I was standing on the front step of my parents' house. The beautiful, familiar scent of English roses wrapped around me as the warm spring sun hung high above me. My home was still there, and not burnt to the ground. It somehow felt alive.

Two hands grasped mine: one the size of my own hand and a small set of fingers curled around my index finger. I looked to Klaus, his hair neat and glasses firm on his nose. He smiled.

"Mother and Father have a surprise for us," Klaus said.

"Tebbo!" Sunny squealed on my other side, meaning, "Let's go see them!"

I smiled at Sunny and nodded. I pulled my hair back and used my ribbon to tie it back. I opened the door.

Everything was as it should be. The paintings, the lamps, the coffee table books—they were all there.

"Mother?" I called.

"In here!" Her voice rang out as clear as day in our living room. I dashed from Klaus and Sunny to meet our mother.

I stopped at the entrance to the living room, happy tears falling from my eyes. There stood my mother and father.

Something wasn't right, though. They're backs were turned to me and they were looking down at something that they held. They were too quiet.

"Mother?" I asked. They didn't move. I stepped towards them. "Father? What's wrong?"

As I reached out to touch my mother's shoulder, they spun around, their faces wet from crying and their eyes dark with anger and disappointment. I looked down to see my mother holding a bundle.

"How could you be so stupid, Violet?" Mother snapped, disdain tearing from her lips.

My father shook his head. "Such a silly little girl," he said. His voice was strangled somehow, as if someone had been choking him.

My mother held out the bundle in front of me. "I'm glad we died so that we wouldn't have to see what a disappointment you turned out to be," she added.

Everything around me started to feel incredibly hot. My skin burned as if the sun had suddenly settled on top of me.

"You abandoned Klaus and Sunny," my father accused. "You failed them and lost their fortune." I shuddered when I heard two voices come from my father's mouth: his and Count Olaf's.

"No, no I didn't!" I cried. I backed away, the heat causing burns to appear on my arms. "It's not my fault!"

I turned around, only to be surrounded by orange flames engulfing my house. "Klaus! Sunny!" I screamed. I had to save them, but they were not behind me as they had been.

I started to run through the house, fire dancing at my heels. I called my siblings' names over and over. Second-degree burns mottled my arms and legs, and my tears evaporated from my face faster than they came out.

I ran to my room, smoke constricting my lungs and nearly making me pass out. My room was untouched by the inferno; it was dark and nearly everything was still in its place as far as I could tell. The only thing that stood out to me was the silhouette of a man.

"You failed everyone, Violet," the man said to me.

I sniffed. "It's not my fault," I whimpered. "None of this is."

The man cocked his head to the side. He fumbled with something in his pocket, and I heard a match strike. He brought the lit match to his face.

"Everyone thinks it is," Olaf said with a smirk. He dropped the match, and a burst of flames exploded from the ground in front of me.

I jerked awake with a scream, my heart thudding in my chest as though it was trying to escape.

"Jesus!" Olaf shouted as he too awoke with a start. "What the fuck?"

I pressed my hands to my eyes and shrank away from him as much as I could. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I repeated.

I felt Olaf sit up in bed behind my back. "What the hell happened?" he asked, groaning. "I've got a fucking headache, now, Orphan."

I said nothing, but I continued to cry into the darkness of my palms. Olaf huffed and snatched one of my wrists. He pulled me over to lie on my back.

His anger softened slightly upon seeing me. I could only imagine how pathetic I looked for Olaf to even feel a little sorry for me. My bangs were plastered against my forehead with sweat and my cheeks were hot. He had seen me cry many times before, but I had no clue as to why this time would be any different.

Olaf's features hardened once more. "Go and get something to drink. You need it," he said.

My voice cracked, "I can't have alcohol—"

"I meant water, Orphan!" Olaf scoffed and pushed himself back down into the mattress.

I sighed at his demand and propped myself up on my forearms.

"Just make sure you bring me back a bottle of wine," Olaf added.

I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see me. "Red or white?"

"I don't care. Grab the first bottle you see," he replied.

With some difficulty, I stood and began to slowly make my way out. I felt a sudden pang of hunger and craving sweep through me. I silently cursed myself, as I hated that part about my pregnancy. I could handle being sick or upset, but having sudden and unrelenting desires for food was terrible when I had to ask to make something to satisfy me.

I argued with myself on whether or not to ask Olaf if I could make something. When I reached the door to leave his room, I turned around. "Count Olaf?" I asked timidly.

