around was nothing but a calm ocean, with only lingering whispers of icy wind to soothe Violet as the Count climbed atop her.
Olaf growled as he cupped her face, his breath emanating from his hygiene-neglected mouth and choking her with its stink. She tipped her head away from him slightly and a single tear slipped down her cheek, as cool and lonely as the frosted top of the abandoned Mortain Mountains.
She hoped Klaus had the decency not to look, but his eyes had been wandering recently, lingering on her full lips, hands resting higher on her bare leg than little brothers should, so she wasn't sure. The younger Baudelaires were stretched and warped reflections of the noble and well-intentioned children they used to be. Trust and decency became muddled long ago.
The sea lapped at the wooden boat, wetting the tips of Violet's fingers. She watched as the salty droplets fell back into the vast ocean with the sporadic twitches of her hand, itching to fight the man caressing his overgrown, craggy nails over her treasured hair ribbon, just peeking out of her breast pocket.
"Your ribbon," Count Olaf said, his voice rough with desire. "I kept it for you, and you found it. Clever girl."
Violet gagged with disgust, avoiding his gaze, refusing to dignify his taunts or humour the villain preying on her. He was right though, he had kept it for her. A single kind gesture, tender and pure, flapping in the smoky wind above the decaying ruins of her childhood.
"Countess Violet. It has such a delicious ring to it, don't you think?"
Her anger finally spilt over with his taunts, intrusive hands slipping unnervingly carefully over her shoulder and collarbone. "It sounds disgusting," Violet snapped, suddenly glaring into his eyes, her lip quivering as tears blurred her vision, betraying her defiance. "You're disgusting."
A scoff was all the response he deemed her worthy of, as his eyes bore into her skull, flitting through the ashes of her soul, sparks looking to set her alight right then and there.
Slipping each golden button out of its slot, he undid her temporary concierge top and folded the inflexible fabric away from her chest, revealing her yellowed bra speckled with mysterious stains. It was too small for her growing breasts, and they shyly spilt out of the sides.
She'd meant to ask for a new one or, as she preferred to buy it herself, a little money to do so, but after their long string of failed guardians and eventual running from the law, it had long slipped her mind.
"My darling daughter, my lost wife - oh! What could have been," Olaf purred, his cheek against hers. The back of his hand petted her, long strokes from the sandy tears stinging her features, to the pearly hue of her chest, where azure roots pulsed underneath her skin.
Violet could have fought at that moment, thrashed and cried, pleaded for mercy, but she knew, deep down, that it was no use. She could not push him off of her, caged by his skinny tangle of limbs, and, like her, Klaus seemed too weak from starvation to help.
The eldest Baudelaire thought back to all the treachery that almost swallowed her family: murdered guardians, ravenous leeches, heinous harpoons, never-ending mysteries, evil associates, a void of an elevator shaft, malignant mushrooms, false accusations of murder. Again and again, they'd fought off evil, but Violet didn't have that fight in her any longer. It was always Count Olaf, every single time, and he would always win - maybe it was simply time to let him do so.
Next, he clumsily unzipped the mossy trousers, eyes ravenous to see what was hiding within. Her thin, delicate underwear was stark against the uniform, and she felt his cock twitch against her thigh at the sight.
"Awh," he cooed, noticing the tiny patch of darkness hiding under her trousers. Violet burned with shame.
Testing if she'd try to fight, he retracted back slowly, smiling triumphantly at her lack of movement, and defeated acceptance of her situation. Almost two weeks of bean rations and spare sips of water had whittled her down, digesting her spirit and will to fight till barely scraps were left waiting.
He quickly glanced back at Klaus, who put on a disgusted face to meet it. The Count scoffed at him, and theatrically moved back, putting on a quizzical look to give Klaus a better view of the villainous deed, and his humiliated sister.
Violet felt bile climb her throat, and she squeezed her eyelids shut, not daring to face the sinking feeling that Klaus could save her, or at the very least, try to convince Olaf to stop and rethink his actions.
The betrayal infected her, like the deadly spores of the Medusoid Mycelium - closing up her throat, suffocating and depriving her. It tasted dirty and bitter on her tongue, sure to linger for years to come. Dormant, waiting to prey on her once more.
An unapologetic cackle screeched from Olaf's throat - the noise of a creature that had finally gotten almost everything he wanted.
Nails scratched at her hips, teasing her. With one entitled swoop, he dragged her panties and firm trousers down to her lower thighs, marvelling at the sensitivity of her skin. The fabric of the disguise had left little flushed patches over her, but that only drew his eye for a moment, as he began ogling at her untouched little pussy, decorated with just a delicate tassel of hair.
The villain's eyes never left her nakedness as he twirled his index finger in the air, and moved it towards her exposed core, trailing it generously around to gather her wetness. She squirmed and cried out as he went, and when he deemed it adequate, he pulled it back to inspect the stickiness, raising an eyebrow at the volume of it, before popping the finger into his mouth and rubbing it over his plaque-covered teeth.
Violet shifted uncomfortably, her body tearing away from her mind as it pleaded for pleasure from the Count, much to her visceral disgust stirring deep in her belly.
In a second, his penis was out and being rubbed to full hardness. His features screamed greed as he rested his cock at her entrance, nudging her folds slightly in tempo with the gentle rocking of the boat, leaking droplets of semen onto its pink flesh.
Quicky, he noticed her arousal, grinning villainously to himself at his work. "There you go! I knew you would've made a good little wife."
