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Beatrice scanned the obituary section of the Daily Punctilio. There it was, Lemony Snicket. She gasped, No, it can't be. But there it was, written out plainly;
THE
DAILY PUNCTILIO
"All the News in Fits of Print"
Obituary
Page
Lemony Snicket, an author, was reported dead today by anonymous and possibly unreliable sources. His age was given as "tall, with brown eyes." One of three children, he leaves no known survivors.
Born on a cattle farm rather than in a hospital, Snicket had a promising scholarly career in his youth, beginning with a job as a theatrical critic — in all senses of the word — for this very newspaper, followed by the publication of several promising anthropomorphic treatises, a word which here means "very long reports." This period of professional contentment — and, allegedly, unrequited love — ended when news of his involvement with V.F.D. and the accompanying scandal was reported in this newspaper and at least one other.
Mr. Snicket became a fugitive from justice and was rarely seen in public, and then usually from the back. Several manhunts — and, due to a typographical error, womanhunts — proved fruitless. At last their story, and his, appear to be over.
As no one seems to know when, where, how, and why he died, there will be no funeral services. A burial may be scheduled later this year.
He was dead. Lemony was dead. The newspaper fell from her grip, just as James walked into the room. "Are you ready?" he said, but her head was still rushing. He must've thought I didn't love him anymore. Because of James. No. no. she had to be dreaming, Lemony was dead. And she was going to marry James, because she loved him. Didn't she? "Yes" she said standing up. Lemony's dead. You can marry James, Lemony's dead.
Beatrice fiddled with the string of pearls around her neck, she didn't like weddings. As she walked down the aisle, people sighed and cooed. Her heart was pounding, when she reached the alter she searched the crowd for Lemony's face, but didn't see it. Perhaps he's in disguise. She thought, but then remembered, no. he's not coming back. Her thoughts were interrupted by the priest, "James Christopher Baudelaire, do you take this Very Fine Damsel as your wife?" "I do" said James; he was staring at Beatrice with misty eyes. "And do you, Beatrice Eleanor Winchester take this man..." She glanced at the priest. Those eyes...that voice.... "I do" she said before she realized that she had made a very, very grave mistake in believing Lemony Snicket was dead.