"Now, Baudelaires, I trust that your parents taught you proper theatre etiquette," Mr. Poe chirped from the driver's seat of his car. "'Etiquette' means—"

"—Manners. Yes, we know what it means," Klaus replied flatly. He adjusted his pressed tie and glanced to his older sister.

"Mother and Father always took us to see operas. Mother was often in them," Violet added.

"Foofen!" Sunny babbled, which roughly translated to mean, "She had such a lovely voice when she sang lullabies."

Violet's lips turned upwards in a sad smile. "That's right, Sunny. But you never got to hear her in an opera." She gulped back the lump in her throat that threatened to push tears from her eyes.

"Well, anyway, I think I should remind you of some theatre etiquette: once we are inside, you shouldn't leave at all. There's no talking, commenting, whispering, or murmuring once the play has started," Mr. Poe continued.

"Those are all close synonyms," Klaus whispered to Violet, who nodded.

As Mr. Poe listed out several do's and don't's, Violet tuned him out. She looked at her hands in her lap, which held her dark purple ribbon that her father gave her. She turned the strip over between her fingers and felt the ridges of the rough side. The pad of her thumb smoothed across the silky side of the ribbon, and she bit her lip to stifle a quiet sob.

"All right, children. We're here!" Mr. Poe said as he parked the car on the street in front of the theatre. "Remember what I told you!"

Violet picked up Sunny from in between her and her brother. She stepped out of the nice car and onto the sidewalk. Violet threw her gaze upward to read the marquee above the entrance to the theatre. Flashing bulbs outlined the title of the play, "'The Terrible Triumph' by Al Funcoot." Violet had never heard of the play or the playwright, nor had she ever heard Klaus talk about reading about it.

Mr. Poe locked his car once the three orphans were out of the car. He turned to the children, a bright smile plastered across his face. He observed that Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were not smiling with him. His expression fell.

"Oh, Baudelaires. I'm so sorry. I do wish there was some way I could bring your parents back. But this isn't a fairy tale where wishes come true, unfortunately." He sighed. "The fire was a truly horrific accident. But please try to at least forget about your sorrows for a little while during the play. I am trying to make the best of a bad situation, and I'm sure your new guardian Dr. Montgomery would want you to enjoy yourselves tonight."

Klaus shot his gaze up to the banker. "Sir, with all due respect, how can we forget that we're penniless orphans?"

Mr. Poe opened his mouth to answer, but rather ushered the children forward. "Let's go pick up our tickets. Lucky for you children that I was able to get front row seats!"

Violet cast her eyes to the ground before her as she followed the man and led her siblings to the will call of the theatre. Mr. Poe picked up the tickets and passed them out to the Baudelaires.

It had been years since Violet had set foot into this theatre. When she started middle school, it had become more difficult to tear away from her studies and go see any shows. She took a playbill from an usher and made her way down to the front row and sat in her assigned seat in between Mr. Poe and Klaus.

The dull roar of the chattering patrons filled the theatre as more people came to fill the seats. The dim lights and the background noise was comforting to Violet, as that was something she recalled from the last time she went to see her mother in an opera.

After several minutes, Klaus leaned over to Violet and whispered, "Do you think it'll be any good? The play?"

Violet looked at her brother. She shrugged. "I've never heard of anything by Al Funcoot. Have you?"

Klaus chewed his lips in thought. "I don't remember. Perhaps it's a pseudonym for a well-known playwright," he suggested, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Dabbo," Sunny cooed from the other side of Klaus. She really meant, "I wish I had a carrot to bite, right now."

Klaus looked back to his little sister. "I know, but not eating is a part of theatre etiquette."

The lights overhead flashed dimly to signal the start of the show. Violet brought her attention to the red curtain that hid the stage from the audience. Once the audience hushed, the lights dimmed all the way to near darkness. The curtain rose slowly.

The stage light slowly faded on to reveal only two men onstage with a garden-type background behind them.

Violet stared at the two men: one was very big, and, despite the wig, Violet could tell he was bald underneath. The other man, however, made her heart seize in her throat. He was tall and thin, and his face was…unconventionally handsome. He had a unibrow that spread across the length of his forehead. He held his head high and his mouth was turned upward in a smirk. His broad shoulders were pushed back, his chest thrust out like some type of hero. He was new and unfamiliar, yet Violet was certain she had seen him somewhere before.

The first man spoke, but Violet barely comprehended what was said. She waited for the other man to speak. She had to know what his voice sounded like. The first man finished his line. The interesting actor turned to his audience and gazed out into the room theatrically. His eyes landed on Violet. Her heart stopped.

The actor's smirk faltered slightly as Violet made eye contact with him. He opened his mouth to speak, yet no sound came out.

Violet scooted to the edge of her seat, her sight still fixed upon the actor she thought handsome.

The actor tore his gaze away from Violet and to the rest of the room. He opened his mouth again. "Yes, my good sir. The day is perfect for a heart to chase its desire," he spoke his line.

Violet let out a breath she had not known she was holding. When the other man replied with his line, Violet took out her playbill and flipped to the cast pictures and biographies. Violet scanned the page until she found the small black-and-white photo that matched the handsome actor and read his name: Count Olaf.

Olaf prided himself on not getting nervous before a production. He knew he would be great, and he knew people would love his work. That was, after all, the reason he had been gone for seven years. He had done a worldwide tour of his many productions with his acting troupe, and each time he waited for his cue in the wings with impressive confidence.

Tonight, however, he felt the beating of his heart grow slowly faster in anxiety. This was his first performance back in his home city since returning from his world tour. Perhaps he was mistaking his anxiety for euphoria, as the prospect of looking out into the audience and seeing his volunteer peers made goosebumps prickle down his arms.

"House lights are down," Olaf's hook-handed colleague muttered backstage for the actors. Olaf adjusted his costume and smoothed his hair back. He ran his first line over and over again in his mind.

"Boss!" A whisper came behind Olaf, and he spun around. The hook-handed man was smiling at him. "Break a leg tonight!" He lifted his hooks as if to give Olaf a thumbs-up.

Olaf grinned in return and faced back to the stage. He saw the curtain draw up and the stage lights fade in. He stepped onto the stage with another of his colleagues.

The other actor launched into his opening mini-monologue once the spotlights found both of them. As part of the script, Olaf slowly gazed out into the audience, which was supposed to be the countryside in the story. Olaf inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as the theatre was nearly full.

Olaf let his gaze drift down to the front row, where he locked eyes with a girl who looked to be no more than 13 or 14. Her intensity phased him, and he could only think about her; her countenance felt extremely melancholy (a word that he had heard in place of 'sad' so he figured that must have been its definition). Her soft features held shadows of grief, yet, as she continued to stare at Olaf, he noticed that her sadness fell away slowly.

She looked so very familiar, yet he could not place who she was.

With a jolt, Olaf realized that the actor opposite of him had finished the opening line. Olaf panicked slightly, as he had completely blanked on his own line.

He suddenly remembered. He cleared his throat in-character and recited, "Yes, my good sir. The day is perfect for a heart to chase its desire."

For the rest of the evening, to his dismay, he performed the rest of his show with half the intensity he intended, as he was drawn again and again to the girl on the front row. She watched him in such an innocent way that he found himself glancing at her for her approval. When a funny line was said, he looked to see if she laughed, and she did. When something was sad, he gauged her reaction. By the time he said his final line, he imagined as if she was the only person for which he was performing.

At the curtain call, as the curtain descended, he finally recalled who the girl looked like: she was the spitting image of Beatrice Baudelaire.