down into the sheets roughly. She groaned at the feeling of his mouth crashing against her as he moved his hands around her back to unlace the tight corset that wrapped her bodice. The look in his eyes was absolutely feral, the straining desire and thirst burning within him. God, he adored that flustered face of hers when she moaned. He unfastened the last string of the corset and pulled the dress off her small frail body, watching as her pale white skin glowed in the stifling darkness of the room. She didn’t curl up at the thought of being exposed anymore, instead reaching out for the collar of his shirt and undoing the buttons with ease. Olaf took the opportunity to toss off his jacket as her fingers moved further down his chest, swiftly undoing the last button and discarding the shirt along with the rest of their clothes on the floor.

 

He’d never get tired of seeing her like this, so fragile and young in her reactions. Even if she believed herself to be a deplorable woman, she still very much held onto her innocence in terms of her sexuality, with the way her eyes widened as he tore off her underwear, and the way her toes curled up when he slid his tongue over her, her gasps as she felt him tease her, the way she quivered and bit her lip ever-so-slightly. It was intoxicating to watch, and he felt his cock harden as he slid a finger into her, watching the way she moaned at his touch. He was in control of her in every single way, the only one who could make her bend and break at his simple touch. No other man would ever have her this way: she belonged entirely to him, and him alone. 

He continued to work her until she felt herself grip the silken sheets tightly and her back arch slightly, the feeling of her orgasm rippling through her small body. She let herself go fully, letting the utter bliss overtake her as she crashed down into the bedsheets, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to regain her composure. Soon enough, he’d slid his stiff erection inside her, rocking his hips forward. Violet gasped out and clutched onto him, her fingernails digging deep into his back. As she felt him thrust himself into her, she wrapped her legs around him and squeezed her eyes shut, crying out “Fuck, Olaf, fuck!”.

Hearing this he couldn’t help but break into a devilish grin. He’d got her to say his name. That in itself was enough of a victory for him. He pulled her into a kiss, increasing the pace of his thrusts as he grabbed a bunch of her flowing brown hair in his hands, pressing his tongue further into her mouth.

Damn it, he was right all along. Doing bad things didn’t have to make you feel terrible. In fact, Violet felt elated in that moment, scratching her nails deeper into his back and groaning in pleasure. She felt him start to become more erratic, less restrained in his movements as he broke the kiss to let out a low gravelly moan, his teeth grinding as he finished inside her. 

Violet allowed herself to relax a little as he untangled his limbs from hers, bracing himself up to look down at her flushed cheeks and mussed brown hair strewn across the sheets like a sea. He’d really gotten lucky with her, to have such a beautiful girl under his thrall. Olaf reached out and brushed a stray hair from her face, tucking it away behind her ear. She looked up at him with her wide blue doe eyes and smiled softly, causing his heart to falter briefly. Had he really grown to feel affectionate towards her? All he knew was that at that moment, he wanted her to stay there, in his arms, forever. He rolled off to the side, an attempt at hiding the look of adoration that sparked in his eyes. If he let her, she’d become the death of him. And somehow, he was perfectly fine with that.

Notes:

olaf be like arson is legal and the only way to get into heaven

sorry about the trashy smut at the end, idk i'm trying my best. i only read this over once bc it's late and i'm v tired

Chapter 9

If she didn’t know any better, Violet swore that everything around her was real. The feeling of the grains of sand against her cold bare feet, the way the sun shimmered through the clouds in such a way that blinded her eyes, the sounds the waves made as they crashed against the shore. Though none of it was real - how could it be? She looked at the discarded basket next to her, with the small stone marked with a faded X nestled into the sand beside it. What was she doing here, at Briny Beach of all places?

She looked around and saw the stretches of shore to be empty. The air was cold against her skin, and she noticed that she was wearing her old pink shirt dress that had been lost long ago throughout the chaos and commotion of her life. She frowned as she stared out into the sea. This had to be a dream, right? Why else would she be sitting on the shore, with a basket and dress that she long since lost? If this was a dream, she was surprised at how serene it had played out so far. Normally her dreams were plagued with fires, raging and burning against her skin. And her siblings. Her dear, sweet brother and sister, their faces docile and innocent in a way that was reminiscent of life before the fire that had destroyed her entire home, and by extension, her entire life. 

Violet looked down at her dress and sneered. This wasn’t her. This stupid pink dress was from a different time, a different era of her life where things made sense, when her parents weren’t murderers and her siblings weren’t dead and she wasn’t making it a hobby to regularly sleep with villainous older men. Standing up, her fingers flew to the buttons as she tore off her dress and threw it to the ground, kicking it into the sand for good measure. If she had a couple of matches she would have burnt it too but alas, she had absolutely nothing.

Her feet began to move in the direction of the city, though she could barely see it with the amount of low lying fog covering the ground. Part of her thought it was odd she hadn’t seen another living soul but shrugged it off with ease. Dreams were weird.

Violet didn’t know how long she walked for, or where she was walking to exactly. She was only focused on the rough feeling of the cobblestones beneath her feet, hanging her head to let her hair cascade over her face. At one point she started to smell smoke but when she looked up she couldn’t see any fire, only rows of empty houses lining the dismal street. Somehow she’d ended up in her old neighborhood. Ahead of her was the Baudelaire mansion, standing tall as it once did what felt like an eternity ago. Figuring there was no other place to be, she pushed the wrought iron gates open and hesitantly turned the door handle. It was unlocked, and she slipped inside without much of a hassle. 

She could have sworn that the mansion looked different, with certain details being out of place or outright missing. It was her home, but it didn’t feel like it. It’d been so long that not even the place she grew up in truly felt like home. Maybe she was reading too much into it, after all this was just some stupid dream.

She happened upon the library and to her surprise found Olaf inside, lounging on one of the armchairs. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, edging herself forward with caution. He looked up at her and shrugged. “I could say the same for you”.

“This doesn’t make any sense...why is my house back here...where is everyone?” she asked before feeling his hands envelop hers. Olaf sighed and stood up, taking her into his arms. “My dear, you ask too many questions” he muttered as she felt her eyes glaze over, her hands against his chest. The room started to become hotter, the feeling of flames flickering against her but she didn’t care. All that mattered right then was how he felt against her, hands pressed against her waist and his fingers trailing her chin.

“There’s no going back from this, you know” he murmured.

“I don’t care” Violet felt the words escape from her lips. He grinned at her before pressing his lips against hers. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the dream disintegrated and she found herself back in his bedroom, his arms wrapped around her. Sighing, she curled back into him, not wanting to leave this moment. He was horrible, a wretched man in every respect, but he made her feel secure. And after all, she was just as wicked, so she wouldn’t be able to find anybody else to take her. Anyone in their right mind would look at her in abject horror and turn her away. But he wouldn’t. He was her only salvation, and she would rather die before letting him go.

 

She managed to fall asleep again for another few hours, for when she woke she found herself alone among the silken sheets. Rubbing her eyes, she made her way into the bathroom to wash her face. As she brushed the damp cloth against her features, she stared into the grimey mirror and sighed, noticing the dark circles that had started to form underneath her eyes. Her skin was paler than usual, giving off the impression of a spectre. The longer she looked at herself the more she grimaced, so she threw down the cloth and left the room in search of something to wear. 

