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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jun 17, 2021 10:08:06 GMT -5
Mr. and Mrs. Olaf formally invite you to a celebration of 13 years of marriage.
Saturday 10th July, 5.00pm, at Veblen Hall
Drinks to follow at Cafe Salmonella.
No RSVP required
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Post by the panopticountolaf on Jun 20, 2021 10:18:29 GMT -5
Oh dear. I am very excited and very nervous at the same time.
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Post by Optimism is my Phil-osophy on Jun 24, 2021 15:04:12 GMT -5
Mr. and Mrs. Olaf formally invite you to a celebration of 13 years of marriage.
Saturday 10th July, 5.00pm, at Veblen Hall
Drinks to follow at Cafe Salmonella.
No RSVP required Is that the announcement of your marriage to Mrs Anka?
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jun 24, 2021 16:56:40 GMT -5
That would just be silly
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 10, 2022 9:23:05 GMT -5
She drew the curtains, closed her eyes, and buried her face in hands, yet still she could not escape it. She could still hear the gentle clip-clopping of the hooves, and feel the carriage rocking to and fro on the cobblestones. She could smell it pressing against her nostrils, taste it on her tongue. It was all around her, and it always would be.
It was a cold morning, made even colder by the early start to her day. That was necessary of course, in order to maximise disgression. That was what she told herself, but it was a lie. So much of her life had been simply trying - and failing - to make things easier. It never gets easier, though. It just carries on, day after day. Never-ending misery.
Through the thin curtain she could see that a thick fog had engulfed the city. The sun was beginning to rise, and as it caught the skyline it almost seemed as the city was on fire. It wasn't, but nobody could blame her for the mistake. She'd seen enough fire to last a lifetime.
By un(?)popular demand I will be ressurrecting this tale of misfortune and woe, hopefully sooner than you'd think.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 15, 2022 16:13:31 GMT -5
Dear Reader
Sometimes things go to plan. Sometimes everything happens exactly as you would expect, exactly as had been planned. Despite the unfortunate events that have taken place in the lives of the Baudelaire orphans, at least everything had gone according to those plans. But sometimes plans, like a cat or a badly organised group of orthodontists, can go astray. This is one such tale. In this story, things happened very differently, and not just for the Baudelaire Orphans. If you thought that the Baudelaires lives were already full of misfortune, then think again. This story contains more misery and woe than even your darkest nigthmares, including such forboding events as a dinner party, a large pile of wood, running shoes, a rope ladder, and a diving helmet full of poisonous mushrooms. A Series of Unfortunate Events is a bad enough reality as it is. Why bother reading about another one?
With All Due Respect
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 15, 2022 16:31:50 GMT -5
Chapter One
She drew the curtains, closed her eyes, and buried her face in hands, yet still she could not escape it. She could still hear the gentle clip-clopping of the hooves, and feel the carriage rocking to and fro on the cobblestones. She could smell it pressing against her nostrils, taste it on her tongue. It was all around her, and it always would be.
It was a cold morning, made even colder by the early start to her day. That was necessary of course, in order to maximise disgression. That was what she told herself, but it was a lie. So much of her life had been simply trying - and failing - to make things easier. It never gets easier, though. It just carries on, day after day. Never-ending misery.
Through the thin curtain she could see that a thick fog had engulfed the city. The sun was beginning to rise, and as it caught the skyline it almost seemed as the city was on fire. It wasn't, but nobody could blame her for the mistake. She'd seen enough fire to last a lifetime. Her nights were haunted by dreams of rolling smoke and flame, beasts or red and orange dancing and writhing agaisnt each other. Her days were unspeakable.
When she had woken this morning, she had been filled with an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension. Terrified of what she was about to do, but she could not imagine how she would feel when it was over. It was all she had been able to hang on to for the last 12 months.
The cab came to a stop, and Violet braced herself. Handing a few coins to the driver, she stepped out, splashes of cold water bouncing onto her legs. She had travelled miles outside of the city. In fact, she didn't really know where she was exactly. Somewhere unknown, unmarked, unfortunate. It served its purpose, she supposed.
Violet could feel tears beginning to form in her eyes, and she fiercly blinked them away. Perhaps it was just the cold, but she couldn't take the chance. She didn't have time for sadness, not today.