"What?"

I shut my eyes and cradled my bump. "C-can I..." My voice died in my throat.

"What?" he sharply reiterated.

"Can I make something to eat? Something small, nothing too major," I finished quickly.

There was a brief pause. "Is it one of those pregnancy craving things?" he asked. "'Cause if it is, I don't have any pickles or ice cream—"

"No, it's just—" I stopped. "Can I make toast?"

"Make whatever you fucking want. Just bring me back some damn wine," Olaf grunted. He clapped his hand over his eyes and rubbed them.

"Thank you," I murmured before I made my way downstairs.

I padded to the dark kitchen and quickly turned on the light. A lump formed in my throat as I began to search for the bread and butter. It was silly, but that small kindness (whether kindness was Olaf's intention or not) was threatening to bring me to tears.

If he wasn't so terrible already, I thought, I wouldn't be so effected by it. It was true: my expectations of treatment were damaged.

When I got back upstairs, I thought for sure that Olaf would have fallen back asleep. I had brought the wine just in case he hadn't, but, though he was lying back down, he wasn't snoring like he usually did.

He must have heard me at the door, because he asked, "What kind did you bring?"

I glanced at the bottle's label. "Roscato?"

Olaf made a face and sat up. "Too sweet." He glanced at me and held out his hand. "It's better than nothing," he added.

I gave him the bottle, which he then opened and took several large gulps. I felt nauseous watching him, unable to imagine how he couldn't not be sick. His mouth twisted in distaste for the drink's apparent sweetness.

I got back into bed next to Olaf, propping myself up against the headboard. As exhausted as I was, I was afraid to go back to sleep in case of more fire-filled nightmares. I placed both my hands on the top of my belly and picked anxiously at my nails.

Olaf leaned back as well and crossed his arms across his bare chest, still holding onto the wine bottle. I could feel his piercing eyes on me after seeing him turn from the corner of my eye.

"Why were you screaming?" he asked sharply.

I didn't answer, but rather I shifted uncomfortably.

Olaf's eyes widened, but then he groaned and let his head fall back to the headboard with a thud. "Is it time?" He sighed.

"What do you mean?" I looked at him.

He rolled his head to the side to glower at me. "You know," he snapped. He made a flowing motion with his arms near his groin.

"Oh! No, no," I replied. "The baby isn't coming, yet."

"Thank God," Olaf growled.

I looked back down to my stomach. "It was a nightmare."

Olaf rubbed his forehead. "Oh, yeah?" he asked, disinterested.

"What, you never have nightmares?" I snapped back.

"Not since I was twelve." He scoffed and took another gulp of his wine.

I chuckled humorlessly. "That's a lie." Olaf whipped his head around and glared at me. "I'm a light sleeper, here of late. I hear you calling out in your sleep," I pointed out.

Olaf's face went red. "So I talk in my goddamn sleep. That doesn't prove that I have nightmares." He set the wine bottle on the nightstand beside him.

We were silent for a moment or two. The baby moved inside me, and I brought my hand protectively to cover the place I felt the kick. I swallowed. "I dream about my parents, too," I murmured. I felt Olaf bristle immediately, but I didn't look up. "Sometimes I see them and they're fine, but sometimes I'm there in the house while it's..." I found I couldn't finish the sentence. Tears began to form in my eyes. I sniffed.

Olaf grunted and shifted down in the bed. "Go back to sleep, Orphan," he said.

I wiped away the wetness from my eyes and sniffed again. "You were there, too. In the dream."

"I suppose that's what made it the nightmare," he said without turning around.

I didn't want to reply; he was right. The nightmare was centered around the fire and him. Those were the two uncontrollable villains in my life. I laid flat on the bed, trying to adjust the pillow beneath my head so that my back wouldn't hurt as much. My eyesight trained up to the stained ceiling before I shut my eyes.

I heard Olaf roll over and could once again feel him staring. He stayed like that awhile, and I could tell he was trying to see if I was asleep again.

Quite suddenly, I felt a hand on the top of my belly. I shifted slightly to mask the fact that I was startled. Olaf lifted a bit of the weight from his hand in shock, but settled back again.

My skin burned beneath my nightgown where his hand rested. I wanted to push him away from me and the baby, but I remembered that it was his child as well. He shifted closer to me, his hand now fully pressed against my abdomen. Olaf began to rub his fingertips back and forth against the fabric of my nightgown. Uncomfortable goosebumps swept across my skin. I kept my eyes shut.

