I awoke with a start when I heard a loud thumping sound. I shot up in bed and looked to my side for Olaf. He wasn't there.

There was silence for a moment and I looked around the dark room. Perhaps I had dreamt the loud noise.

A grunt and the shattering of glass broke the quiet stillness. Whatever it was, it was coming from the attic.

I stood as quickly as I could and padded out into the hallway. I climbed the stairs to the attic, where I saw the pale blue moonlight shining through the window, giving off an eerie illumination.

"Where is it, where is it," I heard Olaf muttering in the corner of the attic. I saw the silhouette of him bent over and rummaging around in boxes.

I stepped forward to approach him but felt something small and sharp on my bare foot. I cried out quietly and looked down. Broken glass glittered all over the floor.

Olaf stopped his looking and I saw his figure turn around. "Where is it?" he asked me.

I limped around the glass and over to a closed trunk. "What are you talking about?" I sat and placed my ankle on top of my other knee as best as I could. Even in the low light, I could see the glint of a small shard of glass in the sole of my foot. It started to bleed slightly. I bent over to get the glass out, but my belly prevented me from examining it closer. I huffed.

"You know what I'm talking about, you fucking brat!" Olaf shouted. He stomped over to me, the glass crunching beneath his shoes. It wasn't until he was standing right in front of me that I saw a nearly-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. "Where is it!"

"There are lots of 'its' in the attic! Now, what are you looking for?" I shouted back.

"The picture, for God's sake! The fucking picture!" Olaf bellowed. "It was up here! I know you took it!"

I knew exactly what he was talking about. It was the picture of the young woman that I put in my pocket the day Jacquelyn found me in the attic. In order to stave off his anger, I decided to play dumb. "What is it a picture of?"

Olaf kicked a box that was on the ground, and papers scattered. "It was a picture of a lady!"

"What did she look like?" I said in a calmer tone.

I couldn't see Olaf's face clearly, as he was turned away from the moonlight, but I heard him sniff. "She…" his voice broke slightly. He sighed and got to the floor. "Dark hair. Blue eyes." He paused. "Beautiful…" His drank the remaining liquid in the bottle and tossed it aside. Olaf ran a hand through his hair. "It was Kit."

Kit Snicket, I thought to myself. So that's why he reacted that way when I first told him about them in the fire.

"She was the one in the fire at the theatre with her brothers," I mentioned quietly.

"Her idiot brothers. I hated Jacques and Lemony. I don't know which one I hated most." Olaf started to fish something out of his pant pocket. He handed me a folded piece of paper.

I took the paper and turned it toward the moonlight. It was an obituary page from the newspaper. I unfolded it and squinted. "'Kit Snicket was a taxicab driver with a penchant for jet-skiing. Snicket was killed in the theatre blaze, along with her twin brother Jacques and younger brother Lemony. She leaves behind her fiancé, Mr. Denouement.'" I blinked. Kit must have been who Dewey Denouement was mourning when I met him. I paused at the next sentence.

"Keep going," Olaf demanded dryly.

I swallowed. "'Snicket was three months pregnant,'" I finished. I folded the newspaper.

"You forgot to throw out that edition of the newspaper. It was still in the kitchen," Olaf said.

"Was she special to you?" I asked.

Olaf scoffed. "It may surprise you, Orphan, that I am capable of loving someone," he snapped.

I glared at Olaf's silhouette. "Then why did you kill her?"

Olaf snarled, "I didn't kill her."

"You burned down a theater with her inside!"

"I didn't know she would be there," Olaf replied harshly. "I didn't exactly invite her."

I paused for a moment. "Her baby…it was yours, wasn't it? Not her fiancé's?"

Olaf looked at me and then down at my foot. "You're bleeding," he observed.

"It was the broken glass on the floor. I can't reach it to get it out."

Olaf sighed and stood. He reached for the cord that powered the single light bulb. He tugged it, and a bright yellow light filled the room.

I looked up at Olaf's face and saw, with shock, that his eyes were red and wet. I couldn't comprehend that he had been crying; he was a villain, and villains didn't cry.

Olaf stooped down and put his arms under my knees and behind my back. He lifted me effortlessly into the air and set me down on the floor away from the glass. He knelt down to the floor and reached for a small box that was cast away on the floor. He opened it, and I saw that it was a sewing kit. Olaf took a needle and bent it.

"Give me your foot," he ordered.

I leaned my weight back onto my arms and placed my offending foot on his knees. "Why are you doing this?" I asked as he went to work looking for the glass.

"I need you to be able to walk. You've still got chores," he said lamely. He snatched his hand away suddenly. "Ow, fuck!" he whispered. The needle had stabbed him.