Violet tugged at one of the dresses Olaf had picked out for her, a teal velvet tea dress with a fleur-de-lis pattern lining the hem, and threw it over her head, feeling the weight of the fabric settle on her small figure. She pulled on her pair of boots, the only pair of shoes she had, and dug through the drawers of the vanity to find a pair of white opera gloves. She didn’t know why exactly he’d have such an item in his room, but didn’t care to think too much about it, instead pulling them over her arms and completing her look by tying her ribbon around the collar. She usually wasn’t one to dress up, but she figured that Olaf would probably enjoy seeing her like this, and pathetic as it was, his approval had come to mean a great deal to her.

She found him down in the dining room, sipping on a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper. She was surprised he’d bothered to make one himself, usually expecting her to fulfill such a task. To add to her astonishment she noticed a cup sitting in the spot right next to him. Violet smiled softly to herself as she slid into the chair, taking the lukewarm cup into her hands.

“What’s this? Not even a ‘thank you’?” Olad muttered, refusing to look up from the paper.

“Sorry, I just...it’s unexpected that’s all”.

“Do you really think so little of me, dearest?”.

Violet shrugged. “I never thought in a million years you’d show any trace of kindness” she replied. 

“And what, you’d prefer if I wasn’t kind?” Olaf retorted, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She shook her head and lifted the cup to her lips to take a sip. “No, not at all. I honestly prefer it this way” she said in a soft and delicate voice. As she sipped on the coffee she noticed it to taste slightly different. The coffee swirled on her tongue as she tried to place exactly what it was before it clicked in her mind - it was vodka. She looked up towards him, partially wanting to exclaim at the absolute audacity of him spiking her coffee but after seeing the smug look on his face decided not to mention it. 

Olaf smirked and threw the newspaper down on the table, finishing off the last of his coffee. “We have business to attend to today. I’ll be out for an hour or two making sure everything is properly in place, but when I come back we’ll going out” he announced as he stood up. Violet stared up at him, her brows furrowed. “Where are we going?”.

“Somewhere important. I’ll explain more on the way” he answered, trying to shrug off the girls questioning glances. 

“Why be so vague? Why not just tell me straight up? I’m on your side, you know” Violet asked, standing up to face him. He regarded her with a brief sigh and a slightly frustrated expression. “Darling, you ask too many questions. I have my reasons for keeping you in the dark, but trust me, in a few hours it’ll all make sense” he replied, lightly kissing her cheek as he brushed past her. Suddenly, she was reminded of her dream, the way he’d held her as the flames tore through the walls of her childhood home, his lips locked against hers. What was she supposed to take from that exactly? “You look beautiful, by the way” he added, interrupting her dizzying haze of thoughts. 

She looked at him as he walked out of the dining room, striding onwards up the stairs. “I’d prefer if you took me with you right now” Violet whispered, although she received no reply. 

He descended back down the stairs with a distracted look on his face and carrying a dagger, which he then threw into the pocket of his coat after noticing her staring at it. “Does this...have to do with what you were talking about yesterday? With the fires?” she asked.

“In a way, yes. As I said before, I’ll explain it later. Just sit back and be a good little girl and have some goddamn patience” Olaf grumbled as he turned the lock of the front door. She scrunched her nose up and glared at him for that comment, to which he responded with a sarcastic smirk and a door slamming shut in her face. Violet stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself as she heard the sound of his car driving away. The possibilities of what could await her that late afternoon were on the forefront of her mind. It had to be something to do with VFD, surely? She wondered what had happened to the organization. So many of its members were dead, or scattered to the wind. Had it dissipated, or was it still going strong, lurking in the shadows, watching her every move? 

As she busied herself with tidying the kitchen, her mind wandered to the fate of Kit Snicket. After leaving her and her siblings at the Hotel Denouement, she seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth. She remembered that tall man who had come in her taxi and offered to take them away after the accidental murder of Dewey Denouement. What was his name again? Violet stared into the soapy water as she tried to remember. Lemony, Lemony Snicket. That was his name, wasn’t it? 

She wondered where he was now, and where she’d be if she’d decided to take his offer and flee away into the night instead of naively assuming justice would prevail. Klaus and Sunny would be alive, no doubt, and she wouldn’t be taking up the position of Count Olaf’s housemaid and mistress. Strangely enough, she didn’t mind how things had turned out in the end. Sure, it’d be nice if her siblings weren’t dead, but for what it’s worth she’d made the best of a bad situation. She’d seen the truth of the world, and of who she really is. Violet figured that even if things had gone differently, her own wickedness would have set them on a continuous path of sorrow and despair anyway, and sooner or later her true nature would have emerged. At least now she could live as selfishly as she wanted, and she wasn’t entirely alone. She had him, her lifeline and reason to continue on, and she’d be damned if she was ever letting go of him.

Violet finished drying the last dish and set it aside, drying her hands off on a spare towel before readjusting her gloves. The dresses Olaf had gotten her were nicer than she expected, complimenting her small figure perfectly. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him anymore - for the first time ever, he wasn’t being horrid to her. He was actually...nice? The thought of it confused her, an emotion she had become well acquainted with as of late. Why was he treating her differently? She knew he’d always favoured her over her siblings, but this was different. She sighed. Maybe she was reading too much into it. He wasn’t going to hurt her, if anything he’d helped her so there was no reason to be suspicious. For once she could let her guard down, confide with someone, have that sort of intimacy with another person.

 

For the next two hours she busied herself with various chores, trying to keep her eyes off the clock. She knew that staring at it wouldn’t make the time move faster, but she couldn’t help herself from checking the time every 15 minutes or so. She took it upon herself to try and tend to the garden, since the winter had passed them by and the plants looked in desperate need of some proper care and attention. Violet set about removing some of the larger piles of leaves, bagging them up in black garbage bags to throw out when she got the chance. She briefly stole a glance at the barrel where the remains of the tapes lay, all melted into a clump of sticky black mess. As she continued raking through the leaves, she couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed at his insistence on keeping things vague. What was the point in trying to hide stuff from her anyway? She’d find out eventually on her own. Though Olaf wasn’t exactly known for being extremely trusting anyway, not that she could really blame him. 

By the time he had returned, her patience had worn thin, and even though she wanted to throw herself at him the moment he walked through the door she kept herself restrained, only allowing herself to show a weak smile. “Are you ready to go then? We don’t have a lot of time” Olaf asked, not even bothering to wait half a second for an answer before grabbing her wrist and dragging her out of the front door.

Violet felt slightly irritated that she was being dragged around like a doll, and once again attempted to get some form of a concrete answer to where exactly he’d been and why he needed her company as of this moment. “Would you mind telling me where we’re going?” she asked in a tone admittedly more brash than she had hoped to come off. Olaf chose to ignore her impertinence and instead pulled her forward into the passenger seat of the car. “We’re...how should I put it, taking care of a couple of nuisances and frustrations” he answered, slamming the door shut before she could answer. Violet looked around the car, her eyes falling on the large bottle of kerosene stored in the back, half covered with some sort of cloth. As he slid into the driver's seat next to her and fumbled with the keys, her heart sank to her stomach as she realised what exactly they were going to be doing.

