Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Violet didn’t know how she got here. 

Actually she did know. She was too terrified to leave the factory looking the way that she did–like a two bit circus act that was begging to be jeered at. So Salt’s father called a freaking private helicopter on his flip phone that had somehow survived the fall down the trash chute, although not making it out without a few cracks and dents. Gloop’s mother gave her her jacket, covering her up almost completely so that when they eventually had to exit, she was sufficiently hidden from sight. 

It made Violet wonder though. Why did her mother take her jacket with her? It wasn’t like Teavee where her jacket wouldn’t fit  her anymore. The white puffy jacket would’ve fit her just fine and would’ve protected her from the cold that frosted over her fingertips and face. Was it to protect the expensive jacket from getting dirty (Dirty from Violet Dirty dirty dirty) ? Was it another punishment? Violet didn’t know, she just knew that she had been so cold and Mrs. Gloop’s wool jacket was warm. She doesn’t know exactly what she wants in return so she asks, but the woman simply waves her concern away, saying that she runs warm anyways and that their hotel was close by. 

It is then that the Gloop boy scoops her up in a hug, making her cheeks warm and her skin burn painfully; only for her to get more embarrassed when she sees the imprint of blueberry juice she left on the poor boy’s already filthy shirt. Violet scuttles to the helicopter before he could complain and berate her. Salt huffs as she boards, scooching away from her as if she was the one covered in garbage. Mr. Salt then gets on, sandwiching her in between the smell of the trash truck. Violet will refrain from complaining, after all they are doing her a kindness here. 

So there it was. How she got shooed into the massive mansion that was the Salt estate and how she got to be sitting on a velvet couch, wrapped up in a blanket and waiting for clean clothes to be delivered to her. Never once had she been left alone, if it wasn’t Mr. Salt then it was one of their many servants. Apparently they wanted to monitor her condition, her concussion and displaced bones were somehow ‘concerning’. 

Sitting in the room, pondering how exactly this could happen, Violet buried her face into the soft blanket they had given her. She didn’t know how the conversation between the parents went. Just that she would be staying with the Salts for the time being. From there Violet knew exactly what was going to happen. 

Before her mind could continue that thought, Mr. Salt all cleaned up and in a pair of what looked like very fancy pajamas, entered the room. Violet sits straight up, unfurling from her comforting fetal position and discarding the blanket that she had buried herself in. She does this in an attempt to look proper; yet just how proper could a girl like her look when she's the color of a science experiment gone wrong. Although that's exactly what happened though, wasn't it? The older man smiles at her, probably attempting to assuage her worries as if she didn't already know why she was here. In his arms was a big fluffy towel probably meant for her. 

Violet’s no longer soaking wet, her face and hair had dried albeit rather messily, but her clothes were still a bit damp. Juice clinged to her skin, making her feel sticky and gross. 

“There's a bath running in the upstairs bedroom. A set of clean clothes is waiting for you there, dear.” He says kindly, handing the towel to her and patting her hand as she takes it. It's uncomfortable just how nice and doting he is being on her. Similar to Gloop’s mother, they are treating her like their own children and the only explanation Violet could find for his kindness absolutely terrifies her. 

Her conclusion is thus, she is going to become a product. She was going to be put on display. Probably in some strange circus outfit, in a glass box and made to do gymnastic tricks for an audience wanting to see the Blueberry Wonder in action. Made into the perfect circus attraction for the most successful nut business in the world. Maybe she'd become a mascot or a pet or something. 

Still she smiles at him the best she can, polite and quiet like a good little girl should be. He beckons her forward with a ‘come along’ and they are walking up the stairs to the bath that is waiting for her. 

At one point her shaky legs collapse under her suddenly, causing her to cry out and grip the wall to prevent from falling backwards. Her body ached and the stairs didn't seem to want to agree with her. Mr. Salt turns to catch her but refrains from touching her when she flinches away from her position kneeling on a stair. There's a bolt of pain through her stomach as she shakily gets to her feet again causing her to wince audibly. 

“Young lady are you-”

“I'm fine!” She cuts him off with a short fuse, not wanting to be touched. Violet then realizes how rude that was. “Sorry! I'm sorry. I'm fine.” She insists, moving up the stairs before the adult could yell at her. He catches up to her easily enough and directs her to the waiting room. 

As expected of the Salts, it is very fancy. A four poster canopy bed sat against the back wall, sandwiched by white marble nightstands. The wallpaper is baroque-esque and in a lovely shade of pastel green. There's a dresser and a large box labeled ‘toys’ as well as an adjourning door, most likely the bathroom. 

“Do you like it? It's Veruca’s old room. She told me she wanted pink wallpaper and that this room was unacceptable four months ago.” Mr. Salt recalled the memory, seeming amused before his frown settles and his eyes harden. It's difficult to watch the adult process his thoughts so Violet politely looks elsewhere. Her eyes settle on the toy box.

“She still plays with toys?” Violet asks with a bit of incredulity in her voice. That could potentially be ammunition the next time Salt tried to snip at her. The father looks down at her with confusion. 

