There is no clock to give an indication of the elapsed time in the dingy room, but if Violet's senses are not mistaken, many hours have already passed. She sits by the window, watching the migratory journeys of birds that herald the coming of aching coldness and shortening days. With a wistful sigh, she silently wishes she could be among them. But such wishes have gained a heightened sense of juvenility when she was forcefully endowed with maturity that well exceeds her age.
Still, however…
Violet smiles lightly, the nostalgic feeling of reminiscent dreams can never be outgrown.
She alternates between studying the details and intricacies of the landscape, and engaging her thoughts and worries. Every now and then, she is struck by a complete blackout in all sensations; there is the impression of a looming dullness and the feeling of no feelings at all. She swims in it so long as it engulfs her, resigned and calm, before the haze clears itself from her eyes and she can see again.
Then she would gaze far into the horizon, gauging the differentiation of colors and the changing position of the sun in the sky, mentally calculating the time left for its descent.
It has occurred to her to make a sundial using an electromagnetic rod, a metallic plate, and ink for inscription, but her heart that is too heavy and her hair that is too naked devastate her mind and retire it from thinking through the complicated details.
When her stomach issues a complaint of its own, she sighs and looks out the window again. The sun is moving ever so slowly towards the west, and the sky is gaining a brilliant crimson color that strikes out in beams from the assembling dark clouds.
Parting birds, crimson sunsets, and turbulent weather. It must be November.
A rush of wind passes through with great urgency, shaking the branches of the desolate trees and enticing a forlorn song through them. Violet shivers and shuts the window, just when a big drop of rain hits her hand. Soon, the city is drenched with uncompromising showers and it darkens so very quickly, losing whatever abiding sunlight from the remainder of the day.
A sharp tapping alerts her and she turns towards the door, only to realize that the noise came from the window beside her. Confused, she surveys it, searching for the source of her alarm. It is difficult to make out its features at first, for it blends so perfectly with the darkness surrounding it, but with the impression of movement, she realizes that it is a bird sitting outside. A raven.
Violet cannot help the grin on her face as she reopens the window, allowing entry to the black bird. It steps in with an air of pride, notwithstanding its drenched state, and looks at her with its beady eyes.
"Hello," she greets with curious affection and the raven ruffles its feathers, attempting to rid itself from the water. Stray droplets hit Violet, enticing a small laugh out of her.
"You came back," she says, "I must say, it is a curious decision. This is a too bleak place to miss."
The raven caws.
"Hold on," she mumbles, retrieving her old dress. With the swift tug of an expert, the fabric is torn into two pieces. She wraps the smaller one around the shivering bird and proceeds to manipulate the remaining one, making a disgruntled heap that serves as a bed and a cover.
"Not my best work," she admits sheepishly, "but it will do. You'll need a dry place to sleep in, after all."
Disregarding her efforts, the raven flies onto the table and agitatedly plods about it, its small head turning this way and the other. It then halts altogether before abruptly beginning to tap just below its edge, as if attempting to recover something. Violet frowns, placing the makeshift bed on the windowsill, and moves towards her friend.
"What is it?" she mumbles, leaning down to have a clear view of what it is that is so captivating. With her hand, she withdraws a rectangular piece of aged parchment sitting right between the crevice and the intramural of the table. It is concealing something within its folds, however. A photo.
Lemony must have left it there.
She sucks in a breath, heart racing in anticipation at the possibility of learning more about the enigmatic man. She looks in the direction of the door and strains her ears to hear any indication of his arrival, but there comes none.
Could it be of his siblings? A part of her hopes it is not.
It is the same part that hopes it is of the VFD.
When she takes it out, however, she discovers that it is not of all the VFD members, but of merely one.
A woman with fair complexion and dark hair. She is not much older than Violet; maybe a mere couple of years older, but the similarity between the two is striking. The main difference lies in the eyes; Violet's are a dark brown, and the woman's are a dark blue. Still, to the unaware observer, they could be siblings.
But they are not siblings. They are mother and daughter.
A gasp escapes Violet's lips, and her mind registers approaching footsteps in the background. Quickly, she returns the photo beneath the table and flops onto her bed in a hasty movement that causes her to wince.
The door opens to reveal the grim mien of a tall, thin man drenched in rainwater and darkness. Lemony trudges in and his every step seems to be made with agony, his long coat producing wet streaks on the floor with every drop it discharges.
Violet studies him closely, eyes following his ungraceful strides that end when he collapses onto the chair, his head lying limply in his palms.
There follows the stern air of silence, stifling and tense, as she awaits a sign that the man is still alive and has not fallen to his death in the embrace of his hands. The raven that looms over him does not offer her ease, either.
"You need to take off your coat," she finally says, quietly and hesitantly, "you will catch a cold."
But he does not respond, nor does he move in the slightest.
Violet sighs, "Mr. Snicket…" she treads towards him slowly, a tentative hand rising to his shoulder. He flinches upon contact and she retrieves it quickly, resting it on her own forearm instead, "I'm sorry…" she mutters softly.
Lemony gets up and looks anxiously around the room, as if wishing for a space that would guarantee him solitude. Violet shrinks in her spot and lowers her gaze. She hates being a burden.
Slowly, he sheds the heavy material off his shoulders and deposits the wet heap nonchalantly. His hat soon follows, and Violet stares in bewilderment at the eyes reddened by tears into swelling. She feels a semblance of pity and concern towards him, her mouth opening to query him about the reason for his sorrow before closing dejectedly. It is no great revelation that Mr. Snicket values his privacy, and she understands that, really. She values her privacy as well. But the weight of all the questions propelling in her mind is agonizing.
