The Most Unfortunate Event (Part 1)

Before you read further, I feel it is my duty to inform you that unless you are evil, you should not read this tale. Those of a virtuous nature, who find it unpleasant to read about calamity, misfortune, and general bad luck befalling those who are also of virtuous nature, should tear these pages up and pretend they never saw them. What follows is nothing but woe and tragedy of the sort that only the most wicked could possibly find any enjoyment. So once again I say, if you do not have a heart as black as coal, read no further.

The following is, among a series of unfortunate events, the most unfortunate. It gives me no pleasure to recount it and I only do so to inform the public, hoping the knowledge will keep anything so terrible from happening again.

And so, with a heavy heart, I, Lemony Snicket, begin this horrific tale.

Have you ever tried your hardest, worked diligently in the best way you know how, only to not reach the goal you intended? It’s an unfortunate fact that anyone that tries to achieve anything will face setbacks and even outright failures at some point in their pursuits. Perhaps coming second place in a race or getting a C on an exam you studied for with great diligence. It’s not at all a good feeling to try and fail, and sometimes afterwards you wish you’d never tried at all.

Now that you’ve imagined that feeling, you have somewhat of an idea how Violet Baudelaire felt standing on stage with the dastardly Count Olaf, performing The Marvelous Marriage. In fact, it was not a play at all but a scheme by the wicked Count to steal the Baudelaire fortune. It was a scheme Violet and her brother Klaus had done their best to thwart but had failed. And unlike getting a bad grade on a test or losing a race, there would be no way to dust herself off and try again. It was a very, very bad feeling.

Violet was a pretty, pleasant girl, not at all deserving of her current circumstances. She had chestnut hair which fell in waves past her shoulders, with large, curious, and very blue eyes that peaked out just beneath her pageboy bangs. Her lips pouted in a way most girls would kill for, but she had surprisingly wide eyebrows that wrinkled her brow when she put her brain to a task, like she had at that moment. Still slim with youth but blossoming into young womanhood, a crown of flowers in her hair and wearing a lovely dress, she made a beautiful bride, if a very unhappy one.

“I…” the eldest Baudelaire said, “I do…”

Smiles broke out all around as she said the fateful words. Olaf’s troupe were grinning nastily, while Justice Strauss beamed innocently, pleased that Violet had overcome her apparent stage fright. Count Olaf snickered under his breath, rubbing his hands together, his eyes alight with greed of several flavors.

Only Violet wasn’t smiling. She scowled at her feet, flushing as she considered what sort of horrors would befall her if she became Olaf’s wife.

“Then by the power v-vested in me,” Justice Strauss proclaimed, “I pronounce you… Count and Countess!”

The deceived judge spread her arms wide in celebration and there was scattered applause from the audience, but the lack of enthusiasm was made up for by Olaf and his lackeys. Several of the troupe whistled and cheered, clapping frantically. One of them danced a little jig. Olaf himself clapped politely then put his arm around his young bride, clasping her slim shoulder with his spidery fingers.

It was a possessive gesture that Violet recognized immediately and squirmed, trying to shrug her shoulder from his grasp. Even the touch of a foul man like Olaf was unpleasant.

“A truly joyous occasion!” the evil actor boasted, ignoring the squirming girl, “Victory and a new bride! It seems that I, Coun—I mean, Handsome Man, have finally gotten what I deserve! And now, the official marriage certificate to be signed in my bride’s own hand, officially making the wedding official and giving to me any fortunes that she may or may not have! And other such things!”

The Count threw his head back and struck a theatrical pose, which made his troupe applaud with even greater verve.

A few of the audience clapped, almost all of them ready for this dreadful play to end.

On cue, Jusice Strauss took the marriage certificate on the table in front of her and turned it around towards Violet.

“Um… just sign… here,” the judge pointed to a blank line at the bottom, “Right there, dear. And we’re… all done?”

She looked to Olaf, hoping she got the line right.

The villain gave her a shrewd nod of reassurance, then turned his attention entirely to Violet.

The eldest Baudelaire had given up trying to free herself from Olaf’s grasp and looked down at the marriage certificate like it was a venomous snake. She squeezed the hem of her white dress and leaned away from the sinister document, but Olaf’s arm held her in place, his fingers drumming playfully against her shoulder.

“Go on, Violet,” he cooed like she was a small child, “Pick up the pen… put it to the paper…”

The law said she had to sign with her own hand for the marriage to be legal. A thought crossed her mind. She reached out with her left hand, took the fancy fountain pen, and pressed the tip to the paper.

Olaf leaned down to press rest his forehead to her temple, his lips and foul breath no more than an inch from her ear. Violet flinched away, glaring at him from the corner of her eye.

“Now sign your full legal name, little orphan Baudelaire,” he whispered, “Sign your fortune and yourself over to me, my lovely girl. Seal your and your siblings’ defeat. Now.”