"Were you jealous of Kit's fiancé? Is that why you burnt down the Hotel Denouement?" I asked.

"If you don't shut up, I'll shove a bigger piece of glass into your foot and have you run a mile," Olaf threatened.

I felt the bent needle scrape against the lodged bit of glass. Olaf dug the metal into the cut and flipped the glass out. I winced.

Olaf threw the needle and glass to the side and sat on his backside. "Kit and I had our differences," he murmured.

"Like you're a villain and she wasn't," I said.

"Yes," Olaf agreed unexpectedly, though he was distracted, so I wasn't sure if he meant what he said. "She didn't need to die," he added.

I crossed my legs and folded my hands in front of my stomach. "When I do my inventory tomorrow, I'll look for the photo. It can't have gone far, but it might be harder to find now that you've made this mess," I said. I gestured to the chaos that Olaf had created.

Olaf crawled over to me and laid down, putting his head on the little room I had left of my lap. He placed his hand on my midsection. "Has it started to move?" he asked monotonously.

I nodded. "Yeah, about two months ago," I replied, my voice shaky.

"Can you make it move?" Olaf questioned.

"It doesn't work like that." I took a deep breath. "Usually, though, I feel it most right here," I said. I pushed Olaf's hand to the right of my belly button.

We waited in silence, and I was convinced that my baby was not going to move at that hour, but Olaf stayed in place.

I tugged at the tightening fabric of my nightgown. I cleared my throat. "I've outgrown my clothes," I stated matter-of-factly. "I should have gotten new clothes a few weeks ago, but now they truly don't fit anymore." Olaf didn't say anything. "I also need you to…go a bit easier on me. It's still a high-risk pregnancy because of my age."

Olaf continued to stare at my bump.

"Please, Count Olaf. I don't like asking for your help more than you like giving it," I added.

"Fine." He adjusted his head in my lap.

The baby then kicked at my side under Olaf's touch. Olaf clenched his jaw and started to rub his thumb back and forth.

"I'm going into the city tomorrow. I can't have you trying to escape, so you'll come with me. We'll get you some new clothes then," Olaf muttered.

I sighed and shut my eyes in victory. As if to celebrate with me, the baby moved once more inside me. I looked up and around the attic; there were no sounds other than my and Olaf's soft breathing.

Early the next morning, I awoke before he did. I crept as quietly as I could to my trunk to dig through my dresses. My hand dove into each of my dress pockets, searching for the picture of Kit. I listened carefully for any breaks in Olaf's snores.

Finally, in one of the blue dresses folded at the bottom, I felt the stiff paper that I knew to be the picture. A shard of panic stabbed my heart, as I was afraid I had washed the picture with the dress. I pulled the picture out and sighed in relief; the image was still intact. I had apparently forgotten to wash that particular dress, which was not uncommon, as I was busy constantly washing Olaf's dirty clothes.

I took the photo and made my way downstairs to make breakfast. Oatmeal with raspberries would have to do for this morning.

In what was practically perfect timing, I heard Olaf come downstairs and into the dining room just as I poured the oatmeal into his bowl. I poured a cup of coffee and picked up Olaf's bowl to bring it to him.

He sat in his usual spot at the head of the table, rubbing his eyes harshly. Evidently, he had a hangover. I wasn't surprised, seeing as he had had so much to drink at so late of an hour the night before.

I set the bowl and cup in front of Olaf. He didn't comment; he was surprisingly quiet. Instead, he took the coffee and downed at least half of it in one go as if that was the last cup of coffee he was ever going to have.

"I'll bring you some more," I murmured. He didn't acknowledge me.

I brought the coffee pot out with the folded photo hidden in my other hand. I topped off his coffee and sat at the place setting next to him.

I watched him eat for a few moments until he looked up at me and said, "Where's yours?" He gestured to his bowl.

"Not hungry this morning," I replied. I passed the photo back and forth between my hands underneath the table.

"If you think what happened last night changes anything, you are 'swordly' mistaken," Olaf huffed.

"It's 'sorely mistaken,'" I corrected. "And I don't."

Olaf went back to his coffee and oatmeal.

I gathered up the courage to take the photo and place it on the table. I pushed it towards him silently.

Olaf stopped eating and looked at the folded photo. "What's this?" He took the photo and opened it, his breath hitching at the image.

"I found it in the attic this morning," I lied. "It was in one of the trunks you hadn't opened. I guess it's Kit."

Olaf gazed at the picture absently. "It is," he replied shortly. He folded the picture and stuffed it in his inner jacket pocket.

"You're welcome," I muttered sarcastically as I fell back into my seat. The baby didn't like that sudden movement and decided to jab me in my side. I winced and rubbed the painful spot.

