Hello to everyone who has stumbled across my fic!

Anyway, this is about how characters from ASoUE (thirteen, of course!) have been effected by the series of unfortunate events, and how they feel about it, in their own words. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. Period. End of story. Fin.

Chapter 1: V i o l e t B a u d e l a i r e

So there we were. The perfect family. Mother, father, sister, brother. And a beautiful, happy baby to seal the image of perfection. And that's how it really was, or how I felt it was - Perfect.

Until the fire.

After that, my life literally crashed down on me, what with the charred ruins of my once regal house, and the responsibility to raise my younger siblings. Klaus, though he never admitted it, was still a child. And Sunny – how would her life be effected by this?

Well, you know how Count Olaf was while we lived with him, but you do not know the horror we felt. That horror is unimaginable, not comprehensible even to the naked eye. No, to understand those weeks, you must experience it.

I still remember, ever so horridly clearly, the smell of Count Olaf's breath, garlic mixed with smoke, wine and ashes, whispering so closely, threats of death, of pain…

And so, guardian after guardian, death after death, poison, arson, drowning, being eaten alive. How do you think you'd feel if you saw these things, knowing you can't do anything about it, and see if you don't become depressed, feeling life as you knew it has gone, never to return again, never.

I swear, the only thing that kept me alive was my siblings, and the thirst and need to invent. These were the only things that remained from my wonderful life.

And then, a miraculous ray of hope – the Quagmires. Friends who understood me and my siblings, the sisterly bond between me and Isadora, the brotherly bond between me and Duncan. I remember holding hands with him, not in a romantic way, but still, it made me feel so safe. I remember being so delighted when I found out about Isadora's feelings for Klaus. I'd never, not even in my previous life, had girl talks, not even with my mother or friends. The prospect of them was so exciting, so new.

But, as usual, he came back. I'm pretty sure you know who I'm talking about. Girl talks, holding hands, nights of laughing and inventing, were whipped away by the pointless marathons he had us do every night. I remember running the never-ending white line, always running away, always returning, the circle never broken, the exhaustion never ceasing. Just like our series of unfortunate events. Never ending, always running, but always, always returning.

I'll never forget watching Isadora and Duncan screaming, pounding their white fists against the grimy back window of Olaf's long, black car that I have come to hate. I feel, right then, that I had experienced the true meaning of rage. Not like the temper tantrums you have as a child, or feeling particularly angry with a bully or punishment. That is spite, envy, irritation. No, the real meaning of rage is when all mercy, all compassion leaves you, replaced by a white hot creature in the pit of your stomach, gnawing away, leaving nothing but a desire for revenge. It was then that I started to really, truly hate Olaf.

Our time with the Squalors, or as Klaus jestingly calls it, "The Squalor squalor", was also miserable. I do hate Esme Squalor, but nothing will ever touch on my pure loathing towards Olaf.

But now we come to our time in the town of V.F.D., and even though this experience was unsatisfying, unpleasant, it was not miserable. "Unhappy", maybe, but not miserable. I can't help but look back and inwardly smile at all the absurd rules they had there. "There must not be for than fifteen nuts on the elders' chocolate sundaes"… yes, I think I'd call that absurd. And besides, there's nothing miserable about reuniting with your best friends, throwing your arms around them, murmuring words of jubilation you don't even know you're saying, and never will…

But I knew that, like always, such joy would never last with Count Olaf at our heels. I accepted this fact with resignation, and that is why I never finished climbing that balloon ladder, knowing that he would find us, and would do to Isadora and Duncan what he would to us.

The events at Heimlich Hospital, as anyone reading this knows, have been summarized in the Daily Punctilio. What has not been summarized is how they treated me, rather abused me, during the time of my being taken hostage and the 'cranioectomy'. They did not physically abuse me. No, what they did was much worse. They verbally abused me. They tried to break me down, tell them what I read in the file room. But I would never tell. They nearly drove me mad, but I would never tell. And so, what did they do? They drugged me and attempted to decapitate me. It sounds like some twisted, immature fantasy, doesn't it?

I remember, perhaps more clearly than anything, being curled up in Count Olaf's car trunk, unbeknownst to him. I'll never forget the stench of that trunk. It smelled like Death. Decay. Dank. Depressed.

Caligari Carnival was like a joke. A grim, pathetic, gory joke. That's all I can say about it.

When Sunny was kidnapped, I remember thinking I had nothing to live for. I was a failure. My parents had always told me to protect my siblings, but I had failed. Everything was my fault. I know better now, though. It wasn't my fault. It was Olaf's, and no one else's.

And then, a blessing. A blessing in the form of Quigley Quagmire. And especially a blessing and a miracle for me. Oh, did I just say that?

I think, from the fact that I blush while I write this, it's evident that what happened between Quigley and I stays between Quigley and I.

When I lost Quigley to the waters of the Stricken Stream (or when I thought I had lost him), I felt I had lost my best friend and my first love. I didn't care what happened to me after that. I did care, however, what happened to Klaus and Sunny. Keeping them alive was worth dying for.

And now we come to our adventures on the Queequeg. Captain Widdershins, as the reporters have so scrutinizingly researched, had been volatile in many ways, as had his daughter, Fiona. I always, from the beginning of our voyages, suspected that, somehow, they would betray us. I thought, from my many times of being betrayed before, that I might have been just paranoid. I know, now, to always, always listen to my foresight.

Well, I suppose you know the rest, the details the media managed to scrape up. I'd never tell them anything, not after what they did to us. First we're murderers, then we're heroes… how quick to turn the world is, so that they can have someone to look up to as a model of that non-existent thing, perfection…

Well, I suppose I've finished. It is for you to interpret it as you wish. If you think me a delusional, spoiled, hormonal teenager, it's okay. If you understand me and think me a heroine, it's okay. I know what I went through, and I know how I endured it. That is all.