“Are...are we going to burn someone’s house down?” She asked, her voice small. Olaf glanced at her briefly as he started the car and pulled out of the lane. “Wasn’t that obvious? For such a clever girl, you can be surprisingly dim”.

Violet ignored his remark, and instead slumped back into her seat, staring out the window to distract herself. So this was what yesterday was meant to lead up to. He wanted her to start fires, turn her back on her family and commit to a path of darkness. The thought of it didn’t sound half bad, honestly, but her stomach still turned in flips at the prospect of fully turning to a life of treachery. The voice in her mind was telling her not to worry, to relax and just give in to her own villainy, but something still felt so wrong about all of it. The smallest part of her, the tiniest glimmer of nobility was screaming at her that she needed to leave, escape the car and run away as fast as she could. She did her best to bury that thought, coating it under several layers of self reassurance.

Evidently, she hadn’t noticed her hands had begun to shake as when Olaf’s voice rang out, saying “Don’t tell me you're nervous?”, she looked down to see her knuckles white from the force of her grip. Sighing, she untangled her mess of fingers and reached for a loose strand of hair to braid. “I just...I don’t know if I can do this” she admitted. 

“Darling, trust me, if you truly want to be rid of the past, this is something you have to do”.

“It just seems so wrong, I...I feel a bit sick honestly”.

He rested a hand on her knee. “It’s just the nerves. Believe me, I was the same when I first started out. You don’t have anything to worry about”.

“But this...why are we doing this? Whose house are we even lighting up anyway?” Violet pressed.

“One of the remaining Volunteers. There aren’t many left, to my knowledge, and these last few are the only ones left to be rid of until the entirety of the firefighting side has collapsed” he sneered. 

Violet felt her heart start to race, pounding fiercely in her chest. “I...don’t think I can do this”.

“Have you already forgotten your own previous acts of treachery? There’s no turning back for you, Baudelaire. You already have a foot in the door of darkness, you might as well fully commit to it and become the person you were always meant to be. Or, would you rather you ran away and kept feeling sorry for yourself?”.

Violet winced as the memories of the day of the Hotel Denouement flashed across her mind, quickly reeling her back into submission. He was right - there was no going back now. She’d already started fires, so this wasn’t even entirely new territory for her, right? She was a vile and cruel person anyway, she wasn’t exactly first in line to the gates of heaven, so she might as well indulge in this act of evil. It’s who she truly was deep inside after all. 

“Just remember what I said yesterday. Fire doesn’t have to be a frightening evil, it can be used in your favour. Knowing what you know now, about VFD, your parents, everything, wouldn’t you be happier to see the organization dissolve entirely?”.

Violet cast her eyes down as she scuffed her shoes against the floor. “I suppose so…”.

Olaf grinned at her. “That’s my girl” he said, before turning the car down into an alleyway and cutting the engine. “The place is just around the corner. We have to be careful - even if the Volunteers have largely been scattered to the wind, they’ll still be remaining vigilant, and therefore more paranoid” he explained before gesturing to the backseat. “Grab the kerosene when you get out”. Violet nodded and reached into the back, her hands groping for the large bottle. She pulled it up and over onto her lap, surprised at how heavy the bottle had seemed to be. Glancing at the label, she noticed it was a 4 litre bottle. Taking a deep breath, Violet picked herself up out of the car, walking towards the end of the alleyway where Olaf was waiting for her. He gave her a brief smile before taking her hand in his and leading her towards their ultimate destination. 

 

The place they arrived at was a pleasant, neat and stylish but ultimately typical suburban home. The lights in the front windows were on, signalling the occupants' presence. Olaf motioned for her to duck down and she followed his direction, grasping her hands tightly around the litre bottle. They moved down the side of the house, avoiding the windows and keeping low before stopping towards the back. He motioned for her to unscrew the large bottle and she complied, allowing herself to absorb the stark scent of kerosene that greeted her upon removing the cap.

Looking up at him, she stuttered “So...what do I do with this now?”. 

“Pour it around the perimeter of the building. Try to get it on the walls as well if you can as well. The whole thing needs to be lit up in flames” he instructed. Violet looked down at the bottle, and up at him again before taking a deep breath and nodding. She uncurled her legs from their cramped position crouching and slowly tipped the bottle over, allowing the distinct smelling liquid to pour out to the ground. She jumped slightly and stopped, not knowing if she should continue. Though when she felt Olaf’s hands close over her own she closed her eyes and sighed. There’s nothing to be nervous about, this is what wicked people do. Wicked, abhorrent, vile people such as him and herself. She felt his hands guide her downwards, spilling the contents of the bottle to the ground. She led a trail of kerosene around the house, trying as best she could to get it all over everything and trying to ignore her trembling hands and pounding heart. She didn’t want to disappoint him, she wanted to do this right. He hadn’t said anything yet, so she mustn’t be doing too bad.

When she stopped towards the front of the house, she stepped back and looked towards the windows worriedly. They hadn’t been spotted yet, thankfully, but a couple of times she could swear she saw a glimpse of a shadow moving in one of the rooms, prompting her to try and ignore her nerves and hurry along. Even now, standing back and observing her work, Violet felt a sense of dread when Olaf slipped her the box of matches into her palms. The adrenaline was practically coursing through her, her terror at being caught mixing with the thrill of doing something bad to create a sense of excitement, something just wrong enough to make it all feel right. 

Olaf had watched her as she spread the lighter fluid around the house, seeing her transition from carefully pouring it to hastily spreading it around the lot, no doubt scared at the prospect of being caught. He could see a lot of himself in her at that moment, remembering the day he started his first fire. It was poetic in a way, with how far she had come and how much she had taken on from him. With even more time she could become a true force to be reckoned with. Slipping her the box of matches, he hoped she wouldn’t stall for too long. Like he said before, the volunteers were likely paranoid after the incident at the hotel and were looking around everywhere for signs of danger. Even if there were barely any left, they had a way of making themselves quite the nuisance, and a never ending headache on his part. It would all be over soon though. 

With a flick of her wrist, Violet struck a match against the side of the box, watching the flame flicker to life in front of her. She stared at it for a moment, feeling her heart race before she turned to look at Olaf, her eyes widening in anticipation. He nodded at her, silently instructing her to drop the match to the ground. Taking one last breath, her hands opened as she let the match fall, catching onto the trail of kerosene a few steps in front of her. The flames ignited quickly and it was only a moment before they’d reached one side of the house, the weatherboards turning black as they were consumed by the raging inferno. Violet watched it, how the embers spilled across the sidewalk as the flames reached higher, faster, becoming stronger with every passing second. Her eyes had glazed over and for a moment everything was still - it was only her and the flames. 