Olaf stared at me. After a moment, he said, "I need to meet with the owner of the other theater in the city. They're going to be putting on another of the great Al Funcoot's plays in a few months." He paused. "You're coming with me. After the meeting..." He lowered his voice to a grumble, "We'll see about getting you a new dress."

I cocked my head. "You…you meant it? What you said last night? You're going to get me some new clothes?"

Olaf growled. He pointed a long finger at me. "You're trying my patience, Orphan. Don't say anything else about it or I'll change my mind and have you wear potato sacks."

I closed my mouth and nodded.

Olaf pushed his dishes away and got up. "Hurry up. I don't like to be made late by orphans," he said as he walked away. I took the dishes back to the kitchen and rinsed them out.

I couldn't stop thankful tears from flowing. I was so grateful just to be afforded something nice to wear. It was wishful thinking, but I hoped that Olaf would also allow me to buy a nice onesie for the baby to wear once it was born, or a little toy or blanket. I'd have to get them at one point or another, but I prayed to any deity who would listen that Olaf would be in a good enough mood for that.

I had never been to a more boring meeting than the one which I had just attended with Olaf. It was quite obvious as to why Olaf had chosen that theater to premiere his show: the owner of the theater praised him incessantly about his cleverness and his ability to write such riveting plays. The owner was all too eager to allow Olaf to do whatever he wanted with the production. He was even offered a private dressing room in his contract. The whole thing was laughable, and I would be lying if I said I didn't snicker at some of the owner's—I'll call it what it was—ass-kissing.

I was not, however, about to comment on the owner's blatant false praise, as it put Olaf in a rather positive mood. The meeting, in the end, worked for my benefit.

Olaf parked his car in front of a homey clothing store. I got out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. A bright sign was plastered in the window, reading, "Very Flattering Dresses! 40% off!" The initials of the letters were not lost on me.

I heard Olaf's door slam and he stepped up behind me. "I'll be waiting in there, so don't get any ideas about trying to run off," he said to me.

I sighed but refused to turn around to fully acknowledge his threat. Instead, I went into the store with him at my heels.

Nearly all of the decorations in the store were pastel, and, if pastel were also a scent, that's what the inside smelled like, too. Several women were leisurely perusing the many racks of dresses and blouses.

A bouncy woman with curly hair approached me. "Hi, hon! Can I help you find anything today?"

I glanced behind me to Olaf, who waved his hand dismissively and stepped back.

My cheeks turned bright red. "I, um, need some new dresses. I've…outgrown the ones I have," I said quietly. I wasn't prepared for how embarrassing it was to admit that I was getting too big for my current clothes.

The woman was unfazed. "Ok! What's your regular size?"

"I normally wear juniors," I said.

The woman paused to think. "Hmm, I don't think we have any maternity clothes in junior sizes, but we do have a small section." The woman gestured for me to follow her and she pointed to a rack near the back. "Let me know if you need to try anything on."

I approached the rack. "Thank you," I said.

"Oh!" The woman stopped before she walked off. "Congratulations! Your dad must be so excited!" She thumbed toward Olaf, who had actually managed to start flirting with some of the older patrons. The woman left. I rolled my eyes at her assumption.

Flipping through the rack, I found several dresses that I found were very similar to my usual style. I knew Olaf would probably only allow me to pick out two or three, so I had to make absolutely certain that these would last me for the rest of my pregnancy.

After about a half an hour of looking, I grabbed about seven garments and approached a different employee for a dressing room key. They pointed me to the wall of doors in the back. I thanked them and made my way to the last door.

I set the garments on the hangers behind the door. Before I could even start to remove my current dress, I heard a knock.

"There's someone in here," I called.

"Yes, I was told you need some help with your very flattering dresses, Miss Baudelaire," the woman said from the other side of the door.

I recognized the voice immediately as Jacquelyn. I quickly opened the door to find the woman smiling at me. She stepped into the dressing room and offered me a hug, which I gladly took.

"Jacquelyn, how did you find me?" I asked.

"This is a V.F.D. store. I was alerted when you and Olaf stepped across the threshold. Word travels fast amongst volunteers," Jacquelyn explained. "And I was in the area." Her face went serious. "How are you feeling?"

I smirked and put a hand to the small of my back. "Aching and exhausted, but hardly any appetite."

Jacquelyn gave me a sympathetic look. She removed a dress from its hanger and held it up. "I know you don't have much time, so I'll try and explain what's been happening while you try these on."

I nodded. Jacquelyn looked to the side and held the dress in front of her face to give me a bit of privacy. I began to take off my dress.

"We've been able to successfully locate your brother and sister, Klaus and Sunny," she told me.

