"Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
in doubtful dreams of dreams"

-"The Garden of Proserpine" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

The World Is Not So Quiet Here

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you for your interest in this story! I will hopefully be rewriting the first chapter soon, and making it a little longer/better. Please review and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events, nor any of the characters included in this story except for Persephone. Most credit goes to Lemony Snicket!

My face claim for Persephone is Bella Heathcote in the "Dark Shadows" film.

There was a creaking sound as the front door of Count Olaf's house opened. Half a face peaked through the slightly ajar door, followed by a body. The body belonged to Count Olaf, no doubt. Who else could he be with a face like that?

He crept out to get a better look at me, and apparently liked what he saw.

"And what," he purred "is a pretty little specimen like you doing at my doorstep?"

I straighten up, trying to act professional.

"I'm-," Olaf placed one of his scraggly fingers on my lips.

"Persephone Gray?" he hissed, withdrawing his finger. I nodded and a smirk appeared on his poorly-shaven face.

"Welcome, my dear."

He spread one arm out, gesturing for me to enter his home. I did so cautiously.

When I walked through the doorway, he snickered as though I'd just stepped into a trap. He stood in the grungy foyer, awaiting my compliments. But, what could I say? It was a wreck!

The house was big but rather disgusting. There were very few windows, and he obviously chose not to pay his electricity bill, so it was dark and gloomy. The walls were adorned in peeling wallpaper, there was hardly any furniture, and the house's odor was unbearable!

In the shadows, I could make out his assistants, lurking; watching me. I held back a shudder. Count Olaf noticed my hesitation, and sighed, as though annoyed that I wasn't impressed.

He flicked a spider web off of the ceiling, as if that were the house's only flaw. He proceeded to stomp on the spider, turning on his heels toward me, and eagerly examining my reaction.

I offered him a weak smile.

"So…" I begin. He slicked back his greying hair and clapped his hands together.

"Follow me," he ordered.

He lead me to the living room and sat me across from himself on little chairs, unstable as they were distasteful. He had to shove a bowl of apple cores aside to have eye contact with me. I sat patiently, with my pale hands placed delicately on my lap. He drummed his spiny fingers on the table. I supposed we were waiting for someone to arrive.

The 'someone' turned out to be a man with a long brown trench coat, a matching square hat, and two silver hooks replacing his hands. He had a young, handsome face, with a square jaw and dark eyes.

It is a face I immediately recognized. The letter F formed on my lips, followed by E, R, N, A, L, D. I mouthed his name. "Fernald?"

I recalled the memories we shared. He was the step-son of Captain Widdershins, a key member of V.F.D. I remembered when I was thirteen, I'd been helping the Captain and Fernald, who had been eighteen at the time, load boxes onto the Captain's submarine, the Queequeg.

I almost laughed aloud when I remember the captain encouraging us to work harder by reciting his motto: He who hesitates is lost. And little Fiona had chimed in "or she!"

Back then, I'd had a bit of a crush on Fernald.

"Hooky!" Olaf cried in frustration. "Fetch me my notebook!"

Olaf shook his head at Fernald, muttering, "Damn bastard, always late".

I stirred in my seat, feeling slightly nauseated by the smell of the house.

Fernald returned and handed Olaf his notebook. Before he left, he nodded towards me casually acknowledging who I was. Olaf didn't notice this brief interaction. He was furiously flipping through his notebook, trying to find the right page. As he skimmed through it, I caught a glimpse of a few roughly sketched eyes, something that might have said "J.S", and the letters V.F.D.

He snarled as he scanned the paper. I found myself staring at the ground, confused. There was obviously a lot on my mind. But at the time, I was wondering what side of V.F.D Fernald was on?

I remembered that when he was twenty, and I was fifteen, he'd had a terrible fight with his step-father and ran away from home. Now I understood his anger towards the organization that had claimed the lives of his real parents. But surely he wasn't really a villain. Had he really been affected by the schism, an event that had separated V.F.D long before he and I were born? Or was he just pretending like me?

"Ah ha!" Olaf shouted as he found the page he'd been looking for.

"Now," he started "I have a few questions to ask you".

I take a deep breath, preparing myself to answer each question without hesitation; to sound honest and genuine. After all, though the Count did not seem to be an academic man, he was not unintelligent.

"First of all, why do you want to join my 'acting troupe'?" he rolled his tongue as if the question bored him and been asked many times before. I drew up an answer right away.

"I grew up with my mother and father as members of V.F.D. One day, I came home and our entire mansion was burnt down," I put carefully.

Olaf scribbled down something on his notebook and muttered "blah blah blah. Heard it before."

"I was furious at V.F.D for not being there to save my parents. Then I found out about the schism. I thought the motto 'fight fire with fire' seemed fair enough and knew I must've been on the wrong side of V.F.D. So, I heard of you and…here I am," I throw my hands up in the air with a shrug.

That was the entirety of the story I'd created. It wasn't necessarily original, but perhaps that would benefit me. I wanted to sound like every other person who'd grown up in V.F.D, forced to make the choice between the sides.

Olaf wrote down a few more notes, though I was almost certain that he wasn't writing anything of value. He was most likely just drawing eyes all over the page.

"Next question. Why do you think I should accept you into my group?"

I rose my eyebrows and considered this question. I'd done my research on the Count and those who he kept in his employ- though perhaps I'd missed some key elements, considering that I hadn't known that Fernald was one of the Count's followers. But I knew that the Count trusted very few, and those he did allow to join him, all had irreplaceable skills or contributions.

Acting as though I'm unaware I'm doing it, I shifted forward in my seat so that my dress pushes back slightly, showing more skin than Uncle Monty would approve of.

"l definitely take that into account," Olaf's eyes were hungry and pleased, "but I think I shall re-word the question. Have you any experience in…acting?"

In spite of everything, a smile came to my lips. I knew he wasn't actually referring to the art of stage acting, but rather trying to asses my skills in relation to his troupe.

"Top of my acting class in university," I winked. It felt odd to wink; foreign. Though I'd never attended any formal education- I'd just been home-schooled by Monty and the others, I had always had a penchant for acting. Shakespeare was my favourite.

"Music to my ears, Miss Gray," Olaf placed a hand on my thigh. My first response was to wonder when the last time he washed that hand was.

I remembered something Monty had been reluctant to say earlier: "You will probably have to do what he says, no matter what his command is."

I fluttered my eyelashes innocently. A surge of confidence spread through me. I could do it; I could kill him. I could save my siblings too- I knew I could. Olaf removed his hand and then, looking into my eyes and capturing my gaze, he stood up.

There was something oddly romantic about him. He's unhygienic and cruel, but maybe it's his eyes. I thought they might have been the only thing I liked about him. I slowly withdrew my gaze from his.

He clicked his tongue and said, "Unfortunately I do not receive the orphans until next week. So, until then, my comrade Hook shall be making us dinner".

I felt a pang of sympathy for my siblings, despite their absence. They would have to cook for us. But don't worry, I calmed myself they won't have to endure much of him. He'll be dead soon enough. But how long is soon enough? When will I have the dagger at his throat?

Olaf extended his hand for me to take. I sliped my own hand into his, elegantly. As I took a deep breath and entered his dining room, where his assistants awaited me, I felt like a performer, walking on stage.

If I'm going to fool Olaf, I will have to really act, not just pretend. In a sense, I really was joining an acting troupe.