Violet turned her face just enough to see his long, crooked nose, “We aren’t defeated.” She whispered back, “Your plan will fail like it always does.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear,” he chuckled, “Now. Sign.”

Violet would much rather have stuck the pen up his nostril, but she knew for every action there is a reaction, the reaction in this case being her siblings falling to their deaths. Instead, she closed her eyes and signed her name as quickly as possible, in the hopes that, like tearing off a band aid, it would be less painful.

It wasn’t.

“That’s it…” Olaf hissed, snatching the pen from her hand the moment she finished signing.

He scribbled his own name on the marriage license, finishing it with a flourish, then slapped the pen back onto the table so violently it made Justice Strauss jump with surprise.

“At last…” the villain growled, “Finally… at long last!”

With a triumphant laugh, Count Olaf yanked off his courtly wig and threw it aside, revealing his bald pate and the wild, bristly hair around the rim.

“My dear gentlemen and even dearer ladies!” Olaf turned to face the audience, shrugging out of his uncomfortable coat, “We have come to the point where the performance ends and the truth is revealed! For the entire purpose of this play was to perform a legal marriage, which we have just completed in the marvelous, spectacular fashion due to an actor of my great skill!”

The audience was completely silent. Most had been barely paying attention and the few that were more attentive were still of half a mind that this was part of the play. However, the sudden change of tone made the crowd sit up a bit straighter in their seats, frowns on their faces.

Without the padding of the coat, Olaf was withered in the shoulders, his smile no longer dashing but a mocking sneer.

“I thank you all for bearing witness to my victorious nuptials!” he bowed with a taunting flourish, “You have all been an ungrateful audience, but the most splendid of dupes! And special thanks go to Justice Strauss behind me and to Mr.Poe in the audience! Without them, none of this would have been possible!”

Olaf raised his arms high and applauded, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent theater. His troupe joined in a moment later.

The audience looked at each other, beginning to whisper and murmur. A few joined in with half-hearted applause, while others frowned at Mr.Poe, the executor of the Baudelaire Will, in the front row. The flabbergasted bureaucrat gaped at them and shrugged helplessly, before blinking up at Olaf in shock.

Justice Strauss tilted her head, now positive that none of this had been in the script, “Count… Olaf?”

The count took Violet by the arm and turned the girl towards the audience. He rested his hand on the nape of her neck, making little curls in her hair with his fingers.

The touch made violet flush again and she hunched up her shoulders, crossing her arms across her chest.

“And now seeing as this little brat is my bride,” his eyes narrowed, “I am officially entitled, by nuptial law, to every asset she would have inherited when she came of age. Namely, the Baudelaire fortune.”

Naturally, as no one likes being tricked, there was an immediate uproar.

Justice Strauss protested that this wasn’t a real ceremony, Mr.Poe protested that Violet was too young to marry, and the audience protested being bamboozled.

Being an actor, Count Olaf basked in the attention. He grinned wickedly and responded to their objections one by one.

He explained to the Justice that the marriage license was real and that as she was a real judge, the marriage was legal. Justice Strauss looked terribly sick, but agreed he was correct.

To Mr.Poe, he explained that Violet could marry if she had the permission of her legal guardian and since Olaf was her legal guardian, she had his permission. He also pointed out that it was thanks to Mr.Poe that he had attained that position in the first place. The befuddled bureaucrat attempted to vanish into his seat like a turtle in its shell.

For the audience, Olaf clapped his hands and several members of his troupe appeared with platters of finger foods.

“Enjoy the hors d’oeuvres!” Olaf told them, “On this day, everyone’s enjoyment is MY enjoyment!”

No matter how unfriendly an audience, their temperament can be at least slightly improved by the right application of refreshments. There were a few grumbles, but tempers in the theater generally mellowed as the people enjoyed the tasty snacks. In fact, while they munched away, many began to think that maybe Count Olaf wasn’t such a villain after all.

“Take as many as you like!” Olaf turned a wolfish grin onto Violet, “I have my own little morsel to enjoy…”

At that point, Violet had simply had enough.

“That’s enough!” she eloquently snapped and jerked away from Olaf’s grasp.

She whirled around to glare bravely up at him, her dress swishing about her legs.

“Oh!” the villain arched one side of his monobrow, “Playing hard to get, are we?”

Hands on her hips, her lips scrunched into a rosebud, Violet stood her ground. It was difficult for the young girl to be intimidating with her elfish features and innocent eyes, but she barely flinched as she faced the man responsible for so many of her troubles.

“You promised that after the wedding, you’d let Sunny and Klaus go!” she lowered her brow, “So, let them go!”

Olaf blinked his eyes wide, his eyebrow shooting up several inches. But though the top half of his face appeared surprised, the lower half was still grinning crookedly.

“Let them go?” the scoundrel twiddled his thumbs, “Why, my dear dumpling, whatever could you mean?”