 

She couldn’t hear what Olaf was saying, only returning back to reality when she felt the tug of her sleeve pulling her away from the burning house. Blinking slowly, she saw him leading her back the way they came, down the alleyway and towards the car. Cursing to himself, Olaf shoved her in before diving into the driver’s seat, firing the engine up and pulling the car onto the street. She shook her head, still trying to piece together exactly what happened as the car sped away, obviously with no regard for any road safety rules. Had that really just happened? Maybe if she closed her eyes, she would find herself back in bed, having dreamt the whole thing. Adrenaline was still rushing through her veins, and the outside noises of traffic did nothing to calm her. 

The wailing screeches of sirens began to distantly fill the air, screaming in the beat of her heart. She guessed that the fire department was probably on their way to extinguish the blaze, probably finding themselves to have arrived too late to save whoever resided there from perishing. Violet clutched her hands together, trying to silence the void of static that had filled her head. She tried in vain to decipher the events that had just transpired, pull them together into something coherent, something that made even a slight bit of sense. All that she could be certain of was that she had committed her first fully willing crime of arson. Even though she had aided in burning down a carnival before, this felt new, dangerous and different. She was the one who dropped the match, who poured the kerosene around the house of that nameless Volunteer, and even if she hadn’t stuck around long enough for confirmation, she knew that whoever it was in there most likely did not survive. 

Once he determined that they were a safe distance from the scene of the crime, Olaf pulled the car to a stop and turned his attention to the girl beside him, her cheeks white and eyes wide in shock. He’d expected that reaction from her, through and through. He hadn’t expected her to be so entranced by the flames. “What were you doing back there? You can’t just dissociate like that in the middle of an arson attack. We could have been caught!” he admonished her, his voice firm.

Violet blinked and looked at him, looking crestfallen. “I’m sorry...I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t help myself but to watch - the flames were...mesmerising...in a way” she said slowly, her hands fiddling with the ribbon tied around her collar. She hadn’t meant to disappoint him, the thought of such a thing piercing her deep in her stomach. Would he hate her for this? Her cheeks burned in embarrassment as she continued to trace the strand of velvety string looped around her neck. “I swear, it wasn’t my intention to freeze up like that”.

Olaf sighed and stroked her gloved hand. “I know as well as anyone it can be tempting to sit back and watch the flames. But you have to remain alert”. Leaning forward slightly, he placed a kiss softly on her forehead. “Nevertheless, you did well today. I always knew it was in you to be an arsonist”.

Her eyes softened slightly as her lips curled into a weak but relieved grin. He wasn’t mad at her, no, he was proud of her. That was all she wanted then, and right now, that was all that mattered to her.

Chapter 10

So this is how it all turned out. Violet scoffed as she poured yet another glass of wine for herself. For once, she hadn’t found herself in Olaf’s company, instead choosing to seclude herself in the back garden, sitting on the crumbling steps with a bottle of wine plucked from the cellar without too much care. Moments like these were rare, where the world was quiet enough and void of any distress that she could actually hear herself think. She remembered coming back from that first fire, the dizzying rush of adrenaline speeding through her veins, the sound of her heartbeat racing in her chest. She hadn’t been able to focus on anything else the entire drive back. She had wanted to cry out, whether in fear or ecstasy she didn’t entirely know. After being reprimanded by Olaf for freezing up, she settled into the thrill of the escape, the possibility of capture looming just distantly enough to still be threatening. And even when they had gotten away, the sirens of the fire department fading into almost nothing, Violet still couldn’t suppress the rush, high off her own crimes. Over and over, the same words resounded through her mind. I burnt down someone’s house .

Taking another sip of wine, she looked out into the garden, looking slightly more neat than it had been for years. She’d made it her own small project once returning back, on the days where they weren’t out destroying the last of the firefighting side of VFD, she kept to her garden, allowing herself the luxury of focusing on something again. In the week or so since her first crime of arson, she’d made substantial progress on the lot. She’d only left the house a few times since then, mostly with Olaf to commit more heinous and immoral acts. She knew there wasn’t exactly any rule against her leaving, as long as she came back, but she simply never felt up to it. In fact, apart from a trip to the doctors office to receive a script for birth control pills, she scarcely felt the need to leave. It felt, strangely enough, safer to be in Olaf’s dark and neglected manor rather out in the world on her own. The stark contrast to how she regarded both Olaf and his place of residence when she first met him never failed to amuse her, both in a snide and melancholic way. There were a million other ways this could have played out, but the route her journey ended up taking still surprised her. If she had a chance to change it, she’d still say she would. Even if she’d settled into her situation, and found it to be less dismal than she had expected, nothing would ever truly replace the feeling of having her brother and sister with her, Klaus’ beaming bright smile and the goofy way his glasses sometimes became lopsided, Sunny’s cheerful giggles and her garbled way of talking which only the Baudelaire siblings could properly understand. Sniffing slightly, Violet felt the sting of a tear prick the edge of her eyes. Dear god, she missed them. 

 

If she could wind back time, she wouldn’t know where to go back to. Would she go back to the trial at the Hotel Denouement, and prevent her siblings needless deaths by her own cowardice? Or would she go even further, back to the day when they were all sent to the beach in that rickety trolley? But even then, if she had managed to change something, save her family somehow, would that have stopped her from choosing to tread the path of darkness? It was entirely possible that even without these catastrophically unfortunate events that she still would have turned out rotten to the core, bitterness and hatred sewn through her blood as is her nature. None of it would change the truth of VFD either, or anything else about her precarious life. At some point or other the organization might have tried to recruit them, sealing their fates just as her parents were when they were inducted. Their propaganda would have wormed its way into her brain, probably twisting her into thinking that becoming a Volunteer was the right thing to do. Now, though, she could see VFD and by extension the world for what it was: cold, callous and cruel.

She glanced at the bottle next to her, noticing she’d gone through half of it while being out on the stairs. Her body had become more accustomed to the alcohol by now, so it took a little bit more for her to get absolutely wasted, but still she felt the edges of her vision blur slightly as she stared out into the yard. Chucking back her head, she threw the rest of the lukewarm liquid down her throat and tossed the glass carelessly to the side. 

Her mind drifted to Olaf, and everything he had already taught her. The dynamic between them had shifted so drastically - she’d learnt so much about his past, his reasons for chasing after her family ruthlessly for months on end, she’d learnt the answer to the question burning bright in the back of her mind since the day of the fire. He’d shown her how to cope with grief, and how to use fire to her advantage. For god's sake, she’d slept with him, multiple times now, and she didn’t find herself feeling any bit ashamed by it anymore. She’d spent so much time before getting caught up in morality and ethics that she didn’t ever indulge herself in what she really wanted. This was who she really was after all. 

Every morning since that day, she’d wake up in his bed, sometimes with his arms strung around her lazily, dozing beside or, other times alone with him already downstairs. She’d dress herself in one of the gowns he bought her. He’d bought more for her since then, each one as beautiful as the last, as well as a couple of pairs of shoes to rotate between. It was still strange and novel having him be nice to her, buying her things and all. Violet never dared question why, as she didn’t want him to go back to his old ways of barely regarding her existence unless he needed something. She’d still keep up with cleaning the house, cooking meals, making coffee, all of the usual, but he’d allowed her a great deal of more free time as well. Aside from the garden, one of her newest projects was drawing together blueprints for a flamethrower. She’d already outlined the materials she’d need to build one, and figured anything she couldn’t find already in the house she’d scrounge around random dumpsters for in the city. When she pitched the idea to Olaf he looked at her in a funny way before saying “Just as long as you're back in time to serve dinner, I don’t care what you do with your spare hours”. Somehow, it seemed he wasn’t as horrid as she had always thought he was, the revelation that there was any humanity in that man was striking to her. 

