Author's Note: I uploaded it this during server problems (see their front page for details) and I'm not sure it was properly uploaded. Therefore, I deleted this chapter and re-uploaded it. I apologize for any confusion.

Sleeping in was a popular and trendy habit for Esme. Waking up before noon was out, while staying up to all hours was in, to speak in the vernacular of Esme and her ilk. When she stayed over at Olaf's house, Violet would be unceremoniously dumped in another room for the night, and she would not see either of them until well into the afternoon. This arrangement bothered Violet in the least, though the young girl could not fathom why any woman would willingly share a night with the man. She certainly derived no enjoyment from it.

Regardless of other schedules, Violet had to wake up early to do chores. She could hardly sleep anyway. In her head swam a million thoughts, all fighting for attention: her inventions, the letter from Klaus and Sunny, the letter Olaf expected her to write back to her siblings, and the job he had lined up for her to perform. Of the last item on her list, the job, Violet knew little, only that it would utilize her "unique talent" for working with machines.

In a sleepy daze, Violet slipped out the front door, shopping list in hand, and glanced back at the house only once, enough to catch a glimpse of Esme standing at the window of Olaf's bedroom. Her arms were folded as tightly as her furrowed brow and unsmiling lips. Vainly hoping Esme hadn't seen her turn to look, Violet turned her head and stumbled forward out of the yard.

Though Olaf hated them, Violet loved shopping for fruits and vegetables, risking his wrath to spend some extra money on fresh apples, cucumbers, and whatever else happened to be in season.

Finding a stall with a few odd varieties of foods she had never seen before, Violet paused to inspect them. As she turned an eggplant over in her hand she spotted the man in the bowler hat, the one she had nodded politely to the other day. Realizing he had her eye, he tipped his hat to her once again. This time she nodded with confidence and a smile and moved on to the other stalls.

The last stop before home was for meat, and Violet found the same bowler hat man standing in the doorway of the butcher. She excused herself as she moved by him and in through the door, and he stepped aside for her.

"Will it be roast beef tonight?" he asked, causing Violet to pause. She grasped the frame of the shop door for support and turned to look at the man. It was the first time she had given him a good study instead of just passing over him, and she realized now that he was much younger than she had thought he must be. He had large, bright teeth and cheeks that dimpled like a child's when he grinned. The most striking feature of his face was his pair of large, clear eyes. Regardless, the man's knowledge of her movements left Violet concerned.

"I'm sorry?" she asked. It was the only reply she could muster in so short a time. What she really wanted to do was demand how he knew what she was buying, and if he had been following her, and if he was an associate of Olaf's.

"I should be the one saying sorry, I do realize now," bowler hat said to her. "I must have given you such a scare to ask a question like that."

They stood silently in the doorway for a moment looking at one another before bowler hat put out his hand. "My name is Stanley," he said cheerfully. Violet observed his hand carefully before taking it, and when she did, Stanley seemed very pleased.

"I'm Violet," she said reluctantly.

Though she was not a mean person by nature, Violet had been forced by circumstance to build a wall between herself and the rest of the world. She hated being unfriendly, but she feared being hurt more. Being rude to Stanley was only Violet's way of making sure that things could not get any worse in her life.

Excusing herself, Violet tried again to get into the butcher shop, but she was caught by Stanley's words.

"Violet, I would like to apologize for scaring you," Stanley said quietly. "I'm not following you, if that's what you think. I just happen to spend a lot of time in the market, so I get to know everyone's face. You just looked so friendly that I thought I could speak freely to you."

It made sense to Violet, that someone who was in the market all day watching people would just happen to know what certain people bought and when. She was a regular here, to be sure, and she was always buying a roast, more regularly than she bought anything else.

"It's okay, Stanley," Violet said. "I didn't mean to be rude." She gave him a smile, a movement she had done so infrequently in recent weeks that she might have forgotten how to smile completely. Stanley opened the door widely for Violet and wished her well.

"I hope to see you again soon. Thursday, right?" Stanley said, correctly naming Violet's next shopping day.

She quietly bid him farewell and turned for home. She found the place vacant, noticing that even Esme and Olaf had finally left his bedroom. Because she had always been a good student, Violet decided to get down to writing her letter.

In a room near the kitchen she found a small writing desk. She cleared it off and began another search for pen and paper. The pen was discovered easily enough, but a clean piece of paper took nearly half an hour to track down. After this, Violet had had nearly enough to give up writing for the day, but decided to try and give it a start.

Unsure of what to say, for fear that Olaf would edit everything out, she hesitated a long time before putting pen to paper. She fell into a nervous chewing of her pen until realizing she had bitten through to the end. Sadly, she thought of Sunny and put the pen down.

Nearly defeated, Violet sighed and sat back, turning her thoughts to other things. Looking down to her pen and paper, made Violet think again of the letter. Why should she care if Olaf censors her letter, she thought suddenly, gaining a fresh resolve. She would write what she wanted, Count Olaf be damned.

Klaus and Sunny,

I miss you both more than I can tell you in this letter. I hope you are being treated well. I worry about you both every day.