"'Man hands on misery to man,'" Olaf whispered to my bump. "'It deepens like a coastal shelf.'"

I realized he was reciting poetry.

His tone darkened. "'Get out as early as you can,' kid," he addressed our baby. "'And don't have any fucking kids yourself.'"

I rolled over on my side away from him, trying to pretend that I was still asleep. Olaf snatched his hand away when I moved. I brought my knees as close to my body as I could and hunched my shoulders away from Olaf.

After a few moments, Olaf moved closer to me and returned his hand to its previous place on my belly.

Tears began to flow from my eyes to my pillow. I wanted to die. I didn't want this anymore. I decided I didn't want our—my—baby to grow up under Olaf's control and possession. Because that's exactly what it was: possession.

A few nights after, I decided to read the V.F.D. entry. It was silly how I had put it off. I had nothing to fear about the organization itself; like Jacquelyn had said, it was a noble organization filled with good volunteers. The night I decided to read it, I laid awake for hours making sure that Olaf was in a deep enough sleep so that I could sneak the book to the bathroom and read.

Once I was positive that Olaf's snores were deep and even, I slowly inched my way out of the bed and removed the book from underneath the mattress.

Once I was in the bathroom, I flipped through the book, searching for the entry on the Volunteer Fire Department.

Once I found the section, I devoured every word I could until I became to sleepy to understand what I was reading about initiation and eye tattoos.

I awoke with a jolt, the charred remains of a nightmare vanishing from my mind. I looked around; I had fallen asleep in the bathroom while reading. I had gotten to the section break that was about to detail a schism that occurred between volunteers. I stretched, but stopped short when I didn't feel the heavy book against my legs. I looked down to see that the book was missing.

I propped my arm against the tub I had leaned against and stood as quickly as I could. I frantically looked around for the leather-bound tome. It wasn't there.

I dashed out of the bathroom and towards Olaf's bed. It was empty. Panic surged through my veins.

I shuffled down the stairs, feeling the air grow warmer around me. Is it another fire? I thought to myself. I hoped that it wasn't.

"Count Olaf!" I called out. A panic attack was washing over me, and at that point, I just wanted someone to answer me.

The closer I got to the parlor, the louder the crackle of a fire became. My heart thudded in my chest so hard I thought it would burst from my chest.

I got to the doorway of the parlor and saw Olaf hunched over the glowing fireplace. Crumpled and burnt papers littered the floor around him. I heard him rip some paper, and I realized that he was destroying the book.

"What are you doing? That was my book!" I screamed. I clambered over to him and tried to reach around him to seize the book.

He shoved me back, and I lost my balance. I fell heavily to the floor with a shriek. Fear gripped me as I realized that my baby could have been seriously hurt. I placed a hand on my stomach protectively and tried to focus on whether or not I could feel if something was wrong.

"A book filled with nothing but bullshit about volunteers and noble efforts," Olaf snapped nastily. He chucked the whole book into the fire and spun around. His eyes shone and his brow was furrowed deeply. "How did you get it?"

I felt my baby move for several seconds and sighed in relief that it was still active. I glared at Olaf. "You could have hurt us!"

"How did you get the book, you goddamn brat?" Olaf shouted, his dark figure towering over me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocketknife. "Tell me, now!"

I shifted back. "You wouldn't use that on me! It's all just a silly act!" I countered.

Olaf dove to the floor and crawled on top of me, pushing me flat against the ground and pressing the tip of the knife above my belly button. "You don't think I fucking would?" Olaf snarled in my face. He moved the blade up right below my ribcage and lightly dragged it down and over my belly. "You don't think I would cut you open right now and let you bleed to death without even getting to hold your precious baby?" He returned the knife to its original spot above my navel. "You don't know half of what I could fucking do, Baudelaire," he spat out my name.

Tears streamed from my eyes and into my hair. "You monster," I hissed. "How could you live with hurting your own child?"

Olaf was silent for a moment, yet his hateful expression never waivered. "Who gave you the book?" he snarled. Olaf jabbed the tip of the knife into my skin just enough to draw blood.

I sobbed at the sharp pain. "It was Jacquelyn!" I blurted. "She sent it to me!"

Olaf smirked and leaned back. He took the knife away and pocketed it. "How have you been contacting her?"