 

As if the mere thought of him summoned his presence, Olaf appeared behind her, leaning against the doorway with a glass of wine already perched in his outstretched palm. “So this is where you’ve been hiding” he remarked, striding forward to meet her gaze. 

“I wasn’t hiding. Just thinking about stuff, I guess” she replied while pouring herself another glass. Olaf rolled his eyes and sat himself down next to her. “Always thinking, aren’t you? Tell me, do you ever shut off that overactive brain of yours?” he sniggered, taking a sip from his own glass.

Violet laughed. “Haven’t figured out how to”.

Olaf regarded her with a slight scoff before turning his attention to the yard, idly fiddling with the glass in his hand. “I feel like i’ve barely seen you all day. What has you so wrapped up that you’ve chosen to seclude yourself out here?”.

She stayed silent for a moment more, gazing off into the distance as if lost in a trance, before her voice trembled out in a slight whisper “The past, my siblings, where things could have gone if I had just done one thing differently - the usual” she said, trying to focus her eyes on the half empty glass of wine she was holding. With every sip her vision became hazier, a sure sign for many that it would probably be best to lay off the liquor but to her was a clear indication that she should pour herself another. 

Violet reached out for the bottle, only to find Olaf already holding it and filling her glass to the brim with deep red liquid. She nodded at him slightly and gave a weak smile in appreciation, turning towards the sky to look at the vast expanse of stars spread across the pitch black night. She closed her eyes and sighed, taking another sip from her wine. They sat in silence for a moment more before Violet spoke up, her fingers tracing the stem of the delicate wine glass. “You really were right, about the fires. Even though everyone else would say I did something bad, the way it felt watching those flames, that pause in time where the match met the ground and everything lit up...if i’m going to be honest, it was one of the first times my mind had been truly quiet in days. Everything was just...still” she mumbled

Olaf smirked at her confession. “Well, when have I ever been wrong before, dearest?”.

Violet rolled her eyes before laughing softly. “If my younger self could see me now, she’d be so disappointed. Fuck her” she spat. The thought of her past, how naive and stupid she had been all those months ago made her stomach curdle in disgust. Believing in the childish ideals of nobility and justice, only to have tragedy after tragedy strike and break her beyond repair. Her entire childhood had been stolen from her, but for what it was worth, she had managed to create something new. She had risen like a phoenix borne from the ashes, and with every fire set, every match struck called forth her own vice and sin, and she reveled in it. 

Olaf held up his glass and grinned. “Forget about the past. All of the misfortune of the past few months - all of it is irrelevant now. Remember what I said to you, after burning those tapes? It’s just you and me now, Violet”. 

“Right again, as always” Violet said, her voice slightly sarcastic as she chinked the edge of his glass with her own. Olaf shot her a wolfish smirk in response. 

 

Neither of them said a word for ages, until Violet broke the silence by stuttering out what she felt would be a foolish question, but she nonetheless wanted the answer to. “Were you always attracted to me...from the very beginning?”. 

Olaf paused for a moment, before turning to her with that same predatory look she’d seen him stare at her with for months on end. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, Baudelaire”.

She stared at him, her eyes searching for any signs of deceit in his expression, but she came upon none. “I’m surprised at you, Violet. I hadn’t exactly been hiding my affinity for you, had I?” He responded, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Violet sighed in response. “I suppose not. It was a stupid question, I know...I just wanted confirmation”.

“Violet Baudelaire, light of my life, fire of my loins, let it be known from the moment you and your snotty orphan siblings walked into my house that I’ve been utterly attracted to you. Is that good enough for you?” He announced, waving his hand out extravagantly before taking her gloved hand in his. She chuckled slightly as she shifted herself to lean against him. “You don’t have to be that dramatic about it”.

“I’m an actor, darling, asking me to not be dramatic is like asking me to stop breathing” Olaf fired back as he wrapped a hand around her neck, tracing his hands lightly against her soft white skin. He could have sworn she’d gotten even smaller since running away with him from the burning hotel fire. She still looked so fragile, even with so many more heinous deeds under her belt she still looked sweet and beautiful as ever. He’d gotten lucky with her, to be in a relationship with such a lovely girl, and have her be pliant and willing towards him too. 

Swallowing the rest of the wine, he nestled his hand around her waist and lifted her up with him, feeling her stumble slightly as the effects of the alcohol began to fully make themselves known. Violet gripped her hands against his chest to stabilise herself, her head spinning in a dizzying haze. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, holding her against him as she straightened out the creases in her dress. “Or are you too inebriated to walk?”.

“I think I’ll manage” Violet answered. “Let’s just get this over with”. 

Satisfied enough with her answer, the two walked hand in hand through the house and out towards the car, fully stocked with gasoline and any other useful materials they’d need for this last attack. He was certain that this was the very last of the Volunteers, the final spark of the firefighting side that needed to be snuffed out. Everything was finally falling into place - fortune, victory, a cruel sense of vengeance, all completed with a fragile broken little orphan of his own. If he’d had delayed this any longer, they would have been able to regroup, recuperate in the shadows and become even more of a pain than they had already proven themselves to be time and time again. But he’d been one step ahead: he’d picked them off one by one, until now at this very moment, there was only one more annoyance to deal with before he’d finally be able to claim victory.

He wasn’t entirely familiar with who’s place they were torching, the name even was foreign to him when he first heard it. Although he knew most members of VFD, there were some that escaped the misfortune of ever encountering him. Their identity wasn’t important though, as far he was concerned they were all pests that needed to be exterminated. 

 

As they drove on in silence, Violet found herself gazing out the window to distract herself. This was the last one they had to do, then afterwards everything would be over. She could live the rest of her life as treacherously as she wished, her past forgotten behind her. She didn’t know what the future held, but she found that she didn’t entirely care. Whatever she ended up doing, she knew that she could do it freely without consequence now.

The scenery before her, though she’d seen it a million times before, somehow managed to feel strange and foreign. Even places with such heavy memories attached to it felt strangely distant to her. They drove past several points of interest throughout the city: the Cafe Salmonella, Mulctuary Money Management and the theatre where Olaf had tried to marry her almost half a year ago, to name a few. Each one she stared at with a hint of indifference. She still remembered every single thing about those places, every event that had taken place in their walls and every feeling she’d felt when in them, but at the same time felt so completely removed from herself and who she was, as if another person had lived those experiences entirely and she happened to share the same memories with. 

The residence was a fair ways away from the city, just a couple miles off the highway from near Lake Lachrymose. The day shifted slowly to dusk and as the last rays of sun shone over the horizon Violet found herself recounting the last half a year of peril she had endured, all finally culminating now in one catastrophic end. When they finally neared their destination, a grim mansion secluded in the woods, Violet found it easy to snatch up the gasoline and drape it over the poor unsuspecting victims abode. She followed the same procedure as last time, though she moved swiftly and with ease, as if this was something she had been doing all her life and hadn’t only recently taken up in the past week or so. It’s funny, how trauma and guilt can break a person. A single tragedy leading to the collapse of someone’s entire identity, chaos theory in complete practice. 