“You had them hanging from the tallest tower of your house!” Violet said, “And you said if I didn’t marry you, you’d drop them!”

That drew a few ooh’s from the crowd. At the very least, they were finding this part of the evening much more entertaining.

“What?!” Justice Strauss looked to the eldest Baudelaire, “Violet, is this true? Is that why you agreed to marry Count Olaf?”

“Yes!” the girl replied, “He treats us horribly and wanted our fortune from the very beginning! I would never marry him!”

Decidedly interested in this new drama, the audience turned their eyes to Olaf, waiting for him to respond.

The Count was still smirking, his eyes twinkling with mirth. As an actor, even a failed one, Olaf understood the importance of timing, so he waited several moments, letting the silence linger. Then when the time was right, when the air had become pregnant with tension, he threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh my!” he laughed, “Teenage girls and their melodrama! We all know what that’s like, don’t we?”

The Count laughed again and, picking up on his cue, his troupe joined in as well, though some weren’t sure what they were laughing about. Titters came from the audience as well, more than a few of them cracking grins. Many of them had indeed encountered teenage girls and their tendency to exaggerate their own woes.

“It’s not melodrama,” Violet scowled, “It is literally what you did. Go through with the ceremony or they fall to their deaths, those were your exact words.”

“Such a vivid imagination!” Olaf chuckled, “You said that you would throw YOURSELF from the tallest tower if I DIDN’T marry you, don’t you recall?”

“I didn’t say any such thing!” she snapped back, “You’re a liar!”

“You said you were intimidated by my intelligence, my worldliness, my maturity!” he clamped his hands over his heart like a lovesick teenager might, “You’re an impressionable young girl that couldn’t live without being closer to my genius, my devilishly good looks, my experienced touch!”

Violet’s cheeks and nose turned pink at the insinuation, her heart jumping like a startled cat.

“I-I did not!” she cried.

The shrillness of her protest and her startled blush weren’t lost on the audience. More of them began to chuckle, genuinely amused for the first time since they’d entered the theater.

Violet glanced at the audience, looking pained. She was starting to get a bit of stage fright; being laughed at by a large crowd can do that to anyone.

“No one blames you, my dear,” Olaf sneered, “A pretty, curious, bashful maiden, living in close quarters with such a wise, confident, strapping, older man. It was inevitable that your little heart would find itself drawn towards me!”

Violet blushed a darker pink, “It w-was not and it-it did not! You are not handsome OR strapping! You are cruel, ugly, and you smell like—like bad cheese!”

To the audience, her words sounded more and more like a petulant little girl throwing a tantrum. More laughter bubbled up and this only made Violet’s blush deepen.

Being laughed at is in many ways like being struck very hard in the stomach. It’s a deep ache that makes you want to stop whatever you were doing and curl up in a ball. There are few more efficient ways to feel entirely alone than for everyone nearby to begin laughing at your expense.

Violet fervently wished Klaus were there with her. He would have come up with an eloquent way to explain their position to the audience, brought them onto their side. At the very least he would have been beside her, another witness to their tribulations. Two voices were harder to laugh down than one.

It hurt, but Violet braved through the laughter, ignoring it and keeping her glare fixed on Olaf.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” she huffed, “You said you would let Klaus and Sunny go.”

Olaf met her gaze and chuckled, a low rumble in his throat.

“But I can’t let them go,” his voice sounded very soft, but his gaze was sharp, like a dingo on a cornered animal, “I can’t do anything with them at all. You see… they’re not here.”

Violet blanched, her mouth falling open for a moment. Of the many possible things she had expected the villain to say, that had not been one of them. With her already large blue eyes and expressive mouth, she was also very good at looking surprised.

“What?” her lashes fluttered, brow furrowing, “What do you mean they’re not here?”

Olaf strolled towards her, his wicked grin broadening.

“I had to send them away before the ceremony,” he said, “Didn’t I tell you? It took me a while to find a juvenile detention facility with no library, but there was a work camp for boys in Calcutta that seemed a perfect fit for your brother.”

Violet gaped, “Calcutta?!”

The Count reached down to crook a finger under the girl’s chin. Violet jerked away, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Sunny had to muzzled and shipped to Corporal Verhauen’s Home for Bizarre Infants,” he snickered, “She had trouble with biting, you know.”

Justice Strauss gasped at that, “Muzzled?! You are a horrible, horrible, wicked man!”

Violet’s innocent features scrunched together in an expression that looked like it belonged on an angry lynx. Her fists clenched tight at her sides, the thought of Sunny being muzzled making her want to kick Olaf several times in the most painful place she could find. But before she lost her temper, she remembered a few facts that calmed her slightly.

First, though more than likely very uncomfortable, her siblings were at least safe. Even being in a work camp and a home for bizarre infants was better than being in the same house as Count Olaf. Violet would have to rescue them, but after she’d escaped from her own troubles, that would be the first thing she did.