I swallowed thickly, thinking up a quick lie. He couldn't know that Jacquelyn was coming to his house, or else he might be waiting for her. "The phones. It's only been the phones, so that you wouldn't know," I replied. I tried to put on my most truthful expression.

Olaf raised one side of his eyebrow. "Then all of the phones will be gone by the end of the day," he responded as he stood. He began to walk out of the room. "Make sure you clean up all that ash from the fire." He looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, and make sure you take care of that cut of yours. It looks pretty bad." Olaf laughed in his throat as he set to work finding all of the landlines in his house.

I was confined to the house indefinitely. I was not even allowed in the garden. Olaf kept a watchful eye over me, no matter what I did. Sometimes, as he worked on his scenes or writing, he would have me sit in the room just so he would know that I wasn't out trying to contact Jacquelyn.

I hadn't heard from her in weeks, and I was beginning to worry if she was going to be successful in reversing the hypnosis that Klaus and Sunny were put under at the lumber mill. My heart broke when I thought of Klaus and Sunny being forced to enjoy their hard labor.

As I scrubbed the kitchen floor one day, my thoughts turned back to my siblings. At least, I said to myself, they can't be miserable. I felt every emotion and every single pain, both physical and emotional, but they were hypnotized as Jacquelyn had said.

I suddenly became enraged and jealous of them. If their hypnosis was ever broken, it was unlikely they would remember their jobs. I was made to be conscious for every second. Why couldn't Olaf have just married me and sent me away? I jammed the cleaning brush back and forth aggressively against the floor as all these questions bombarded my mind. Why did he have to get me pregnant? Why did it have to be Olaf? Why was Mr. Poe in charge of placing us with our new guardian? Why were my parents killed in a fire?

In fierce rage, I hurled the brush across the kitchen, the tool clattering aggressively against some cabinets. I shifted from my knees to a sitting position and began to just cry. "Why me?" I sobbed aloud, not caring if anyone heard me. My body wracked with tears; it felt as though every single sadness that ever existed in the universe was using me as a vessel to expel.

I looked down at my pregnant belly and began to sob for a brand new reason: I wasn't ready to be a mother, yet Olaf forced it upon me. Taking care of Sunny was a challenge, but she was only my sister; how was I going to parent a child when I was still a child myself?

I finished my task of cleaning the kitchen floor and was just about to start the next job of dusting everything when a knock resounded at the front door.

"Get the door, Orphan, and tell them to fuck off," Olaf shouted from the parlor.

"I'm not going to say that to anyone," I said about his swearing.

"Just tell them to go away! I'm not seeing anyone!"

I stepped heavily into the foyer and placed my hand on the door handle. Through the window to the side I could see it was a rather bird-like man wearing a terrible facial disguise. I opened the door.

"I'm sorry, Count Olaf isn't seeing anyone today," I said to the man.

The man shook his head. "Oh! I'm not here for him. I'm here to raise money for the rights of dazed workers. I'm with a group called Victims of Foreign Deceit, you see. My name is…" He paused for a moment as if to think of a false name. "Harry," he said, emphatically pronouncing the group's name. My heart seized and my face brightened. It was someone from V.F.D. 'Harry' rotated his finger to gesture for me to keep the guise going.

"Oh, yes, I see," I replied.

"Would you like to sign your name for our pledge?" 'Harry' handed me a clipboard that read, "Hypnosis broken."

My eyes widened at the news. I started to speak, but Olaf bellowed from his spot in the parlor, "I said get rid of them!" 'Harry' glanced over my head, a glare plastered on his face.

"I can't give money, but I'll sign," I said.

'Harry' quickly handed me a pen, and I wrote my message on the clipboard: "Tell Jacquelyn he burned the book. Unsafe right now. Be careful."

I handed the pen back to 'Harry' who scribbled something and held it up for me to see while saying, "Thank you so much, ma'am. You have a very fine day." He held up an OK symbol over his eye and turned to leave.

I shut the door and turned back into the foyer. Olaf stalked up in front of me. "Why the fuck wouldn't they leave?" He sneered as he craned his neck to see the retreating figure through the window.

"It was some rights group campaigning," I replied.

Olaf's face became stony. "You didn't give them any money, did you?" I shook my head and he breathed out, crossing his arms. "Good. Greedy fuckers." He scoffed and turned away, the irony of what he said clearly not connecting.

Despite the burdensome tasks I had lined up for the rest of the day, I found myself smiling at 'Harry's' message: "Expect extraction within fortnight."