There were a pair of large, iorn gates in front of her. Violet placed a tentative hand on a rusted handle, and pulled toward her. The screeching cry echoed around the emptiness around her, and she winced. Somehow, even her, she did not want to be heard. She slipped through them, and began to climb up the hill.
There were trees lining either side of the pathway, and the sunlight was begin to sneak itself between their empty branches, casting odd shadows and shapes around her. Violet could hear birds calling to one other, and the distant sound of the cab making its way back. She would have to find another way home.
Her legs began to hurt as she walked up the hill, but Violet did not mind. She rarely allowed herself such excursions, and so would take what she could from them. Besides, she was used to pain much worse than this.
As she crested the hill the city came into view, buildings and landmarks poking their way our of the fog, the sun only beginning to burn it away. On the one side she could see her house, and not to far from that was Dark Avenue. Over the other side she could see the sea, and although she could not yet make it out, she knew that Briny Beach was there as well. The Place where it had all begun, more than thirteen years ago. She sighed, an unrestrained tear sneaking its way down her cheek as she arrived at the place she has come all this way to reach.
She knelt before the grave, placing a small bundle of flowers upon it. They were nothing special, merely picked from the side of some road somewhere as she had left in a hurry, but it gave her comfort to know that they would be there, as a marker of her presence in this lonely place.
There were two names on the stone, those of her parents. But there should have been two others, those of her brother and sister. But they had never been treated to a proper funeral. In fact, Violet did not know where their bodies had ended up. She did not want to know. Whatever the answer, it would not help her now. She was beyond help.
There was nothing to mark their passing, not even the fact that their lives had been cut so tragiclly short. Excuses had been made, of course, and people had moved on. Forgotten. But Violet had not. She had made a promise, to herself and to them. Every year she would come here, to honour their memory, on the anniversary of that dreadful day. Violet had only been married a few weeks when it had happened. It had taken her weeks to wash the blood out of her dress.
He would be waking soon, her husband. He would start to wonder where she was, and that was always dangerous. Over the years she had come to realise that the only way to survive was to make sure that her husband never thought about her. Ideally, he wouldnt think about anything at all, but sadly that was beyond her control. But everything she could do to blend in to the background, to avoid his attention, the better. It meant that she could come here and pay her respects, and he would never know. When Violet was done, she would head to the market and buy fresh ingredients, then go home and make him a wonderful breakfast. Any doubts or anger fostered by her absence in the morning would be forgotten or at best lessened by the thought. But she could not stay too long
Violet stood for a moment, and closed her eyes. She could feel the cold morning air pressing against her skin, hear the birdsong radiating around her ears, the musty smell of the fallen leaves rotting around her. When she opened her eyes, she looked firmly at the gravestone, drinking its details. She said the names over and over, all four of them, almost like a prayer. She would have spoken them aloud if she could be sure that noboy else was there, but she was never sure, never safe. There was nobody with her, though. Only ghosts.
Violet tore herself away, and began to head toward the city. Count Olaf was waiting.
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Post by the panopticountolaf on Apr 16, 2022 6:50:23 GMT -5
Absolutely chilling work, M. I'm so glad that this got revived... I have no clue where this story is going next
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 17, 2022 10:48:21 GMT -5
Absolutely chilling work, M. I'm so glad that this got revived... I have no clue where this story is going next Thank you. One reason I dropped the story initally is because of its chilling nature, but there is light at the end of the tunell, however dark it may be. Hmm, if Klaus and Sunny died, I wonder what happened to Kit and Beatrice II... I think part of the fun with a story like this is seeing what happened to everyone else. Hopefully each chapter will touch on another characters fate.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 17, 2022 16:45:46 GMT -5
Chapter Two
Violet eased open the door with care. It was still early in the morning, and there was no chance of Olaf being awake as of yet. Nevertheless, she wanted to take care to act as quietly as possible. She always did.
Olaf was probably still sound asleep in his bedroom. His own bedroom, for they did not share a room, not since she had been trusted to not escape in the night. Violet was glad of this, the less she saw of him the better. And it was easier to cry ones self to sleep when on ones own. Most nights Olaf would stay up late, drinking by himself, and not fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. Violet would sleep early and wake early, to maxamise her time away from him.
Violet closed the door quietly, locking it behind her as was her custom. Her husband liked to keep things contained, as much as he could. She looked around the front room, her heart sinking as it always did. Thirteen years of cleaning had made little difference to the place. You can clean out a pigsty as much as you like, but if the pig is still inside it will always be dirty.