Second, she hadn’t merely been going along with the ceremony like a helpless doll, as Olaf probably expected.

Violet drew in a deep breath and let it out through her nose, her glare changing from a feral mask to one that was smoother, colder, more aloof.

“That’s fine,” She tilted her chin up at him.

I hope that you never find yourself in this position, but if you are ever cornered by someone who is taking pleasure in hurting you, saying ‘That’s fine’ to them, and meaning it, is one of the quickest ways to ruin their fun.

Justice Strauss gaped at her in surprise and Count Olaf’s smile fell from his face.

“What? What do you mean it’s fine?” Olaf’s snapped, “I shipped your brother to Calcutta! Literally! In a box with holes in it!”

Now it was Violet’s turn to grin. It was a small grin, more a tart quirking of her lips, but it felt very good to direct it at Olaf.

“That’s fine,” she said again, “Because now I can go rescue them. Because I am NOT your Countess.”

Count Olaf blanched, so surprised by this that he opened his mouth several times but was unable to find his tongue. He managed several scoffing sounds, one after the other, flapping his hands in exaggerated gestures of dismissal, but couldn’t quite put to words how absurd Violet’s statement was.

Her moment of smug confidence gone, Violet looked around self consciously and crossed her arms.

“At least,” she amended, “I don’t think I am.”

The audience leaned forward in their seats, eager to see where this new twist would take them. They munched on finger foods and secretly pondered on who they were rooting for. It gives me great sadness to tell you that in their heart of hearts, they were rooting for the salacious, deceitful, manipulative fiend.

I hope that everyone reading this is rooting for Violet. And I also hope they are not too broken hearted when they reach the ending to this story.

“Of course, you are!” Olaf snarled, “We’ve already finished the ceremony! It’s over!”

Violet held her chin high and met the Count’s gaze, determined to remain calm, “The law states that I have to say the words and sing the certificate in my own hand. But I didn’t sign it in my own hand.”

“Yes, you did!” Olaf dug the certificate out of his pocket, “Look at it, orphan! Your name is right there!”

Justice Strauss cleared her throat, “Um, he is right, my dear. You did sign it and there were a number of witnesses.” She gestured towards the crowd.

“Yes, but I’m right-handed,” Violet said, “And I purposefully signed with my left hand. Not my own hand; not the hand I write with.”

“Ooooh…” the audience intoned.

Count Olaf rolled his eyes, “Oh, come on. It still counts! You just don’t want to admit you lost!”

“Well, it’s not up to you whether it counts or not,” Violet narrowed her eyes, “I think it should be up to Justice Strauss to decide.”

She looked to Justice Strauss, eyebrows raised expectantly beneath her bangs.

The audience murmured, nodding to each other. They agreed both that the judge should have final say and that Violet Baudelaire was quite a clever girl.

As for Justice Strauss, she frowned, clasping her hands in front of her mouth as she often did when faced with a legal conundrum. She considered the panels of the stage floor as precedents and statutes flitted through her mind. As a judge she had to be decisive, but with difficult questions such as this one, she often liked to call recess so she could consider the matter carefully in her chambers. But she couldn’t call recess in a theater and her chambers were a prohibitively long drive away.

“Well…” she said.

Violet watched her with big, hopeful eyes, while Olaf snarled his upper lip and swatted the marriage certificate against his thigh in an irritable rhythm. The audience continued to stuff their faces with finger foods, leaning intently in their seats and Mr. Poe scuttled like a crab towards the nearest exit, escaping while everyone was distracted.

Justice Strauss nodded to herself, then lifted her eyes towards Violet.

“I can find no legal precedent to make a clear ruling on this matter,” she turned her gaze towards the crowd, “To make a decision, I will have to hear a convincing arguments as to why signing with the left hand when someone is right-handed renders the signature invalid.”

Violet blinked, “But… but Justice Strauss, Count Olaf is a truly wicked man! After everything he’s—”

Strauss held up a hand to stop her, “I’m sorry, Violet, but as a judge I have to be impartial. Even if he is the most contemptable, vile man I’ve ever seen,” she paused to glare at Count Olaf, “I have to make my decision based on the law. It’s my sacred duty as a justice.”

Violet frowned, but she nodded.

“Of all the idiotic…” Olaf grumbled.

“The plaintiff will be quiet!” Justice Strauss glared at him, before turning back to the Baudelaire, “Now, Violet, I’ll give you a moment to prepare your statement. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Violet nodded to the judge then took a deep breath, considering how best to argue her point. Once again, she wished Klaus were there. If there was a problem that required a creative, mechanical solution she would find it, but Klaus was the real scholar. He would have quoted John Locke, Georges Danton, and Marshall, cited cases and legal standards dating back to ancient Greece. Violet was well-read and clever, but she suspected her argument wouldn’t be convincing as her brother’s would have been.