 

In a matter of seconds the match was struck, the fire was lit and the world was up in flames. She’d become numb to the screams as she watched the fire engulf the house, before turning on her heel to make her escape with Olaf right beside her, his hand lingering against her waist as they rushed through the swaths of greenery to their means of getaway, that worn out old car that Violet had found herself becoming more acquainted with over. She wondered for a minute if the surrounding trees would catch fire, causing a massive blaze but she shook the thought off, diving into the passenger seat as Olaf slammed on the gas. 

Their getaway was quick, the car practically flying onto the highway as the flames rose higher behind them. The adrenaline rushed through her veins, and in that moment she rushed and pulled Olaf forwards, crashing her lips against his in a drunken kiss. She felt him grin against her lips and she smirked slightly, her cheeks turning slightly pink from the close contact. She wanted to push further, to have him take her right there and then in the backseat of the car, but she waited, smoothing her hands against him as they sped away into the darkness. At one point, when they were closer to home, Olaf fished out a stray bottle of bourbon from the glove compartment and they swapped it between them, each taste of liquor turning her drunker than she’d already been. All things considered, it was a miracle they got back in one piece.

Olaf pulled her out of her seat and into his arms, hoisting her up bridal style and carrying her into the shadowy manor, her head lolling against his arms as she tried to keep herself upright. 

“We did it...it’s all over now…” she slurred quietly. Olaf said nothing in response, only grazing his lips lightly across her temple as he carried her up the stairs. Her eyes felt heavy, and she was struggling to keep them open, but she still leaned into him, catching a whiff of his cologne against her. 

“Olaf...what happens now?” she asked, her voice as small and quiet as a mouse. He shrugged lightly, tightening his grip on her knees as he set her down onto the bed. “Whatever we goddamn want, I guess” he answered, before taking her chin into his hands and tilting her head upwards, kissing her deeply. She felt her cheeks redden as she pulled him closer towards her, trailing her hands lightly against the buttons of his shirt. 

No matter what happened from here, no matter what other misfortune came her way, she knew who she truly was deep in her heart: Violet Baudelaire, last survivor of the Baudelaire family, arsonist, rotten to the core and instigator of death, misery and tragedy. And for once, her acknowledgement of it didn’t scare her or bring on any feelings of sorrow or self pity.

 

She felt freed by it.

Notes:

yay i finally got to make a IDSB reference!

i know this chapter is a bit short and boring but i promise the epilogue will be interesting at least. in the meantime, feel free to give me feedback in the comments.

Chapter 11: Epilogue

Five years. Five years was a long time for any person, if you were aware enough of the passage of time to let it fly by you. For Violet, it hadn’t felt like that long. Every morning when she woke up, she sometimes expected to see her fifteen year old self clad in fine fabrics and polished black leather boots staring back at her, skin pale and eyes mournful, wondering exactly where her life had become so wrong to end up like this. She was nineteen now, almost twenty, and although she had grown slightly taller and her cheeks held a tad more colour to them, she felt a shadow of her former self. Some days, when she wasn’t kept busy with errands to run, she’d sit in front of the mirror, looking deep into her own eyes as if she was trying to find her, buried somewhere deep within. 

Glancing down at her hand, her fingers brushed lightly over the topaz wedding ring adorning her ring finger, watching as the fragments of jewel caught the rays of afternoon sun within them. That had been something that happened only 2 years prior - after having her hang off his arm for a few years at that point, Olaf had proposed to her. She’d seen it coming a mile away, though she accepted gladly, blush creeping up the sides of her cheeks as he slid the ring onto her hand with a smug self-satisfied grin. A part of her knew it was just extra security on his end to gain easier access to her parents fortune, but she hadn’t cared. Let him have the money. As long as he’d keep her, have her hand wrapped in his and not ever letting go. 

 

And so, she’d become Countess Baudelaire. 

 

As she sipped on the glass of whiskey, memories she had buried deep within her now returned to the surface. Violet still remembered it as if it were yesterday - the feeling of Olaf’s hand around her waist, the sound of crackling wood as the fire tore through the hotel, and the way Klaus and Sunny had both looked at her were forever burned into her memory. For years she had carried endless guilt and grief, believing herself to be the sole cause of their untimely deaths. She used her hurt and hatred against others, destroying the last of the secret organization that followed behind her unknowingly throughout her years. And when they were gone, she didn’t stop there. She set more fires, stole money, aided in numerous counts of villainy, all by Olaf’s side. 

Just in the past week the amount of precarious situations they’d found themselves in were staggering. One was a heist involving seized documents and a hoard of riches for good measure. She could still hear the sound the alarms ring through her ear as they dashed out of the burning building, gold bars and money in hand. 

Being the greedy man he was, having the Baudelaire fortune wasn’t enough for Olaf - if there was more riches to be gained and more thrill to chase then he was more than happy to continue his crime spree. And Violet had been more than happy to follow along, using the flamethrower she’d painstakingly built to light the remnants of evidence alight. Although the thrill of arson had long since worn off the more she partook, she had become so accustomed to her life of crime and villainy that it was almost second nature at that point. 

After all, she’d long since known that this was deep inside of her all along. The way her reality was reaffirmed everytime she poured a keg of gasoline, everytime Olaf kissed her on her open mouth, she continued to be reminded of the choices she made, marking her like a bloodstain. Sometimes, though especially lately, she’d looked over the choices she made and the life she’d lead so far with a greater deal of scrutiny. 

For example, she found herself questioning the true depth of her actions that day at the Hotel Denouement. Was it truly her own fault for what had happened to Klaus and Sunny? She remembered telling them not to follow her, how she’d urged them to leave the hotel to escape the oncoming blaze. Klaus had insisted she come with them, though eventually he had listened and rushed into the crowd to warn everyone. Violet could still remember the feeling of seeing both of them disappear into the crowd, trying to ignore the brass metal of the harpoon against her neck as she knew even back then that would quite possibly be the last time she ever saw them. 

Wait. The harpoon gun. The weapon that Olaf had used to threaten Justice Strauss. That had been pressed to her throat, hadn’t it? Violet furrowed her brows as she stared off into space, an expression of confusion clouding her face. How had she forgotten such an important detail?

The more she focused, the more the events of the day became clearer, almost like a puzzle being decoded right in front of her eyes. Olaf was the one who’d threatened Klaus so that he’d leave. That’s right - she could distinctly remember him uttering the words “You should listen to your sister, orphan. Now get out of the way before I decide to stick this harpoon in her neck” directly at her younger brother, threatening her safety so he could make a quick escape. Why hadn’t she remembered that before?

It had been years since he’d threatened her like that. Since running away with him, she almost never found herself with a knife pressed to her throat. He never hurt her, never threatened her with violence, even though she knew what he was capable of. He didn’t need to: she’d submit to him entirely, vying desperately for his approval and hoping to not lose his affections, however conditional and entirely reliant on her being subservient they may be.