I am not hurt. I would like to write that I am happy, but I am not. I probably don't have to write why I am not happy. I am glad you are both away from Count Olaf, because he is still as horrible as ever. Every day he gives me a long and impossible list of chores to do, as always. I am a slave and I hate it.

Please be strong. I want to see you both, and I hope to see you soon. I love you.

Violet

She finished off the letter with her signature and sat back to admire her work. It had been good to write the words she had, though she wondered how Olaf would take it. Violet knew she would hear from him about this and only prayed that Klaus and Sunny wouldn't suffer instead. She folded it neatly and stuck it in the drawer.

For supper, Violet had time to prepare yet another heap of roast beef. All of the theatre troupe was in attendance, including Esme, who scowled and barely touched her own portion, declaring beef as a meal that was currently "out". Olaf devoured two helpings, his only thanks to Violet came in the form of a loud and unapologetic belch at the end of the meal.

Violet waited quietly until everyone had finished, then collected the plates for washing. When she came to Olaf's he grasped her wrist.

"Do you have that letter finished yet?" he asked. She nodded. "Good. Then go get it for me." Violet collected the remainder of the plates and did as she was told.

Returning with her letter, Violet handed it to him, wondering if he would read it here with all the room filled with his troupe, and what his reaction would be. Her hunch was right.

"My little orphan has decided to write to her disgusting siblings," he said, calling to the room while holding the letter aloft. Everyone laughed, turning to watch him unfold the article. Violet sat down slowly, her earlier boldness having long ago abandoned her.

Olaf leaned back and read the letter to himself. Everyone's eyes studied him as his moved slowly down the short letter. His face remained a curious blank, indicating neither amusement, displeasure, or even comprehension. After an eternity of silence, Olaf folded up the letter and looked about the room.

"I think we'll have a poker night," he said to hoots and cheering. Even Esme appeared pleased, pipping in that playing poker was very in at the moment. Olaf turned to Violet and ordered her out to the kitchen. "Get us some wine and snacks."

Momentarily relieved, Violet ran out of sight to get the bottles, taking her time. As people shuffled about to arrange themselves for the game and fetch cards and money, Violet returned, setting down the wine. She turned to make her retreat to the kitchen, where she expected to be exiled to for the rest of the night. Again, Olaf caught her wrist.

"Stay," he said, pulling her down. She fell clumsily across his lap and, at first, made to leave, deeply embarrassed that she had fallen down as she did. Yet Olaf caught her once more, and she fell back down. His arm wrapped around hers and his face crept in close to hers. He whispered in her ear so that the others could not hear, "Cute letter. I'll keep my eye on you tonight." Louder, he continued, saying, "Stay with me, and be my lucky charm."

Flushed deep red and perched on Olaf's knee, Violet quietly cursed her insubordination.

As the first hand was dealt, Violet crossed her arms about herself and moved her body to the very edge of Olaf's knee. But the man moved about so much that she found herself falling back onto him several times. If she looked out and away from him she only found the glares of the ugly troupe members staring back at her from over their playing cards.

"What should I do?" She thought he was talking to himself until he pulled her back with his cards, holding both in close to him for inspection.

She had never played the game. "I don't understand," she told him, looking at the cards. "I've never played before."

He looked at her and laughed. "No, of course you don't. This is a game for adults." He turned back to the table, placed a bet, and won on his hand.

On the next deal, Olaf consulted Violet once more.

"Did you watch the game? Have you figured it out?" he asked. She shook her head. Given enough time, Violet was clever enough to understand anything, but the parameters of this game still eluded her.

"Please, I don't want to play," she said. He ignored her request, ordering her to choose an option. "Should I fold, or play on?"

She sighed and rotated her gaze between the table, the cards, and her hands. Olaf shook her. "Fold," she said, and he did.

As the others played on and the hands were revealed, Olaf groaned with annoyance. "My hand beat that!" he said, pointing to the winning hand. He scowled at Violet and muttered something. He didn't ask for her help again.

Violet's misery was accelerated as Olaf devoured the wine like water. At some intervals he decided it was a good idea to offer Violet some as well. She desperately declined every offer, but with the bottle forced to her lips, Violet could not refuse. Some ran down her cheek and onto her dress and hands, making them sticky. When she had been given enough, Violet felt lightheaded. He gave her no more after that, consuming the rest to push himself over the edge of drunkeness.

The wine combined with the hour and Violet was overcome with sleep. Even as he yelled across the table and jerked about in his chair, Violet found Olaf's shoulder as welcoming as any pillow and she fell against it.

The rest of the night was a haze of still pictures in her mind. She remembered a hand around her shoulder, brushing at her hair and caressing her face. At some point someone took her and carried her to the stairs. After that, she was shaken awake and told to walk up the stairs, though she leaned heavily onto an accompanying body. She fell into bed fully clothed and slept for what felt like days. When she woke, she found her husband next to her in deep sleep.

Husband.

The thought gave her a shudder. She put her hands on her forehead and wished only to disappear.