“Just give it up,” the Count hissed, “It won’t be so bad, being my bride. You are a very lovely girl. I take good care of pretty things like you. And in time, you will learn to enjoy taking care of me…”

He reached out to stroke her hair and Violet stepped out of the way, chewing her bottom lip.

She might not have been as good at a legal treatise as Klaus, but she had no choice but to convince everyone of her point beyond the shadow of a doubt. Desperation makes for excellent inspiration and Violet’s situation was one of the most desperate imaginable. If she failed, the only thing more humiliating than her fate would be how disgusting it was.

The muscles worked in the side of Violet’s delicate jaw and her features set with determination.

“Your honor… Justice Strauss… members of the audience…” she raised her head high, “The key wording to this law is the hand, that the document has to be signed in the bride’s own hand. And that is where I will begin my argument…”

Although Violet’s exploration of her point was as interesting as it was extensive, it is too long to be detailed in this transcript. To summarize, she argued that “the hand” referred to a person’s intent and their handwriting, not the hand itself. She said she had no intent to marry Count Olaf, had been forced into it, and that as it was her left hand it was not her “hand”.

“… and that,” she concluded, “Is why my left hand is not my “hand” at all!”

The audience weren’t the types that often went to the courthouse for amusement, but they found Violet’s speech informative and entertaining enough to applaud politely. Murmurs of approval spread among them and they generally settled back, convinced she was right. She really was QUITE the clever young lady, they agreed.

Justice Strauss was smiling from ear to ear, hands clasped in front of her heart, in love with the comprehensive and penetrating nature of Violet’s argument.

“Violet… that was very, very convincing!” she exclaimed, “I felt like I was reading John Locke!”

The audience murmured in agreement, largely to give the impression they knew who John Locke was.

“Preposterous!” Count Olaf snarled, “You people can’t be serious!”

“I think the answer to whether someone’s opposite hand counts in this instance is clear!” Strauss beamed, “It’s safe to say that I can rule this marriage—”

“WAIT!” Olaf bellowed.

All eyes turned towards him.

Everyone in that theater could see the gears turning rapidly inside the villain’s head. He hunched forward, chewing his thumbnail like a remarkably enthusiastic beaver, eyes wide and darting about in something close to panic. Once again, his plan was falling apart in front of his eyes and he only had seconds to salvage it.

“Your… your honor…” he said slowly, stalling for time, “We cannot… simply… decide this…”

Suddenly a gleam came to the villain’s eye. His lips turned up in a delighted grin that showed his crooked teeth. It was not a pleasant smile. Let me warn you, dear reader, that the reason for his smile was even less pleasant. A truly wicked thought had entered Count Olaf’s mind and with it a nefarious and utterly debauched plan.

Violet frowned at the expression, an uneasy feeling growing in her stomach.

Shortly after the grin spread Olaf’s lips, he forced it back down, straightening his ascot. He drew himself upright, flexed his fingers and shook out his shoulders, like an athlete about to perform for a crowd. More accurately, an actor about to perform for an audience.

He cleared his throat with a long, curdling grumble, paused, then turned on his heel with a flourish.

“This is nothing short of a SHAM, your honor!” he brandished his index finger with righteous indignation, “You call yourself impartial, you call yourself a JUSTICE, but I see no justice here! You would have agreed with this child regardless of any facts, arguments, or evidence directed to you! Even now you refuse to grant me, the aggrieved party, any chance to defend my position!”

Justice Strauss attempted to bang her gavel, only to remember that it was at the courthouse a good distance away.

“That—” she clasped her hands behind her, “That is not true! You are out of order, Count Olaf!”

“This,” he pointed to the stage floor, “As an utterly inappropriate place for a legal discussion! If anything is to be decided, I must be allowed time to gather evidence, present visual aids, examine witnesses!”

“If you wish to defend your position, Count Olaf,” Justice Strauss stared back, unfazed, “Then you may have a few minutes to collect yourself and prepare your argument. The same as Violet had.”

“Drat!” Olaf snapped his fingers, “Drat it all! And drat again!”

The audience looked at each other and shrugged, not convinced by his performance, but not sure of his intentions.

Violet narrowed her eyes, wondering what he was up to.

“Then at the very least, I must be allowed to use what I have on hand!” he pointed at Violet, “The same as the orphan! And be allowed to present my case without interruption!”

“You will be allowed to defend your position with what is on hand and to present your argument without interruption,” Strauss agreed, “The same stipulations as Violet.”

Olaf grinned but hid it by suddenly scrubbing his mouth on his sleeve.

“I will…” he forced his lips into a sour scowl, “I will go through with my argument, though I protest that these circumstances are… inappropriate! I’m confident enough in my position that I’m sure you will all be convinced, even with odds stacked so unfairly… unfavorably!”

He cleared his throat once more and once more straightened his ascot, though neither really needed the attention.