There was a sound like sand being dragged against stone, and Violet looked down to see the only thing that could ever give her comfort. Its body was long and thick, like a tree trunk, with dark scales as black as ink.
'Hello Inky' she said, reaching out to stroke his head affectionately. She afforded herself a small smile as she headed into the kitchen, Inky following behind her.
The snake had come from the house of Dr. Montgomery Montgomery, a respected Herpetologist, and one of Olafs first murders after the wedding. That was excusing the deaths of her siblings, of course, but neither of them ever spoke about that. There were many things that were not spoken about in this house.
Olaf and his troupe had headed out to a house in the country somewhere: Violet did not know why, but they had killed Dr. Montgomery, and taken his entire collection of reptiles prisoner. Violet was still traumatised from recent events, but had been dragged along with them anyway. Olaf did not trust her to be left with anyone other than him, so no matter the inconvenience, she had to come with. She had proven useful, though. They had not been prepared for how to transport the creatures back to the house, and so Violet had managed to construct a suitable cage for transit. She was good with cages.
It was during this experience that she had met Inky, one of Dr. Montgomerys collection. When that Sinister Duo had come to the house to collect the reptiles, Olaf had lied to them, saying that the creature had escaped before Olafs' arrival. Apparently the creature had some kind of personal history with him, and he was not eager to part ways with it. Whatever that history was, Violet had never uncovered it: Instead, she and the snake had become firm friends. He was much more intelligent than she could have thought possible, and had been a great deal of help to her over the years.
Violet set down her bag in the kitchen, and began to get to work. She was going to make her husband a full english breakfast, except Olaf didn't like tomatoes (he considered them 'rabbit food') and he disliked mushrooms (He didn't trust them), So essentially she was cooking eggs, bacon, sausages, and black pudding, but she still called it a Full English, so as to make it sound grander and more work than it actually is.
As the food began to sizzle in the panshe looked out of the dirty kitchen window to the overgrown garden. There were piles of lumber stood to one side, gathering cobwebs and other inhabitants. It had been a while since Olaf had found any use for them, which could only be a good thing.
Inky slithered up onto the worktop next to her, and she gently carressed his head. She enjoved his company, she really did, but every time she saw him she could not help but picture the horrors of Montgomerys house; His body slumped over itself in the chair, skin pale from the poison; The sight of the Reptile Room as it burst into flamesL and the screams that the person who looked like neither a man nor a woman had made as the Mamba du Mal had injected its poison into their veins.
They had not known what they were doing. They had been foolish. But Violet was not foolish, not any more.
She heard footsteps moving above her, and she moved quickly, shuffling the food onto a plate, and plaing it on the table just in time for the door to slam open.
'Good Morning husband.',said Violet, a thin veneer of cheeriness on her face.
Marriage had not treated Olaf well. His hair was tatty and unkempt, thinning away at the top. His eyes were dark hollows, his teeth rotten and crooked. Most days he barely left the house, and as such his skin had become flaky and pallid. This morning we was simply wearing a dirty white nightgown. There was a bottle in his left hand, and he swayed unsteadily in the doorway. Nonetheless, he smiled when he saw her.
'Morning' he said, his voice a broken mess. 'Morning indeed', and he sidled over to her. She could feel his dank breath against her face as he leaned in over her. She could see his long yellow fingernails as she brushed the hair our of her eyes. He liked her hair long, and she was strictly forbidden to ever tie it up. He didn't want her to start inventing things.
'You're looking very lovely today.' he said, his hand resting on her cheek. 'Very special indeed.'
Violet kept her eyes fixed to the far wall. Even after all these years, she could never quite meet his gaze.
'I made you breakfast.' she said.
Olaf turned away from her, and seeing the food he skulked toward the table, slamming the bottle down next to the steaming plate.
'Good.' said Olaf. 'I like food.'
Violet walked around the table, and sat down opposite him. For herself she had made nothing more than two simple pieces of toast. That was how she kept her life. Simple. Unfussy.
As Olaf begin to eat nosily, Inky wound himself around Violets chair, his head coming to rest in her lap. The Sun had begun to come up, though the light could barely make it through the grime of the windows.
'Oh.' said Olaf, suddenly. 'By the way, The Squalors will be joining us for dinner this evening, to mark the occasion.'
'The occasion?' asked Violet.
