It is every little girl's secret dream, in her heart of hearts, to grow up into a beautiful young woman and put on a long, lovely white dress and be married to a smiling, handsome young man who will love her and care for her and all of their wonderful, lovely, smiling children.
Violet Baudelaire was not every little girl. If you asked her, she wasn't even particularly little anymore.
No one was asking her, though. The wedding dress was tight, constricting- she couldn't breathe, and her vision was wavering, dimming around the edges. Count Olaf was laughing at her and she couldn't breathe, her brother and sister were gone, and her parents and anyone who cared enough to help her were dead.
Violet Baudelaire never wanted a long, lovely white wedding dress. If she was being honest, she never really wanted the young man, either. She hadn't wanted any of this.
No one ever asked, though.
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