Disclaimer: I do not own Violet Baudelaire, her siblings or her gorgeous husband. They all belong to Lemony Snicket. Except for her daughter, she's MINE. DON'T YOU STEAL HER DAMMIT!
Authors Note: WOOT! My first ViOlaf fic, after SO MUCH FANART. Please Read and Review, constructive criticism encouraged. It's really short for a first chapter, but bear with me. Huge gaps between chapters are to be expected.
"I am a prisoner, forever bound by the shackles so cruelly put upon me. There is nothing left for me in this world, my siblings, my daughter, my parents are all gone. By the time you read this, I will be no more, having hung myself from-"
Violet grunted, smacked her head on the desk and crumpled the piece of yellowing paper in her hand before tossing it into the wastepaper basket.
"You're insane." She said out loud to herself. "Get a grip, Violet. It's been eleven years, and you still can't come to terms with this."
She paused for a second, uncrumpled the suicide note and read it over.
"For God's sake, is my life really SO terrible?" She shouted with an annoyed groan, brushing a long strand of brown hair behind her ear.
"I don't know, why are you asking me, anyway?"
Violet spun around to see her husband standing in the doorway into their bedroom. He had a half-empty wine bottle in his right hand, and had a look of obvious confusion on his face. He looked Violet over with his shiny, deep sea green eyes in a way that expressed that he was beginning to question her mental health. Her hair was untidy and hanging over one side of her face, she was dressed in a black evening gown, even though it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon, and there was a noose made out of several tied-together electrical extension cords hanging limply out of her left hand.
"Do I dare ask what you're doing?" He said flatly.
Violet shook her head and shoved the noose under the bed.
"You weren't supposed to see until after I was dead." She said quickly, looking at her feet.
Olaf gave her a look that said 'You're kidding.'
"Well, I wouldn't expect you to understand." Violet said.
"What is there to not understand?" He said, raising his one eyebrow slightly.
He put the wine bottle down on the desk and grabbed his black jacket, which had been carelessly chucked onto the unmade bed.
Violet watched him leave the room and slam the door behind him.
"Damn me and my conscience." She said once he was gone. She took off her evening dress to hang back up in the closet and gabbed her everyday clothes- a plain white singlet top and a pair of jeans, with a purple and black coat over the top. She untied one of the black ribbons that she kept tied around her wrists, and used it to pull her wavy brown hair into a loose ponytail. Her silvery blue eyes were still bloodshot from crying earlier that day, and she wanted nothing more than to just collapse onto the bed and fall asleep. But she had things to do today that needed to be done, and she couldn't spend her life depressed. She had to try to stay optimistic.
"Klaus and Sunny would be dead if you hadn't made this decision." Violet said, thinking out loud. "And the fact that Olaf hasn't killed you yet is a very, VERY good sign."
Violet held the small plastic device into the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and shook it a few times, anxious to see what was going to happen.
It was 2 years into their marriage, and Violet had been suspicious about her physical condition lately. The constant throwing up could've easily been food poisoning or a flu, but what flu lasted for 4 weeks? Olaf had suggested going to a doctor at one point, but Violet wasn't stupid. She didn't need a medical professional to tell her what was happening.
She was pregnant.
Violet shook the pregnancy test again, and sure enough, a red plus sign appeared on the device.
"Damn." Violet said. "My mother is rolling in her grave."
"It's a miracle that he didn't decide to just kick you in the stomach repeatedly until the baby died..." Violet thought, wincing at the somewhat gruesome image. As she recalled, she had given the child up for adoption. She never even got to see her baby girl. It was pretty depressing; she would've kept her if she could, but after what he'd done to Sunny...Violet didn't trust him around small children.
"She'd be...9...10 years old now?" Violet asked herself. She wondered who their daughter looked more like- Violet or Olaf?