My heart leaped with joy. "Where are they? Are they safe?" I tossed my old dress to the side. I took the one Jacquelyn held up and slipped it over my head.

"They've been sent to work at Lucky Smells Lumber Mill. There are very few volunteers left in that area since the schism, but thankfully there was one who received word that we were searching for two very specific children," Jacquelyn explained.

I smoothed the dress out and pulled my long hair to the side. Jacquelyn zipped me up in the back and then turned me to the mirror. "What do you think?" she asked.

The dress was orange, and I wasn't particularly a fan of that color. I shook my head, and Jacquelyn took up the next dress and held it up like a curtain.

"Unfortunately, the volunteer cannot extract your siblings, as they've been placed under hypnosis to keep them productive."

I rehung the orange dress and placed it back on the door. I took the next dress, which was a pastel pink. "How could I have let this happen to them?" I asked myself.

"None of this is your fault, Violet."

My eyes started to water. "I can't even take care of or help my siblings!"

"Klaus and Sunny are physically fine," Jacquelyn reassured me.

"You said that they had gone to the hospital the last time you saw me!" I cried. Tears began to stream down my face.

Jacquelyn hushed me. "We had a volunteer at the hospital look into it: Sunny had a splinter that they couldn't remove at Lucky Smells. It ended up being completely fine, Violet."

I pulled the pink dress over my head and flipped my hair out from the neck hole. This dress was much better in terms of color.

"Now that we know where your siblings are, we'll be monitoring them and trying to break the hypnosis. We're also trying to work out a plan in which Olaf cannot come after any of you, so, unfortunately, you cannot leave yet."

"I like this one," I mentioned quietly, gesturing to the dress.

"Please don't fret, Violet. We are working as fast as possible to get you out of Olaf's clutches."

I turned around to Jacquelyn. "I don't know anything about V.F.D. How can I trust any of you?" I asked.

Jacquelyn opened and closed her mouth in a bit of shock. "We're noble people, Violet. Make no mistake," she said.

I lowered my head. "I'm sorry. I just…" I sighed. "I just want us to be safe." I placed both of my hands on my bump. "All of us."

Jacquelyn smiled sadly. "And you will be. I promise." Her expression brightened. "Let me give you something that will explain everything you want to know about V.F.D. I'll leave it in Olaf's attic for you to find." I nodded.

There was a brief silence. "I shouldn't keep you much longer, and I must go. I'm going to continue wishing you the best of luck, Violet. Take care of your baby, and stay out of Olaf's way," she instructed.

Jacquelyn then slipped out of the dressing room without another word.

The next day, Olaf put me back to work. He did not, however, force me to do any heavy lifting or very strenuous work. It was mainly returning objects back to the attic that his troupe had used in their rehearsal the night before.

After a fairly decent lunch, which Olaf complained about very little, I trekked up to the attic for what must have been the fifth time that day. That time, I was to bring down the script to a play that Olaf, or rather Al Funcoot, had written several years ago.

When I reached the attic, I stretched and found myself rather winded. I had on one of my new dresses, and I was continually thankful that I had been afforded that. I looked around the attic; a large book sitting on top of one of the trunks caught my eye. I was positive it had not been there before.

I approached the book and found that, on the cover, it read, The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations. I immediately recognized the book as the one Jacquelyn promised to me.

Flipping open the cover, I noticed a card envelope attached to the inside addressed to me. I furrowed my brow and opened the envelope. Inside was a plain card with Jacquelyn's loopy handwriting inside.

I read the note, murmuring to myself, "'Dear Violet, My records indicated that, today, you are turning fifteen. Happy Birthday to you. Sincerely, Jacquelyn.'" I gasped. She was right. It was my birthday today.

My heart wrenched at the realization that I had forgotten my own birthday, something that, while my parents were alive, I never did. I would always remind anyone who would listen that my birthday was coming up, and I would tell everyone what I wanted: a science book, a new inventing notebook, or tools. I swallowed. All I wanted this year was for this nightmare to end.

I took up the book and found the script Olaf wanted. As I went downstairs, I took a detour to hide the book underneath my side of the mattress in Olaf's bedroom. For several nights, I could not get up my courage to sneak away to read the book.

I knew my siblings and my baby counted on me. I was supposed to know everything, seeing as I was the eldest. It was my duty to find out about the V.F.D. and how our parents were involved.

Anxiety set in. The longer I delayed reading the book, the more terrified I became. I was scared of this V.F.D. My parents were a part of an organization that fought fires, yet they were killed in one. And where had the V.F.D. been when the theatre burnt down, or when the Hotel Denouement was reduced to ashes?

Fire haunted me as the catalyst for my misfortune, and it seemed to continue with the V.F.D.