There is very little in this world that hurts more than betrayal. To believe something over your whole life, only to have that reality, shattered. This is a hopeless feeling that lives you shaken, sometimes unable to cope. Sometimes, it is accidental, and could even be for the better. But that makes it no better. No better.

Betrayal is a fickle thing, like houses of cards. One wrong move, and the betrayal scatters, and sometimes it even has a part fall down an air vent, and then that betrayal can never be brought back to former glory.

Over the course of this story, you will read about a terrible betrayal, a secret that shouldn't have been kept that was.

It is my sworn duty to report the tale of the Baudelaire children, as I've said before. Now, I'd advise you to burn your reading device, especially if it's a Kindle Fire.

This story holds only tragedy.


Our story begins a tiny bit more than two weeks after the last story, The Paradisaical Poem . (Reading the Paradisaical Poem is not necessary, but if you have the time I'd advise it over this.) It happened to be movie night — the six children had decided to have a movie night each Friday, although each time so far it became a marathon. They were midway through the first Harry Potter film when they were startled, a word here meaning 'They heard a knock on the front door on the secret library home's entrance'.

This was surprising. This was a secret library, with a very complex secret entrance. Only two people would know how to get in—Dewey Denouement and Kit Snicket.

Quigley, being the only one not wrapped in blankets with their partner—barring Sunny, who had fallen asleep though—and bolted for the door. With it, he let in four people, and as Klaus paused the movie, they welcomed in the three people they recognized. Dewey Denouement, Kit Snicket, and their daughter, Beatrice Denouement. However, a fourth person stood there, hand on Kit's shoulders. I do know who the man was, and I do know where he went afterward, and I do know the secret he was hiding from everyone else...and even the small item that was rested in his pocket, although he wouldn't keep it hidden long.

"Kit!" The children said, rushing to and hugging the person that had come to look at as a parent. Kit hugged them back, and they hugged Dewey next. The man with his hand on Kit's shoulder looked calm, staring at the scene of reunion with a somber look in his eyes, lamenting on how he missed his own shot for family.

"Who's this?" Duncan finally asked, obviously talking about the guest Kit had brought.

"This is my brother, Lemony." Klaus's eyes both lit up in recognition.

"We found your typewriter in the Mortmain Mountains." Klaus pointed out, remembering the burnt typewriter Violet had repurposed, the one with L. Snicket printed on it.

"Yes. That was mine." I said.

The kids looked at me, who looked at them back. All of them looked so familiar to me—Isadora looked like her mother, Moxie. Duncan and Quigley looked like their father James. Klaus looked like Bertrand, even little Sunny looked like her mother, as did Violet.

Looking at them, I froze. For the first time, I was meeting these children. I had lost so much, this was my only chance at redemption, a word here meaning 'Making things right with the Quagmire and Baudelaire family lines'.

"It is nice to meet you children. You've likely heard this countless times, but you all look so much like your parents." i said.

"You knew our parents?" Isadora asked.

"Yes. In fact, I knew them well. Moxie was in fact one of my closest associates. She wasn't part of V.F.D. when we met, but she eventually got into the organization on her own feet. She tried to buy The Daily Punctilio at one point as well. Would have been good in her hands, I imagine." I said, pondering for an instant. Would've made my death harder to fake though. "She invited me to her wedding with James, in fact. She even asked me to do a speech." I added.

"What about our parents?" Violet asked, and I thought about my answer.

"Me and your parents have a very long history, but if it puts anything into perspective, I gave your father the ring he used to propose. Maybe someday I'll tell you about it all." I said. Silence froze.

"Now." I finally interjected, a word here meaning 'broke the awkward silence'. "The reason I came here. I have been devoting myself to your family case, Baudelaires, out of respect to your parents. And I recently heard from Kit where you were. I wish to interview you six, ask some questions. I was wondering if you would be available over the course of tomorrow."

And so they were, and so I did. The next day, at nine o'clock sharp, I arrived, with my typewriter in grasp. I started to ask everyone questions, although the majority of these questions were for the Baudelaires—"I mean no offense, but I have my reasons." I explained to the Quagmires.

The interviews cut into the majority of the day, and when it was all said and done, it was rather late. The children invited me for dinner, and while I desperately wanted to say no but I couldn't deny that I had been just getting by these past few weeks, a phrase here meaning 'Being on the lam forced me to eat nothing but about three packs of instant ramen in the past two weeks'.

So, as I pulled an extra chair for himself, I ate with the children. Sunny had made ratatouille, a fancy dish comprises out of vegetables, and I finally understood just how good it was. I made a mental note to highlight Sunny's cooking in the documents, which I hope I did well with.

It was only a minute or so in when Isadora spoke up.

"Mr. Snicket?" She asked politely.

"Please, call me Lemony." I said. "But what is it?" I asked, curious what the youngest triplet had to say.

"Can you tell us about how you knew our parents? Like, more about it?" She asked. I smiled a little. Ibwill never admit it outloud, but I rather like sharing stories.

With that, I told the six children about his time in Stain'd-by-the-Sea, even turning it into something a dinner theater show for them. I was remarkable proud of the kids, managing to figure out the twists early in. (Klaus and Duncan had been particularly acute, even managing to guess the truth about Hangfire halfway into the full story.)

Then, I told me and Beatrice's story. The one I was dreading. But remarkably, it helped. Talking about Beatrice and my later life was therapeutic, a word here meaning 'helped me come to grips with the loss and, while not move on, put myself together better'.

"...and, that was the last she ever saw me. And Bertrand, who had been respecting me and Beatrice, took the time to propose. I even left him the wedding ring in secret. They had a lovely wedding to which I was invited and attended in secret, and eight months after the proposal you were born Violet. The rest is history." I finished.

At this point, everyone had moved to the couch area, Lemony standing and telling his story.

But Duncan's eyes were wide. "L-Lemony?" He started, unsure of where to go with his point. "M-may I ask you something?"

I nodded, giving Duncan room to continue. What has the boy so shaken?

"You said Violet was born eight months after the wedding?" He confirmed.

"Seven after the wedding. But eight after the proposal."

"I-is that…" Duncan froze. If he was wrong, he was about to piss a lot of people off he figured.

"Violet looks just like her mother, right? Spitting image?" Duncan asked for second confirmation.

I started nodding slowly.

"That timing doesn't line up. Seven for sure, eight still isn't really enough time. Either Violet was born early…" Klaus said slowly, looking at her sister, then me, then Violet again. And with that, Violet looked up, her eyes filled with the same realization as Klaus.

To believe something over your whole life, only to have that reality, shattered. This is a hopeless feeling that lives you shaken, sometimes unable to cope. Sometimes, it is accidental, and could even be for the better. But that makes it no better. It can be something you knew for years but never shared, or not.

I always think Bertrand knew. But he wouldn't have cared. He treated Violet as though his own.

"Yes." I finally, finally said, his voice cracking as the last little joy he had shattered.

"She's a Snicket."