“Your honor!” Olaf turned back towards the seats, “Members of the jur… audience! Esteemed actors! And orphans! I call as my first witness—and visual aid—Violet Baudelaire!”

Violet stiffened like she’d bitten her tongue.

The evil count strode to the edge of the stage, facing the audience with a confident smile. When his witness didn’t immediately follow him, he looked over his shoulder and cleared his throat, pointing to the stage floor beside him.

Violet had no desire at all to follow Count Olaf anywhere, even for something pleasant such as ice cream or an enjoyable movie. There was no doubt in her mind that his intentions were purely wicked, but she also knew she had to give the Count the same opportunity she had. Knowing this, she straightened her back, girded herself and strode forward, stopping right beside Olaf at the front of the stage.

“Violet Baudelaire!” Count Olaf gestured towards her like a game show host presenting a lovely set of luggage.

Violet placed her feet close together and clasped her hands in front of her skirts, then changed her mind and clasped them behind her back. Standing this close to the audience, with the lights glaring directly into her face, was much more intimidating. From this vantage point, the crowd wasn’t a vaguely shifting blur in the darkness but a sea of faces staring at her. Everywhere she flicked her nervous eyes, there were dozens of people watching her, assessing her.

She squirmed, trying not to look at anyone in particular, before deciding to look down at her feet.

“Ah, don’t be shy, Violet!” Olaf tipped a finger under her chin, “Isn’t she a lovely girl, ladies and gentlemen? Have you ever seen such blue eyes, such full young lips, such rosey cheeks?”

Violet flinched away from his touch, but could already feel her cheeks burning.

Seeing her bashful blush, the audience chuckled. This didn’t help matters.

“Such a clever little thing,” the Count grinned, “With gossamer hair…” he glided a finger through the waves lying across her chest, “Velvety skin…” he tickled down the side of her bare arm.

Violet stepped to the side, out of his reach, blushing from cheeks to lips.

“But it’s difficult for her to face the audience,” Olaf chuckled, “That’s fine, my sweet. I need you to face backstage right now anyway.”

Though the idea of turning away from that crowd of staring faces was appealing, Violet crossed her arms and scowled askance at him. She didn’t trust him in the slightest and was wise to do so.

“It’s part of a demonstration for my argument, your honor,” he called over his shoulder, “It won’t harm her in the slightest!”

Strauss cleared her throat, “Violet, turn around, please. But be careful, Count Olaf.”

With narrowed eyes, trying to figure out his plan, Violet did as she was told and slowly turned in place until her back was towards the crowd. She kept her eyes on Olaf the entire time, watching him over her shoulder even when she was turned entirely around.

“Thank you, your honor!” Count Olaf sneered, “You’ll only have to bear with me for a moment, I promise.”

Violet felt an itch between her shoulder blades and she shifted in place, scuffing her shoe against the floor.

Brace yourselves, dear readers. What comes next is of such salacious cruelty, such hideous depravity, I can’t begin to fathom the sort of mind that could conceive of it, particularly in a family theater.

“Members of the audience!” Olaf called out, “Please direct your attention to exhibit A: Violet Baudelaire’s… derriere!”

And with that, he pinched Violet in a most inappropriate place.

Violet squealed and jumped liked she’d been scalded, spinning around so quickly she almost lost her footing. Both hands clapped protectively over her backside, she stared at Olaf with such shock that she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Whites showed around the deep blues of her eyes, her lips forming a gaping O, her cheeks so pink they almost turned scarlet.

The audience chuckled merrily at the girl’s reaction. They weren’t sure what this was leading towards, but at the very least it was amusing.

Justice Strauss was less amused.

“COUNT OLAF!” she gasped in horror.

“Ah ah ah!” the villain sneered, “We agreed without interruption your honor! You see, this was to prove a point!”

“What point could you POSSIBLY be trying to make?!” Justice Strauss cried.

“You’ll see in a moment,” he said before turning back to Violet, “Now then, my dear. Let us discuss your… tush. Your bottom.”

Her brow pinched with distress, Violet backed away a step.

“No!” she shouted back.

Olaf stopped in place and gasped, hand to his mouth, feigning such surprise that he was dumbfounded.

“No?” he shook himself from his affected stupor, “But whyever not, my dear?!”

“You know very well why not!” Violet and Strauss shouted at the same time.

Olaf glanced over his shoulder, “Your honor, that question was directed towards my witness,” he turned back to Violet, grinning wickedly, “Why not?”

Violet chewed her lip and glared at him, trying to figure out his scheme. She knew this must be some kind of trick.

“Because…” she swallowed, “Because it’s private.”

Olaf circled to her left, trying to get around her, but Violet turned to face him. She kept her backside well clear of his hands.

“Private?! That can’t be!” he scoffed, “It’s not like it belongs to you!”

“It… it DOES belong to me!” she snapped back, “I’m… exactly who it belongs to!”