'Yes, the occasion. You know the one I mean.' Olaf stopped his eating, and looked up at her. He smiled at her, a thin, menacing smile, the kind she had grown so used to. Violet gave a small, meek nod in reply.
'So, I will beexpecting you to cook dinner for all five of us. I think they're arriving at around seven or something, so you can get on with some housework in the meantime. I expect this place to be spotless for our special guests.'
Violet thought that she would need several years in order for this place to become spotless, but she'd already had several years too many, so what would be the point. And of course it was the Squalors, who else could it be?
Violet simply loved it when Carmelita came to visit....
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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on Apr 18, 2022 7:43:42 GMT -5
Distrusting mushrooms actually makes some sense in the ASOUE verse.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jun 25, 2022 10:06:08 GMT -5
Chapter Three
'Go away, you disgusting, cakesniffing orphan' was all that Violet got as a way of greeting as Carmelita pushed her way past.
'Oh dear my darling.' said Esme, as she bent down to plant a kiss on each of Violets' cheeks. 'That dress is soooo out. I wouldn't be seen dead in that sort of thing.'
Esme herself was wearing a long silvery dress that made her look like a long, thin salmon; blue tights speckled with flecks of white waves, and heels that gave the appearance of seaweed. Violet was wearing a simple pink evening dress, and it wasn't even her own. It was a second-hand hand-me-down from the same person all her dresses came from.
'I think you look lovely, Violet' said Jerome, smiling softly at her.
'Jerome, how would you know anything about fashion??'
'I've been married to you for so many years, I'm sure i've picked up more than a few things in my time.'
'Well clearly you haven't. Pink is out, Salmon is in, and so are washing machines, Italian resteraunts, lime sodas, and hopscotch. I told you all this just this morning.' Esme sighed, and pushed her way past Violet. 'Olaf darling' she shouted, 'Esme's here!'
'And Carmelita' cried Carmelita.
'And Carmelita!' echoed Esme.
'Hello Violet' said Jerome, and he handed her a basket of muffins. 'I don't think it matters Pink is in or out, it suits you.'
'I don't like Pink.' said Violet.
'Oh.' said Jerome. 'Well in that case, I don't think it matters if you look good or not.'
Violet smiled, avoiding his gaze. 'Thank you Jerome.'
'How are you doing?'
'Oh, well, the same as usual I suppose.'
'It's been thirteen years to the day, hasn't it?' said Jerome, his voice dropping quieter now.
Violet gave a small nod, and she looked up into his eyes. He was smiling, but it was a sad smile. It was the kind of smile she had seen so many times over the years, from strangers and acquaintances. It was a smile that said I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're in this mess, and I'm sorry that so many terrible things have happened to you, and I'm sorry that I'm doing nothing to help.
'Esme!' exclaimed Olaf, as he threw open the doors to the sitting room. He was dressed in the way he only dressed for her, a fancy suit and tie. He had even washed his face, though he'd made a bad job of it.
He squeesed over towards Esme. and threw his arms around her. She placed a kiss on his cheek, and Olaf put his hands somewhere inappropriate. Jerome pretended not to notice.
Carmelita stood with her arms crossed and a look of discontent on her face, and once she had caught Violets eye she stuck out her lounge, before proclaiming. 'i'm bored.'
'Now now, Carmelita.' said Esme. 'Patience is In, at the moment.'
'Violet' said Olaf, as he sauntered over towards her. 'Why don't you go back in the kitchen and finishing preparing dinner, and I will show our guests to the dining room.'
Violet disappeared into the kitchen as quickly as she could. Of all of Olafs associates, Esme and Carmelita were her least favourite guests. Esme criticized Violet at every turn - her clothes, her appearance, her personality. She had loathed Violet ever since they had first met, and she could never be sure why. Perhaps it was jealousy, but it didn't seem likely. Esme had everything that Violet had, but better.
Carmelita was another matter entirely. Though they were the same age, Carmelita still behaved like a child. She was a spoilt, whiny, needy brat. And although eh would never admit it Violet knew Olaf didn't think much of her either. Jerome and Esme had adopted her not long after Violets wedding. Apparently Carmelitas parents had died in a suspicious fire. If only she had been adopted by Esme, and Carmeltia had been married to Olaf instead....
Dinner was a Tortelini and Cannelini Minestrone, which Violet had specially selected to be made with only the innest ingredients. The meal passed without much event, or any event that took place passed over Violet. She had mastered the ability of glazing over, simply nodding and smiling in ingredient, her thoughts locked away. The wine helped.
