"Like all orphans, the two kidnapped brats were so stupid that they didn't even look scared as Mrs. K carried them away."- Vice Principal Nero (Lemony Snicket: The Unauthorized Autobiography)

Summary: Who were these orphans, and did they share the same fate as the Baudelaires and Quagmires? This is the story of the third group of siblings that were tied to the awful fires, the secret of V.F.D., and the Snicket File. Told in the notebook of Luna.

-Disclaimer-

Don't own it, leave me alone. That goes for other chapters as well.

We could not help but weep as we heard the terrible stories of the ones harmed before us. Mrs. K, or K as she asked us to call her, told the tale of the Quagmires as best as her research informed her. K knew that it was a matter of time before we would be hunted as well, and she said that we were lucky that we were found before the other side had set their sights on us. Of course, by 'us' she meant my brother and me. Jake sat quietly as we heard the tale from K. He listened intently without even slighty interrupting with a sneeze or a cough. It was like him to be so involved into something that another person would say. I was focused on the story, but eventually grew inspired to write the exact scene that this story took place in.

The dark night was only lit by the flashlight that K held, and it made the scene all the more daunting and miserable. We, meaning K and Jake and I, were hidden in the Finite Forest in a small tent that was tightly shut to prevent any creatures or unwanted villians- which seems redundant, because all villians are most likely unwanted except for heinous crimes- from overhearing our discussion. K continued on to the case of the Baudelaires, and their unfortunate tale was even worse than the poor Quagmires. Jake's dark brown eyes stared at K's saddened face as she told the tale of her brother, Jacques, who was killed at the hands of Count Olaf. It was almost too much for me to handle as I heard about even more crimes that this Olaf had committed just for an enormous fortune. K eventually stopped, and she looked as if a great weight had been lifted. It seems that all her information, though valuable, tore into her heart and caused her life to become miserable. Though, it was not the facts that she had gathered, but who was after her and her family because of them. She left us with these troubling thoughts as she tossed and turned in her own sleeping bag before giving in to exhaustion.

As I am writing this in my red notebook, I hear the cold wind blowing past the trees of the forest and pressing against our small sanctuary that we had posted up hours before. There is very little light, as dawn is beginning to approach, and I have been sleepless again for the third night in a row. My brother, one year my senior, has been sleeping like a baby since our escape from Prufrock Prepatory. He absolutely hated it there, and most of the time he spent there was filled with sleepless nights of the haunting concertos embedded in his brain. I was happy he was at least beginning to get some rest again. My name is Luna, and I am hoping for the world to be quiet again. Though V.F.D. is primarily secret, I will try my best to keep records of what happens throughout this endeavor as one of the newest members. An introduction to who this involves would probably suffice as I am very limited in time of what I am able to complete. K does not know about my notebook, and I do not think it wise that she find out about it.

First of all, let me introduce my brother. Jake, like a said before, is one year older. I believe he took it the worst when the fire killed our parents. Though, under such dismal and horribly shattering moments such as those, one cannot be completely fine. He is a few years older than Violet Baudelaire, who we are now indirectly tied to through this organization. He was considered to be more of a nerd, in appearance and in spirit. He was an incredible listener. Jake could remember anything told to him by merely listening to a person. I always thought of him as a spy, and a very good one at that. I had given him a yellow notebook recently, and told him to keep it safe from anyone's eyes, save for himself and me. I doubt he has written in it, however, as our journey has really only just begun. As I look at him in his sleeping bag, his reddish-brown hair covered his eyes, and he snored a little bit.

I, on the other hand, am much more of a writer. All aspects of writing have intrigued me deeply; descriptions, plots, characters, one only has to name it. I suppose it will come in handy as I jot down this autobiography of our adventures in the middle of a split organization.

I must leave this entry, as I see that K is beginning to stir. I will continue as soon as I can.