“Don’t be silly,” Olaf chuckled, “You don’t own that little rump back there!”

Violet squinted at him, thinking him deranged, “Of COURSE my… of course I own it!”

“It’s your own?” he sneered.

“Yes, it’s--!”

Violet stopped herself in mid-sentence with a gasp of horror, but it was too late. She’d already fallen into his trap.

I have done an extensive study of the ugliest smiles ever inflicted upon another hapless person. This shouldn’t be confused with the ugliest people, because even those that are less than attractive can spread joy with a well-meaning smile or genuine laugh. A truly ugly smile comes not from asymmetrical features, but from ugly intentions.

The smile that filled Violet Baudelaire’s terrified eyes at that moment was from an ugly man, with even uglier intentions. It is by far the ugliest smile among all my case studies of ugly smiles.

“Well, well, well…” Olaf turned towards the audience, “It belongs to her! It’s her own! Just like… her own left hand!”

The audience gasped at the revelation.

“She admits it!” the wicked Count pointed, “With her own lips, she confesses the truth!”

Excited mutterings came from the theater seats. They had been well convinced by the clever girl’s argument, but a confession changed matters entirely!

Justice Strauss began to look somewhat sick.

“And as the hand is her own,” Olaf turned back to grin at Violet, “She signed the certificate in her own hand!”

The audience applauded loudly at the masterful conclusion. Large groups of people have short memories and are quite dumb. They had already forgotten their disgust at the villain’s deceit and his overall horribleness, now simply impressed by his performance. They even began to stand as they applauded, offering Olaf the first standing ovation of his career.

The Count would have bowed, but he was much more interested in the frightened trembling of Violet’s bottom lip, the sad fear in her eyes. She suddenly looked very small and young, her head lowered and shoulders drawn up defensively. She was like a small mouse that had blundered into the coils of a serpent, knowing she was about to be devoured.

“N-no, th-that’s…” she tried to protest, “That’s… not what I… I…”

“Not what you meant?” Olaf advanced towards her, “But that’s what you said! You said it was your own, that it belongs to you! Does it not belong to you?!”

Violet trembled, her mouth opening several times before she found the words.

“N-no… I-I mean y-yes but… but not… I m-meant…”

“It isn’t yours?” the villain leaned down and took her left wrist, caressing it with his thumb, “Well, we can’t have something attached to you that’s not yours! Should we cut it off?”

Violet would have ignored the question were it from someone that would not actually cut off her hand. But Count Olaf is a person that very well would cut off someone’s hand, for much less incentive than a vast fortune.

“N-NO!” she shook her head, suddenly terrified.

“Ah, so it IS yours,” Olaf hissed.

Violet’s eyes shimmered with tears and she bit her lip to try to stop it from shaking. She swallowed, struggling to come up with a counter argument, but after being tricked into saying the very words in the nuptial law, every attempt sounded pitiful, even in her own mind. To make matters worse, Olaf’s presence weighed on her, intimidating her, the sheer force of his victorious sneer making it difficult to think. She looked away but she could feel him there, boring down on her, demanding she admit the truth.

Violet was a remarkably clever and strong-willed girl, but even the strongest will can be pushed too far.

She closed her eyes tight, tears spilling down her cheeks, and nodded in sad agreement.

“Mmmm…” Olaf chuckled, stroking her tears away with the back of his knuckles.

Violet didn’t move. She let his gnarled fingers stroke her cheek, enjoying her young, velvety skin.

“Say it aloud then, orphan,” he cooed, “So everyone can hear.”

The words were very difficult to say. It’s often uncomfortable to admit failure to a friend, much less to an enemy, and even more less to a vile, cruel villain such as Count Olaf. To make it worse, saying those particular words meant resigning herself to the most disgusting of fates. Yes, those words were very, very difficult to say. They were the sort that left you feeling hollowed out inside.

“I… s-signed the marriage certificate,” Violet sniffled, “In my own hand.”

“Mmm hmm…” Olaf murmured again, his voice bouncing with laughter, “That’s better.”

He leaned down and mashed his lips to her cheek, taking advantage of her no longer avoiding him.

Violet shivered. Even his lips were rough and his crooked nose was nudging against her eyebrow, but she let her shoulders sag rather than trying to squirm away. Something told her she’d have to get used to this, and many other things, for a very, very long time.

The kiss lingered for several seconds, the villain letting out a long groan of pleasure, then broke with a loud, wet smack. He drew back and stroked the spot with his thumb, still relishing the feel of the supple girl now at his mercy.

Violet looked up at him then back down, feeling her cheeks heating again.

“There now, your honor,” Olaf looped his arm over Violet’s shoulder, “I rest my case and am ready to hear your verdict!”

He turned to grin at Judge Strauss, pulling Violet against his chest and squeezing possessively, making the girl’s shoulder shrug.

His new bride remained drooped, hanging her head, not wanting to look at anyone. She had no doubt what the verdict would be and felt very tired. She had tried her hardest, and she’d failed.