Olaf and Esme discussed 'business'. Violet was never too sure what 'business' meant, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with burning peoples houses down and stealing their fortunes and/or children. She'd worked that much out at least. When she was younger, she had tried to learn the truth about Olaf; why he had done these terrible things, what he wanted. But that way had only led to more misery and pain. Anything she had uncovered had made no sense, and anything Olaf had discovered her discovering had only led to more pain for her.
After dinner, they had retired into one of the many rooms in Olafs mansion, and Esme had begun to entertain them with her talks of fashion and what was 'In' or 'Out' Violet entertained herself with more wine.
It was when Carmelita decided to show 'Uncle Olaf' her latest 'Ballerina Sumo Gymnastics Routine' that Violet knew the evening was truely lost, and she rose from her chair, still clutching the bottle in her hand.
'Where are you going, cakesniffer?'
'To bed.' said Violet, turning to Olaf. 'If I may be excused?'
Olaf, who was slumped in a chair, his head leaning to one side, grunted in her general direction.
Violet took that as permission, and turned away from them again.
'I didn't say you could go anywhere.' said Carmelita. 'I want you to watch my Ballerina Sumo Gymnastics Routine, because I'm the prettiest Sumo Ballerina in all the world.'
'Now Now Carmelita.' said Esme. 'If the stupid girl wants to go to sleep then let her. She's so un-fashionable it makes me feel sick to just look at her.'
'That dress is so disgusting it makes me want to cry.' said Carmelita.
'Me too.' said Esme.
'Its your dress.' said Violet. Every dress she owned was one of Esmes forgotten fashion ideas from another time. 'It doesn't even fit me properly because you're so much taller than me'
'It doesn't fit you properly' said Esme, an evil smile growing across her face 'because you're a stupid ugly orphan.'
'Yes' said Carmelita. 'A stupid cakesniffing Orphan!'
'In fact' said Esme, the smile growing bigger and shinier. 'I think you look so ugly that you should take that dress off right now.'
Olaf stirred.
'Haha' said Carmelita. 'Probably she has even uglier underwear. Orphans always wear the ugliest things.'
'You're an orphan as well, Carmelita.' said Violet, tersely.
Esme gasped.
Jerome opened his mouth in shock.
'How dare you say such a thing to Carmelita.' said Olaf.
'What a horrible thing to say such a beautiful young woman.' said Esme, and she shot up from her chair, and in a few quick strides stood level with Violet 'Carmelita's parents may be dead, but that doesn't mean shes an orphan. Now apologise to her this instant'
Esme shot a long manicured finger at Carmelita, who folded her arms in discontent once more. Jerome was looking between his wife and adopted daughter hesitantly. Olaf, the promise of nudity now diminished, had returned back to boredom. Violet could feel the bottle still in her hand. It would have taken no effort for her to lift her arm, swing the bottle round, and smash it against Esme's face. No effort at all.
'Carmelita.' said Violet, sighing. 'I'm sorry I insulted you, I shouldn't have said anything so hurtful to you.'
'There we go' said Jerome. 'Isn't that nice, Carmelita?'
Carmelita danced a little on the spot.
'Now, you ugly Orphan, you're going to sit and watch me dance for as long as I want.'
'No.' said Esme. 'Sorry, Carmy, but it's getting late, and I think we should probably get going.'
'But -' said Carmelita.
Sensing an argument, Jerome lept in to action. 'Why don't you show me your gymnastics routine when we get home Carmelita?'
'Hmm.' thought Carmelita. 'Okay. I don't want to be here anyway, there's too much orphan in this house.' And with that, Carmelita danced her way towards the door.
'Thank you for a lovely evening Violet.' said Jerome, as he made to stand up.
'Darling' said Esme 'I'm going to say goodnight to Olaf upstairs.', and she prodded Olaf with her finger.
'Upstairs?' said Jerome.
'Yes, upstairs.' said Esme.
'Upstairs?' said Olaf.
'Yes, upstairs, just like I always do.' said Esme, and she poked Olaf again, a bit harder this time.
'Oh, Upstairs.' said Olaf. 'Right. Upstairs.'
A few moments later, and Violet and Jerome were alone, waiting for their spouses to finish saying 'goodnight.' Jerome sat, looking vacantly around the room, in silence. Violet just stared at him, trying to find something, an answer. Jerome caught her eye, and gave her another one of those sad smiles, and all it did was fill her with rage. Help me, she smiled back at him. Why won't you help me?