Violet gagged at his words, spitting up acidic drool that drizzled down her lips, onto the salt-encrusted bow of the boat. She wriggled instinctively as he encased her with his bony form. Violent hands flew to her wrists and pinned them on either side of her, his knee firm, keeping her thighs spread and ready for him.
Nestling against her, he grinned at the readiness of her cunt, and slapped his cock at her entrance to ensure it stayed that way.
A placid but bright fire tinted the sky as the sun set, the cotton clouds a white smoke, enclosing them in their own world. It was quiet, with the exception of a trio of fearless seagulls cawing in their direction, something they could've finally used for food besides those white beans and the occasional unsavoury fish. She wondered for a moment if they had been trained by V.F.D., a last naive thread of hope that held her innocence together.
Violet's thoughts drew her back to the surly man who had offered the siblings a taxi ride away from the Hotel Denouement. A fork in the road, a divulging path that could have led them a world away. Perhaps they would be on a boat to Peru, instead of being lost in the middle of the sea or being given new identities completely. Whatever their fate may have been, she hoped it would've been devoid of Count Olaf's claws digging into her thigh, and the sickness that had stolen her ability to rip them off her.
Another Violet, in another life, was safe and sound with her siblings, and even their parents too. She had to believe it so, even if there was no proof or logic to the concept, it kept her spirit living, even if in the macabre soil of her rotted youth.
It didn't take the older man long to decide to progress further. She was a rag doll, or perhaps a decaying corpse, as he climbed between her legs, entrapping her further. Olaf aligned his cock once more and rocked into her. His head tipped to the sky as a guttural groan left his open mouth, a shriek of pain erupting from hers.
The first dip into her virgin flower and she was spasming and whimpering with pain. He relished in it.
Violet choked on a sob, spit trickling down her lips, which Olaf noticed almost immediately and retracted down to lick off the apple of her chin.
Fat tears slipped down her cheeks as she let herself finally break under the weight of him, hands lifeless as they dipped into the frothy waves.
She wept as he pounded into her, the sting of each thrust leaving its mark on her womb and faltering soul. With every grunt and groan from him, the tears kept flowing as she cried for herself, her siblings, and every noble and kind person they'd lost along the way. She wept for the Quagmires, whose fate was a mystery, and for their late parents, whom they missed so dearly, it was as if a chunk of bloody tissue had been cut right out of their hearts, unsure if it'd ever heal itself.
She broke down, thinking of the dead guardians in their past and other orphaned children in the hands of villains, for any other poor girl violated this way.
Violet cried as if it were her very first time doing so, and yet, for the many times she had not. As those cathartic tears flowed, so did the log-stacked dam of emotions that had loomed over her sprouting soul since that fated day on Briney Beach.
Would she survive this to tell the tale? Did it even matter?
Something snapped in her core, a twinge of sorrow and ache, and a coughing fit erupted from her throat.
Vision obscured by the man mercilessly impaling her, the welled wetness allowed for a dream of her limp form, swaying in the ocean, carried away by the waves. Unpalatable sea spray coated her throat, and barnacles anchored themselves like parasites. She thought of sly seaweed slipping over her limbs, mummifying her for burial, and finally, of seagulls pecking at her mottled flesh.
Another dream of another reality, where she just let herself slip away, never to be found; to become one with the sea, the sky and the starved creatures beneath.
Baked and withered - petals in the wind.
Klaus was silent as Olaf stole the last shreds of her, protecting Sunny from the violations occurring on their vessel, but even out of the corner of her eye, Violet could see his glazed-over eyes, fixated on her nakedness. Complicit and almost drooling.
"Sweet Violet, your nectar feels divine," he said, eyes rolling back into his sockets. When she didn't respond with anything but a helpless whimper, he bowed down and stole her mouth in a vicious, intrusive kiss.
"Please," she babbled into his mouth, voice breaking, her stomach churning as he fucked her, leaving no surface untouched. His hands grappled at her breasts and chest, his mouth attacking her neck and tasting her loose snot and hot tears, the strings of saliva guarding the entrance of her mouth.
She almost wished the skies would dim and that her consciousness would drain away, at least then she would not have to feel him inside of her.
The Count's affection for her had waxed and waned over the time she had known of his existence, similarly as fatal and damning as the Medusoid Mycelium. Murderous, like spores taking root in her throat, gagging her and robbing her of life. Forgiving and tender as an antidote melting her troubles away.
In other ways, she was his prized yet priceless sugar bowl, forever slipping from his grasp. A mysteriously fated thing. If she fell too far she'd crack.
This time, she had fallen and shattered into a million little shards, flying right into his insatiable hands. Perhaps he would cut himself in retrieving his prize - Violet knew not but allowed herself the passing thought.
His fingers crushed her wrists, squeezing the blood out of her muscles, locking her in place as he bucked into her one last time, filling her core with his impudent sperm.
Violet did not want to be a mother, but after all this time with her younger siblings, she deemed she was already so. What was another crying form clinging to her for shelter? Even if it was the spawn of a being most dishonourable and depraved - it would be hers, consuming her bones from within and drinking her milk dry.
She lay there, forcibly spread and held captive underneath him as his cock slowly softened inside of her, only slipping out once he was sure the deed was done.
Still, Violet remained like that, as if frozen, petrified and obedient. Broken. Scarlet liquid crusted between her starved thighs.
Wilted and defeated under the suffocating smoke, infecting the last of her purity, and stealing her goodness forever, he had poisoned down to her roots, the very earth she drew from.
A single violet flower, persevering through smouldering horrors, nurtured by sun rays and affections, to be tragically martyred by drowning, of all things.
Rotting at its root and withering as the world proceeds, apathetic and still, none the wiser.