Strauss drew in a deep breath and let it out. The words she had to say were difficult as well.

“After hearing the new evidence…” she sighed again, “I have… no choice but to rule the wedding as entirely legal and binding. Count Olaf, as Violet’s husband, is now legally in control of the Baudelaire fortune.”

The audience applauded, more because they thought it was the proper thing to do than out of joy for Olaf. Now that they saw the sad, resigned look on the face of young Violet, they remembered that he was a scoundrel and felt a bit guilty about cheering for him. Not guilty enough to shout him down for it, as he’d clearly won the argument, but enough that they’d feel a bit uneasy on the ride home, then forget about it again by breakfast.

“Finally!” Olaf sighed, “Now that that nonsense is over with, we can go back to celebrating my triumph!”

On cue, there was the squeaking of wheels and one of the larger members of Olaf’s troupe dragged something on the end of a rope. The rickety wheels creaked and first the snout, then the neck, then the back and finally the backside of a worn-out wooden horse appeared from behind the side curtain. It had once been a striking, gallant stallion of pure white, before the paint had yellowed and chipped and the strings of its tail had fallen out. Now it was rotting, its varnish cracking, its lead hoof broken off entirely as was the top of its upper lip, giving it a ghastly, almost skeletal grin.

“Ah, my trusty steed!” Olaf bellowed, “Here to take myself and my new bride to our honeymoon suite!”

Squeezed against the Count’s barreled chest, Violet closed her eyes, thinking depressing thoughts about what things would be like from now on. There would certainly be chores, cleaning the house, fixing things with her mechanical skills, but that wasn’t what sent a thrill of fear up her spine. Olaf’s fingers were even now kneading the soft skin of her shoulder and she could still feel the kiss he left on her cheek. She knew there would only be more of his lips, his hands, his touch, and she knew now that she’d have to let him do whatever he liked.

With such frightful thoughts in her mind, it’s easy to see how she might have been distracted, not noticing what Olaf was actually doing until he picked her up off her feet.

Violet squealed, looking around wildly and grabbing at the nearest solid object to steady herself. This turned out to be Count Olaf’s shirt.

“You see?” Olaf snickered, “I told you you’d warm up to me…”

Violet’s wide-eyed gaze turned towards him and widened a bit more as she saw how close she was to his face. He was cradling her legs and laying her against his chest, from where she could count every wiry whisker on his jaw. The intimate proximity made her heart pound and she remained as stiff as a board, clinging to him all the way to the wooden horse.

Set on her feet beside the rotting horse prop, Violet looked nervous and unsteady, blinking at the audience in helpless confusion.

“And now, a very important part of any marriage ceremony!” Olaf dug in his pocket, “The wedding rings!”

But what he pulled out from its heading place was not weddings rings at all, but a set of pink, heart-shaped handcuffs. Before Violet could properly collect herself after her surprise ride, Olaf drew her wrists behind her back and clicked them in place.

“Wh-what? Wait!” she squirmed, “I’m not—why are you—EEEMPH!”

Her voice became a muffled squeak as Count Olaf pulled something satiny between her lips and began tying it behind her head.

“Finally, the garter!” he chuckled, “Appropriately applied so we don’t have to listen to her smarty pants voice for a while!”

“EEMM-EERMMFFF!” Violet whined as more of her agency was taken from her. First her hands, now even her ability to talk.

Olaf tied the knot tight, while the troubled girl looked around pleadingly for help. No one could stop the wedding or save her fortune, but at least they could yell at Olaf for being needlessly cruel, humiliating her for no reason.

The audience largely felt bad for young Violet, but it really wasn’t their business. But a few even covered grins with their hands and the shocked expression on the young girl’s face. It was a bit funny, since it wasn’t happening to them.

Once the garter gag was secured, Olaf scooped her up again and lay her on her stomach across the horse’s shoulders.

“NNF!” Violet grunted in discomfort as she was slumped over the hard wood, hanging off one side, her backside facing the audience. She tried to wiggle and buck herself out of the uncomfortable position, but Olaf placed a hand on her rump to keep her in place, then swung himself onto the saddle.

“Aha!” the villain pointed, “Away now, faithful steed!”

At the order, the large troupe member pulled the horse around by the rope, turning it back to where it came from.

The scratching and squealing of the wheels as the horse turned around was enough to grate everyone’s teeth, but after a moment it was pointed in the correct direction and there was only the slightly annoying squeaking as it was rolled off stage.

“Farewell, all!” Olaf waved, his other hand still resting firmly on Violet’s backside, “Thank you for coming! And being so gullible…”

With her face turned back to the audience, Violet looked at them sadly one last time. There was not one single face willing to help her. She was alone.

“Mrrmmhh…” she whimpered, letting her head hang down.

And with that she was drawn into the darkness behind the curtain.