She offered him the bottle, but he refused. It seemed he was better at this than she was.
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Post by HAL 10,000 on Jun 26, 2022 9:43:32 GMT -5
Not sure how I didn't discover this story earlier, but this is really fascinating.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jul 26, 2022 9:51:06 GMT -5
Chapter Four
The night after the Squalors had departed, Violet spent most of her time cleaning and tidying away in the aftermath of the dinner party. It had been a long day, but she was glad of the work. Any excuse to be on a different floor to Olaf was good enough for her. She busied herself into the early hours of the morning, and only once she felt sure that Olaf would now be fast asleep did she dare to return to the solitude of her room.
She spent most of the night curled up in her bed, with Inky wrapped into a large ball next to her. She held him close to her chest, her hand playing gently against his scaly skin. Violet caught only a few moments of sleep that night, before the sun inched its way into the room, entreating her to resume her work once more.
The next few days passed with relative ease. Olaf occupied himself with his 'work'. His 'work' mostly seemed to consist of drinking, angrily stomping about in his room, or leaving the house entirely. Either way, Violet barely saw him during this time.
Violet had little to occupy herself with, however. Over the years, she had amassed no real belongings, and had garnered no real hobbies. There were no inventions to make, no books to read, nothing to bite. She cleaned the house, of course, but only as well as she could. The place was falling apart, and nothing she could do would change that. So she spent most of her time alone, with nothing to do, and nobody to talk to. Violet had nothing.
Violet woke one morning to find that Olaf had risen before her. This was such an unusual event to cause her to worry that something, anything must be wrong, and that whatever it was she would be held responsible. It turned out that he was up so early because he was 'going somewhere' and he needed 'to pack.' A few moments later, and he was out the front door, a suitcase in one hand and a miserable demeanor in the other. She did not know how long he would be gone.
Years ago, he would have taken her with him. Now he trusted her, and so she didn't need to be dragged everywhere with him,= for fear of escape. There was nothing left for her to escape to, not anymore. She had no money, no friends, no family, and no home to go to but the one she would be leaving. So she simply stayed in this big, dirty house, in silence.
Of course, there were still certain times when Olaf would take her along. If he were attending certain events, with certain individuals, then it was Violets job to be there, and for her to look beautiful and behave as every good wife should. She would say all the right things, do all the right things, and most of all she would make sure not to be noticed, and not to make a scene. Lately these parties had occurred less and less. Violet wasn't sure if that meant that Olaf's social circle had simply decreased, or that Olaf simply no longer felt that Violet was attractive enough to be seen with him in public. Violet wasn't sure if she liked that last idea or not.
Several visitors called for Olaf whilst he was away, and she dutifully took their details and enquiries, ready to pass them on to Olaf upon his return. First there were two visitors from a lumber mill in Paltryville, who wanted to know if Olaf would like to place another order with them. Her husband had done business with these gentleman before, Violet recalled, though not as much in recent years. And Geraldinne, a reporter with whom Olaf was friendly, delivered a copy of a newspaper which apparently contained an article that Esme had written. Violet tossed it aside. She was not exactly jealous of Esme, but she couldn't help but feel anger and anguish whenever she though about her.
A week came and went, and Olaf had not returned.
This was the longest he had ever been away, at least without taking her with him. As the days went past Violet began to grow anxious, unsure about when he would return. She was under strict instructions to never leave the house whilst her husband was away, but now she was beginning to run low on supplies. She decided to wait another day, and if he had still not returned, she would head in to town and buy some groceries.
Another day, and still no Olaf.
As the afternoon died around her, Violet decided she had to take some action. She headed into town, a feeling of unease hanging over her for the entire duration of her trip. Violet rarely disobeyed her husbands rules, and she feared the consequences.
When she came home, darkness was beginning to gather outside the gates. She paid the cab driver, and bundled inside with her few bags of groceries. She had barely shut the front door behind her when a call came from the kitchen.
'Wife!'
Violet hesitated for a moment, her key still in the lock. The call had been neither a harsh shout nor gentle, its tone unreadable, but its owner unmistakable.
'Yes?' she replied, the words catching dryly in her throat.
'Come here.' called Olaf.
