A/N: Not very book-ASoUE-ish, sort of movie-ASoUE-ish. Not very movie-ASoUE-ish, though. Sort of a merge between the two. Gah, now I want to watch the movie...

And I do know that it doesn't sound Snickettish—want to make this something that sounds more like serious Lemony. Which I have never heard of, but oh well.

I can still remember our first meeting very clearly, as if it had happened yesterday, even though it had been a long time ago.

I opened the door that day, finding that there was nothing to worry about, except maybe for O. and his cronies; an unexpected disaster, such as my parents perishing in a terrible fire; a stomachache; or a dull teacher. I wasn't in a hurry anyways, so I just calmly opened the door and entered the green room.

I found three people standing inside the room, supposedly noble people, since I had always believed that noble people arrive early, such as I. The first was a girl, a bit older than me. She was dressed in expensive clothes, but she seemed to be a nice person, nor one who boasts their wealth, like E. She was rather tall, and had curly hair.

The second one was a boy, around about my age. He had pleasant facial features, even though there was just something about him that I don't like, as if he had a bad aura. He had dark hair, with curly bangs.

The third person took my breath away. She was a girl, just a little bit younger than me. She simply had this charm that I cannot describe, well hidden beyond her intelligent, sparkling emerald eyes. She looked back at me, and seemed to be shocked. I blushed, just because of the fact that she was staring at me. It was rather pathetic, actually.

I tried starting a conversation with the girl. I seemed to have chosen the wrong words, though.

"You seem to be a noble person. I have always believed that showing up early is a sign of nobility," I started, speaking in the most charming tone I can make.

"Err..." she stared back at me. She seemed to be rather puzzled.

"She usually doesn't arrive early," said the boy in the middle. "She's just here early, today, because R. and I forced her to." R. turned out to be the well-dressed girl.

"Yeah," R. said, "she's a nice person, though. And even though she doesn't show up early often, she's noble, I can assure you."

The other girl blushed. She must've thought I was deliberately calling her an enemy.

"I, I, I didn't mean to say that, I just wanted to—

"No, that's okay," the boy said. "We know what kind of person you are anyways." He said the last sentence as if my family had done something wrong, which we are only accused of doing, which is sort of a lie, which is sort of a myth, which is sort of the truth.

I was touchy at that time, though, and nearly cried at the mention of that allusion. I ran away, or else I would've cried in front of her. Not R., the other girl. The pretty girl with sparkling, intelligent emerald eyes. I didn't want her to see me like that. At least I heard her name, though.

"It's okay, Beatrice... No, we don't believe him... It's okay, embarrassment's natural..."

Her name was Beatrice. A beautiful name.

In other words, she was you.

I dropped you a small note, inviting you to drink with me. You accepted. We got to know each other. I immediately knew that you were the one I was meant to spend my lifetime with. I loved the wonderful times we had together; they were one of the most beautiful memories of my life, which isn't much. You even made me cope with my parents' death that orphaned me. I wish I could've easened your sadness when yours died.

All of these times, they made me feel something different for once in my life...

I cherished.

Years later, you picked up the daily newspaper from the front of your door. You read it, until you stopped at a page.

A page announcing my death.

You clasped shut your mouth, tears dripping from your eyes.

"Lemony's... dead?"

I wish I was there to tell you. I wish I could go back in time, to that time, so I could've told you the truth all along.

You read further down the newspaper article, tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. Your tears soaked the pages a little bit, making it hard to read, but it was enough. You can still read them a bit.

A certain paragraph then caught your attention.

Mr. Snicket was actually sentenced to death for arson by the court, and his execution was scheduled for the day after his death. "It was a shame, really," said the judge...

You turned your back to me. You turned to that undeserving dog, one whom I had disliked since the day we met.

You should have known better that the truth is often far from what you hear.

15 years after you chose to turn to B., a terrible fire happened at your house, burning everything. Books, letters, they all crumpled to ashes, taking away every word from your sight. The tiny wrench your daughter liked, the spyglass; they melted and weld together, together with each other and you, unable to separate one from each other, like you and him. He heard you scream with the last amount of power and life you had, and he ignored you. He quickly went for the hidden stairs, maybe he can escape to their headquarters—he should've known that the stairs were in fire. He never made it. Neither did you.

You perished.

As I sit here on my typewriter, weaving these words together into a piece of writing, even though it meant more than that to me, I took a break. I looked out at the city below me, asleep with nightmares and alive with pain, not very much different from when you were here.

And yet, I think about your children and many other people in this world, and ask myself, "Has the world not changed very much, or has it?"

The world; to me and some other people; can be made better with people who, to me, are seraphs in disguise. They came down from heaven without them knowing it, and made the world a better place, just by them living in it and being themselves. They somehow can make a person feel happy, the city's sixth most important financial advisor envious of their simply indescribable aura, a duchess of Winnipeg feel wholesome as a person, and a detective-writer-not-so-arsonist feel loved. They just make the world a better place to live for those who know them.

One of those seraphs in disguise are you, Beatrice. My darling Beatrice, my dearest Beatrice, my dead Beatrice. My Beatrice, whom my love for shall live forever—while she, however, did not. My Beatrice, whom I would very much prefer if she were alive and well. My Beatrice, who will always be in my heart, in my mind, and in her grave. My Beatrice, for whom my love will never extinguish, or her house. My Beatrice, who made me cherish, her perish, and ever since that...

The world's been nightmarished.

A/N: Yes, I originally put all the Beatrice dedications in the penultimate paragraph, but since not all of them could fit/sound good, I didn't put all of them in. Sorry about that.