However startling this revelation may have been, the fact still remained that she’d turned her back on nobility in the hotel basement. She’d aided him. She’d told him how to get into the laundry. She hadn’t stopped the fire. She’d been complicit in his villainy.

But should that really have damned her to an existence of treachery and evil? Was her complacency really enough to permanently categorise her as a villain? She was fifteen, for crying out loud. Fifteen year olds aren’t exactly known for their sound decision making on the best of days, much less when you’re caught in the middle of a grand conspiracy involving arson, secret organizations and enough death and murder to make a censorship committee faint. 

She’d been young. She was scared. For months she’d had to take up the role of her siblings protector, always putting their safety and happiness before her own. She’d done so many things that a normal teenager wouldn’t have ever dreamt of doing, all in the name of her family's survival. What else could have she done? She’d already made the rash decision of chasing him into the elevator, so she’d stuck herself there with that one. If she’d run back down the hall, up to her siblings in the hotel lobby, what good would have that done? Sure, Klaus and Sunny might still be alive, but they’d be stuck out on the streets and still on the run from the law. After all, they hadn’t exactly been cleared of the so-called ‘crimes’ they’d supposedly committed. 

Maybe she could have snatched the gun away from Olaf, threatened him into backing down. Violet scoffed at the idea. Even as a nineteen year old woman she still didn’t have the strength to overpower him, trying to do so at fifteen would have probably gotten a kick in the stomach and a harpoon to the neck. The more she considered it, leaving with Olaf really was her best option after all. Was she such a bad person for wanting to survive?

 

Everything she’d done in those past five years suddenly seemed less justified. The coat of shiny paint had peeled off, revealing what she thought to be her acting out on her own vile nature to be nothing more than a maladaptive way of dealing with her own hurt and feelings of betrayal by the world. 

Over and over, every single crime she’d committed since running away flashed across her mind. How had it all gone so wrong? How had she been driven to such an extreme, and had her heart really been blackened so thoroughly that nothing could save her anymore?

Is this how I want the rest of my life to go?

The question itself, once it manifested in her mind, was confronting enough. She’d never thought much of the future, living almost exclusively in the present. She’d always assumed that this would be her life forever. Having the ring slipped on her finger was all the more confirmation of that belief as she was even more tied to Olaf than she already was: she was his wife, his Countess, a pretty little villainess who kept the house in order and occasionally went out to burn some buildings. 

She’d laughed to herself before at how much of a domestic role she had seemed to fall into, despite her heinous misdeeds. Even if she'd been given time graciously to invent, she still was tasked with keeping the place tidy since Olaf was apparently incapable of keeping things neat for more than an hour at most. She’d never complained, of course, even if she did find it distasteful to be relegated to such a role. 

But when she thought of the rest of her life and how it could go, all of the different things she’d wanted to do before the fire, she wondered if this was really all that was meant for her in the end. Was it really her destiny to live out the rest of her days as Count Olaf’s wife?

Contrary to her earlier beliefs, the position hadn’t been all that bad. He’d bought her nice things, though with money that technically didn’t belong to him, he wasn’t as much of an obnoxious bastard as he used to be, and well, she’d definitely be lying if she said he wasn’t a good lay. Sometimes on the rare occasion he’d be out without her, he’d come back in the middle of the night smelling like smoke and with ash ground into his shoe. He’d wake her up with a forceful kiss, already reaching under the length of her black nightgown to grab her panties, and would mark her as his own over and over until the moon dipped below the clouds and the stars fizzled out in the endless abyss of night.

It would be easy to stay. To not even consider anything more, not even entertain the mere thought. She wouldn’t usually, either, but with the memories of her past already rising to the surface, it created a conflict within her, for the first time in a lifetime trying to imagine life without Olaf by her side.

All of it had come to head when she’d gone out to retrieve the mail earlier that morning. There had been a usual assortment of bills, random flyers and speeding tickets that would never be paid, but among them had come a crisp white letter addressed to her. She’d never gotten mail before, and when she flipped the back over to see who it was from she found no return address. The letter sat on the table beside her, it’s existence tormenting her. Why would someone want to contact her? She’d had almost no association with anybody other than Olaf in years, barring brief casual interactions with shopkeepers and the like on the rare occasions she did venture out. Anyone who might want to find her was long since gone by then.

Violet considered not even opening it at all, just taking a lighter to it and watching the secrets it held turn to ash in front of her eyes. That would be safer, wouldn’t it? She’d never have to know who it was from, or confront anything the letter might hold. But she knew she wouldn’t, no, couldn’t leave well enough alone. Even if she didn’t like what she read, the anticipation of not opening it was worse than whatever was in the small paper envelope. 

Reaching out, she deposited her glass of whiskey onto the table and picked up the letter in her palms, ripping the top open. When she folded out the letter, the first thing she noticed was the incredible loopy handwriting of whoever wrote it. There was only one page, and there weren’t a great many words on the small sheet of paper, but she began to read with a twinge of caution.

 

Dear Violet Baudelaire,

I hope this letter finds you well, although you are probably alarmed to be receiving a mysterious envelope in the mail with no return address. Rest assured, while your fears are entirely within reason, you have nothing to fear. My name is Lemony Snicket, and I’m an old associate of your mother. If you can recall, we met briefly at the Hotel Denouement many years ago before its unfortunate destruction.

Lemony Snicket? Violet wracked her memories, trying to see if she could remember a face to put to the name. That’s right - the man in the grey suit who showed up in Kit’s taxi after Dewey’s death. As far as she knew, he’d vanished after that moment, never falling victim to any of their many arson attacks due to being missing in action. What was he doing contacting her? 

For years, I’ve attempted to track you down and contact you, but alas, every single time I came up on a dead-end. It was only recently when I got in touch with a survivor of the Denouement fire that I was able to confirm your whereabouts, thus why you are only now hearing from me and not years before as you probably would have hoped.

After conducting thorough research, I am aware of your marriage to Count Olaf, and while I will not judge you for whatever you had to do to survive, I will implore that you hear me out as I have some information that will almost certainly be of interest to you. After months of tracing leads and following up on multiple sources, I have reason to believe that your siblings, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire, are alive .

Those words. Violet stared at the letter, her entire world freezing around her as the implications of what Snicket had divulged came crashing down. Everything she thought she knew for all these years, it was all a lie. 

Klaus and Sunny were alive. 

Her first instinctive reaction was shock, the passage of time slowly falling away as she stared at the words on the page. Was it real? Were her siblings actually alive? The next feeling was pure unbridled joy. They were alive! They were actually alive! Violet felt her heart soar as she poured over the rest of the letter, wanting to race right out of the room straight towards her siblings, wherever they may be, and embrace them both, crying about how much she’d missed them and how relieved she was to have them back. 

I realise this news may be confronting, and you may be inclined to dismiss it as a baseless rumor, but with this letter I have included a piece of evidence to support my claim. It’s been five years, so they’ve understandably gotten older but I trust that you would still be able to recognise them as your own. My belief is that they survived the fire, but have been hiding out ever since, likely not wanting any brushes with law enforcement. I’d know that all too well myself.