Violet took a deep breath, and cautiously walked across the entrance hall. The door to the kitchen was open, leaving a small crack visible between the hinges. She paused for a moment, glancing through, but of course she could garner nothing about Olaf's' mood from a thin shard of his outline.
She pushed the door open, and without looking at her husband, she walked over to the table and placed down her bags of shopping. 'I was just buying some food.' she said, quickly. 'I didn't know you'd be back yet.'
Violet began to pull the various items out of her bags and place them in cupboards, and as she did so she glimpsed at Olaf out of the corner of her eye. She had expected some reaction from him, but there was nothing. He was merely sat at the table, his face hidden behind one hand, a bottle of something in the other.
After a few moments she had emptied all of the bags, and she turned to look at him properly. He was still sat there, unmoving. She noticed his hair was even dirtier than usual, long threads matted and tangled, and his clothing was covered in mud and dirt.
'Are... are you okay?' she asked him.
Olaf took his hand away, and he looked at her with an expression that could almost be one surprise. It was as though he had forgotten her. Violet saw there was a deep cut on the side of his, like a ferocious animal had scratched away at him. The Surprise etched into his face quickly disappeared, his face contorting itself into a sour grimace.
'I want you to put on the dress.' he said, a playful hint on malice dancing across his vowels as the words left his lips, an evil smile growing across his face.
He didn't need to say anything more. Violet knew what dress he meant, and she knew that there was no point in arguing. She turned away from him, and began to head upstairs to her bedroom.
Inky was there when she opened the door, curled up in a ball on her bed. He did not stir when Violet came in, and she was glad. It was easier to do this if she had no distractions.
In the thirteen years she had been married to Olaf, Violet had collated only a few scant belongings. There was a box, hidden away in the corner of her room, that she wished no longer belonged to her. It contained the dress she had worn during her 'Marriage' to Olaf, and she had worn it many times since. It seemed to be a favourite game of Olaf's to make her wear it, to remind her of the power he holds over her. Or perhaps to remind him.
She pulled the lid off from the box, took out the dress, and flung it onto the bed, doing her best to avoid looking at it. She couldn't stand the sight of the thing. Just holding the dress in her hands was enough to bring back every single horrific moment of her life - not just her years as Olaf's prisoner, his plaything, but everything that she had had beforehand, and everything she had lost.
Violet slipped out of her clothes, and sat naked for a moment next to the dress. She looked to the window, and outside she could see the courtyard. Thirteen years ago she had built a grappling hook, and stood out there all night trying desperately to rescue her sister from this horrible man. The grappling hook had worked, but still everything had failed.
Only a few months later, Olaf had killed them.
Try as she might, she could never quite remember that moment, exactly what had happened. Everything beforehand was crystal clear, every agonizing moment of that awful day she could recall, right up until dinner, and then it all just suddenly spiraled out of control. Violet could remember everything that happened afterward though, not that she wanted too. She remembered taking their bodies outside, just as her husband asked. She remembered cleaning the blood from the kitchen floor, so much, everywhere. She would never, ever forget.
She had been wearing the dress, of course. The bloodstains were still there, she knew, though she could never bring herself to look at them. Olaf would never let her wash the dress. He would never let her forget.
Violet rose, and with her eyes closed she pulled the dress up over her shoulders. She had grown a fair bit in thirteen years, and the dress was far too small. She felt exposed wearing it, as vulnerable and afraid as she could possibly be. She had no defences like this.
Violet could not wait much longer, Olaf would be getting impatient. She didn't know what was wrong with him, or what he would do to her when she went downstairs. All she knew was that it would be another layer of misery, to be woven into the fabric of her nightmares.
Violet walked back down the stairs, and began to return across the entrance hall when she noticed something. There was a small fold of paper, slid under the front door, one she was sure had not been there when she had come in. Carefully, she tiptoed across, picked up the piece, and read what was upon it.
And that was when everything changed.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jul 27, 2022 5:58:21 GMT -5
Now Follows a post of me desperately seeking feedback.
This chapter in particular was a very interesting one to write on an emotional level. Throughout this story I've tried to tread a fine line between expressing the trauma and abuse that Violet has experienced without heading into any gratuitous material, and so far I think I've managed to do that. Trying to get into the headspace of someone who has been through what she would have been through has been an interesting and perhaps darkly enjoyable experience.
Anyway, my point is, I'm interested in where people think the story is going, and what they feel about the tone of things so far.
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