Who is this man? And what does he have to do with her mother?
The raven caws and Lemony's attention turns completely towards it. He regards the gaunt creature with dismay, eyebrows furrowed and frowning.
"How did it get in here?" he asks quietly.
Violet straightens her stance, "I let it in," he turns his head towards her, and she at looks him levelly, "it was cold and raining and the raven had nowhere to go."
Lemony considers, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, "yes…" he says with his distant tonality, "it was probably a good thing to do."
Her stomach rumbles and she crosses her arms bashfully around it. Realization shows as a passing glint in Lemony's eyes and he silently produces bread and slices of ham from his paper bag, and then much to her surprise, a rusted vessel and two ceramic bowls.
He hands the vessel to her, "can you fill this with water, please?"
She nods and takes it gingerly, washing it in the sink before filling it.
"At the end of the hallway, you will find a great hearth. You can use it to boil the water. There is a modest, counterfeit plantation along the alley, as well; you may pick the herbs to your liking," he instructs numbly, keeping his back turned towards her and his hands busy.
"Which would you like?" she asks, her weary gaze centered on the back of his head.
"None for me, thank you."
Violet stands rooted in her spot for a few moments, before leaving the small room. She is greatly perplexed and somewhat disheartened by the dismissive demeanor of the man that took her in on his own volition. If she is such a liability, why does he not release himself of all responsibility concerning her? It would certainly not be the first time for her.
The coal burns a deep orange that shimmers when she places the vessel atop it. Her hands rise to borrow heat from the fire that is paradoxically nonthreatening.
She is being unfair towards him. Childish, really. He is under no obligation to explain himself to her, and she shouldn't expect him to do so. What remains factual is that he has helped her— possibly saved her, even— and that he is the best chance she has for finding her siblings. It is insignificant that the two of them stand on opposite sides of a gulf. A friend is not what she is seeking.
With a resolute nod, Violet plucks leaves and stems from a camomile shrubbery and carefully retrieves the steaming vessel.
She will be mature about this. Thanking the man for his troubles would be a nice start.
Her stride is even as she departs the warmth behind her into the begrudging cold, clouds of vapor forming and dissolving with her every breath. With her shoulder, she nudges the ajar door open.
"Mr. Snicket, I forgot to—" but when she steps into the dimly lit room, it is only the raven that turns to her voice.
"… thank you," she continues despondently. He is gone. And despite her former resolution, Violet cannot help the disappointment she feels.
She sighs, offering a sad smile to her small companion nonetheless. There rests upon the table a sandwich and a note. She does not read it.
The lightning provides with terrific luminance, only to deprive of it shortly, and the following thunder cackles through the premises with grim promise. Violet's eyes widen momentarily and her heart skips a beat, but aside from that, she does not allow herself to feel fear towards the splendors of nature.
Instead, she fixates on the music given by the harmonic descent of rain and the beauty of the trees that dance to its cadence.
"And I am certainly grateful not to be out there right now…" she mumbles under her breath as she sits on the creaking chair and lifts the sandwich to her mouth, "don't you agree?"
The raven pecks her forefinger lightly and she offers it the crust.
"Lightning is much like the Tesla coils, don't you think? They are both in essence wireless transferences of energy…" she trails off. But slowly, her eyes lose focus and her lips twist in a frown.
"He is a fool for going out in such weather," the raven scurries to the side when the plate is stirred by an abruptly falling sandwich. The young woman rises from her seat and begins to pace.
"Should he be struck by lightning, three hundred thousand Volts of energy would discharge in his body in a mere second. That is equivalent to being sentenced to death by electrocution more than a hundred times! How many death wishes does he have?!"
Her aggravated gait comes to a sudden halt and her head hangs in resignation.
"Am I that dreadful of a company?" she whispers.
There comes no answer.
For a while, Violet does not move. She stands there, collecting her thoughts and herself.
She holds the raven in her arms with care, laying it in its bed on the windowsill. Her food lies disregarded and her hunger becomes sedate. With a puff of breath, she quells the fire of the candle and sends the chamber to darkness.
Violet envelopes herself tightly under the covers, shivering as she becomes accustomed to their coldness. To her surprise, she sheds a few tears that are quickly abolished and denied.
She whispers to the sleeping bird, "I think I will call you Tesla."
Hours pass, and the violent timbre of the storm soothes into serene stillness. The clouds begin to part, allowing the moon to glisten freely, bathing the land below it in silver brilliance.
Lemony turns the doorknob ever so slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. His footsteps are hushed albeit heavy and dragging; his back aching very terribly from the position in which he was sat for hours on end in a most uncomfortable accommodation, but years of experience have subdued whatever complaints he would like to make.
His surroundings are reminiscent of every place he has inhabited over the span of a decade; indifferent and temporary, and always lacking in the necessary means for even the most basic of lives. But, the cold that he has grown accustomed to seems to have lessened.
He navigates his way in the dark, sifting through objects with meticulous heed and stripping from his public persona into the weary, miserable man that he is. After a moment's hesitation, he passes by Violet's bed and lifts the blanket to cover her more securely.
The signs of a troubled heart do not evade her even in her sleep; they warp and distort her features into distress.
Lemony exhales a shaky breath and raises a hand to gently brush her cheek.
This world holds no solace for people like them, but how he hates to be the imparter of news that guarantees misery.
When the light distorts and begins to manipulate the sights before him, he breaks himself from his trance and shuts his eyes, swallowing hard. He backtraces his steps until his knees hit the edge of his bed, and by the time his head touches the pillow, he is already asleep.