With this news, I extend an invitation towards you, Violet. From my calculations, this letter should arrive at your residence on August 11, and if it isn’t intercepted by any other parties will be in your possession soon after. If you wish to reunite with your family, I offer a meeting at the city’s Cafe Kafka on August 12, 12:33 pm to be exact. You’ll find me with a root beer float towards the back. 

I hope to see you there

 

 - Lemony Snicket

 

 

Violet immediately scrambled for the envelope, and upon finding a small printed photograph she snatched it up and held it in between her fingers. The photo wasn’t the best quality, and was shot from a distance but as she studied it she could make out two figures, one a lanky older teenager, the other a small child, exiting a building somewhere in the city. The boy certainly looked like an older version of Klaus, and the little girl beside him had bright blue barrettes in her blonde hair, looking almost exactly like little Sunny. Tears started to decorate her eyes as she grinned - it was them. They’d survived the fire after all.

She knew her first instinct was to rush off into the unknown, to seek out her long lost brother and sister, but she had to be careful about this. What did she know about this Lemony Snicket? He’d taken the fall for her mother and faked his own death, he was the only former volunteer left, and according to one of Olaf’s drunken rambles, was “a pretentious know-it-all and quite possibly the biggest twink he’d ever known”. Was it safe to meet up with him at a mysterious cafe? 

He wouldn’t be able to do much to hurt her, VFD had been long since vanquished, but she still noted to be vigilant, noting to take a knife with her when she left. There was no doubt about it: she had to go, and even though it pained her, she would have to leave her life with Olaf behind.

It might seem crazy to go on the word of a man that she had only met once and a blurry photograph in a letter, but what other choice did she have? If there was any chance at all that she could find her brother and sister, she had to take it. As she leapt from the lounge and raced up the stairs, she wondered if they would still accept her as she was now, with her descent into darkness. They most likely didn’t even know if she was still alive herself, and probably didn’t try to seek her out because they were afraid of Olaf’s wrath. Who could blame them, really?

Tearing open the bedroom doors, she knelt to the ground and reached under the bed to produce a battered and beaten up suitcase that had been stashed underneath. Setting it on the bed, she turned her attention to the closet, rifling through the mountains of clothes she had yet to organise. Violet knew she had to be quick, Olaf would only be so preoccupied with his scripts in the tower for so long. 

 

A striking pain resounded through her chest as she began tearing dresses off the hangers and chucking them into the suitcase. This was really it. She was leaving Olaf. She didn’t know life without the man, and she’d be stranded out on her own without him. Was this really what she was going to do? Her ring burned against her finger as she continued to haphazardly pile clothes onto each other, picking out some of the more practical dresses among the bunch. For years, he’d been her salvation, her closest confidant and the keeper of her darkest secrets. He’d known who she truly was long before she realised it herself, and had helped shape her into who she was today. Leaving that all behind seemed wrong, striking a hurtful chord in her heart. 

Part of her screamed to stay with him, to never leave his side so she never lost purpose. But things were different now. There was a real possibility that her siblings were alive, and out there waiting for her to seek them out. Her heart was conflicted, and beat through her chest at a rapid fire pace the more she tossed between her options. Leave behind all she’d known for years to chase a wild conspiracy, or stay with her love and turn away the one final chance fate had given her to see Klaus and Sunny once again?

For a few moments more she debated with herself as she packed, weighing the pros and cons of both options, assessing every risk, when she knew that she had to go. Even if her heart was rotten, one thing she’d never let go of was her devotion to her brother and sister. She knew that Olaf’s influence would forever linger like a tattoo kiss, and that there wouldn't be a day where he wouldn’t haunt all of her what-ifs, but she had to do this. 

Once she was satisfied with the amount of clothes packed in the suitcase, she snapped it shut and moved silently out of the room, careful to check if Olaf had decided to vacate his tower room and seek her out. Thankfully, she only found empty halls to greet her. Immediately she set out to find his wallet, knowing that she’d need some money for food and a motel for the night until she could finally meet up with Snicket the next day. Rummaging through his study, she happened upon it under a pile of discarded junk mail leaflets. 

He didn’t keep much cash on him, preferring to use a credit card, but there was more than enough in there to sustain her for a few nights. If she’d tried this stunt in her youth, she might have felt bad for swiping money and tried to rationalise it as being for the greater good, but presently she had no qualms about taking what she needed. Most of it was her inheritance money after all. 

She yanked open one of the desk drawers and picked out a small switchblade - she knew Olaf kept an array of knives around the house, each in varying degrees of size. She used to be more perturbed by it but had settled into it eventually. She pocketed the blade and made her way back into the hall. The next step was to locate his car keys, as that was the only way to get around the city quickly and would hopefully mean that if he did follow her he’d be off to a disadvantage due to the lack of transportation. He was a disorganised man, and Violet knew she could be searching for hours for the keys but luckily found them tucked away next to her jar of teabags in the kitchen. 

Closing her hands around them, she felt the cold metal press against her palm as she ran through a mental checklist of everything she would need. Money, clothes, keys. Glancing around, she spotted a mostly full bottle of red wine next to the sink and without thinking scooped it up into her arms. The night would be long and wrought with suspense, so why not take something to dull it a slight bit?

Violet dragged her suitcase out into the hall, trying to keep quiet for fear that her movement would alert Olaf to something suspicious going on. She would have left then and there, run out into the street and never looked back but something made her stop. Her ring was still around her finger, gleaming as brightly as the day he’d given it to her. She couldn’t in her right mind run away from the man she married while still holding onto a symbol of his ownership. And if she did find Klaus and Sunny, Violet didn’t want to face the no doubt awkward questions that wearing the ring would arise. It would be better to save that conversation for a later date, after they’d already reunited and cried their tears of joy.

 

Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed a bit of paper she’d swiped off Olaf’s desk and a pen, and setting it down on the table she scribbled something quickly before slipping off her wedding ring and setting it down gently on top of it. The act itself had felt strange. It was well and truly her leaving her life behind to chase after a chance, a spark of hope in her cruel bitter world. Her finger without the ring felt bare, and her heart ached as the weight of her decision started to settle. There was no turning back now.

Grasping her hands around the suitcase, she took one last look at the place she had called home for the past five years, before turning on her heel to hurry out the front door, into the garden and towards the car, parked across the street in front of Justice Strauss’ former residence. She tossed the suitcase into the passenger seat next to her and settled into the drivers side, pushing the keys into the ignition. Violet paused, asking herself for the final time if this was what she really wanted to do, that if she wanted she could go back inside and pretend nothing had ever happened. Though she knew the answer almost immediately. 

Turning the keys, the engine roared to life as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and raced off down the street towards a beginning, a terrifying unknown. And when Olaf returned downstairs later, calling out for her to receive no reply, he spied the ring on the table, glistening in the rays of sunset light. Turning it over in his hand, he snatched up the accompanying scrap of paper, searching for any explanation to what he found, though the only thing he saw were these few words scribbled in a hasty cursive script. 

Should’ve known I’d be the first to leave .

Notes:

and that is the end! thank you for sticking through this crazy jumble of manipulation, lust and references!