“She likes collecting dolls…Don't you? You are younger than Veruca, after all.” Just the thought of playing with dolls made Violet blush. She was too busy for something as immature as toys and dolls.  She can't bring herself to say that though so she just ducks and shakes her head. Mr. Salt’s frown gets deeper, his thin lips pursing. If Violet didn't know better, she'd say he looked concerned. “Here,” he opens the door to the bathroom. “Go get warm. I'll have food sent up here so you don't have to worry about finding the kitchen. Goodnight Miss Violet and sweet dreams.” 

He leaves Violet alone like that, in the big empty room, holding a towel and more exhausted and sore than she's ever felt before. Taking a deep breath, Violet fights back tears that have been tickling the backs of her eyes for the past several hours. Now that she's alone, the urge to cry is stronger. She slaps her cheeks to refocus herself, bringing all the shattered glass pieces together like puzzle pieces; not taking stock in how they jab and stick her hoping to pull blood. The girl walks into the bathroom quickly, closing the door behind her. 

She doesn't lock it. She's not allowed to lock doors at home so she expects the same to be true here. 

The bathroom is as nice as the bedroom. The tub is huge, bubbles piled high inside it. Violet can't recall the last time she had a bubble bath. She goes to inspect the rest of the bathroom but finds her eyes caught on one jarring fixture. Herself. 

The mirror spans almost the length of the entire wall. And there Violet stood, dead center and wide eyed and glaringly purple . She sets the towel on the sink and hovers closer to her reflected image. Her eyes were a bright blue as opposed to the murky grey-green they had been. Her hair lavender and her lips still somewhat pink but with a purplish tint. Her freckles which had been barely noticeable before now stood out a navy blue against the blue violet of her skin. She lightly brushes her hand over her cheek, and the mirror copied. It really was her. That's what she looked like now. 

Getting curious, Violet slowly peels the stretched out tracksuit off. Her exposed skin raises with almost painful goosebumps and she shivers. Gathering her willpower, she looks back at the mirror. Tears come to her eyes once more and she swallows a sob. 

The most tame observation she has is that her stomach, although stained blue, is a little more pinkish around her belly button. Greenish black bruises are beginning to form on the more tender parts of her body, likely from the trampolining. The more concerning things are the large, angry slits of stretch marks wrapping around her entire torso and the long, gnarly set of stitches spanning from her lower stomach up to the center of her chest–there's a branch of stitches where her skin started tearing in the middle of the operation. Turning around, there's a matching set of stitches crawling up the length of her spine. The sight of them hunches Violet over as she becomes sick into the sink, unable to control her nausea at the sight of her own disfigured body. 

It's mostly bile that comes up, stinging her throat. Reflexive tears stream down her face. She tries to breathe but it's ragged and keeps getting caught in her diaphragm. She feels light headed as she stumbles away from the mirror, backing up while wiping the excess saliva from her chin. Violet bumps painfully into the lid of the bathtub and it strikes her back into  reality. 

Right. She was taking a bath. She could do this. She just has to…not think. 

Violet approaches the tub trepidatiously. It sits staring back at her innocently. Taking a deep breath in, she gets into the way too big bathtub. The water is warm in the manner that it makes her skin tingle in a pleasant way. She nearly melts into the porcelain feeling the way her tense and aching body relaxes and eases. The bubbles tickle her nose as she sinks further into the water. There’s a greenish tint to the water; most likely some expensive bath bomb or oil or something or other. For a few moments Violet lets herself soak in the bath, not thinking about anything that had happened that day and just feeling the way the warmth seeped into her weary bones.  

After several minutes though she realizes that she should probably actually wash herself instead of just soaking. There’s an array of bottles in a tall wire series of shelves. Thank goodness for labels because Violet couldn’t tell what half of this stuff was for. What exactly was she supposed to do with coconut oil? Wasn’t that used for cooking? Eventually she found shampoo, conditioner and body wash. 

As she went about cleaning herself, she watched the bath water slowly turn more and more purple as the juice that was stuck to her skin and hair was washed away. Perhaps…

Violet takes one of the bright pink sponges nearby and starts scrubbing at her arm. The loofa feels rough on her tender skin, but that doesn’t stop Violet from scrubbing with all her might; just hoping that if she scrubbed hard enough the blue hue would fade away to her normal peach color. It  gets to a point where it begins to sting and the sponge is half purple. Upset and desperate, the girl throws away the sponge and starts scratching at her arm with her nails, digging into her skin and removing the surface level of epidermis. 

Still, despite the dead skin underneath her fingernails and the long scratches on her stinging skin, her arm remains to be that blueberry blue. The sheer hopelessness she feels makes her curl into a ball, her hair dripping water down her face in the place of tears. Violet doesn’t know what she wants at the moment, she just knows that she can’t keep sitting here in the now tepid water. She can’t look in the mirror or at the deep scratches in her arm so she keeps her gaze to the floor. The towel that was given to her swallows her figure whole, the fluffy texture of it comforting and warm. 

She leaves the bathroom after drying enough to not drip blue tainted water everywhere, still wrapped in the huge towel. At the foot of the canopy bed is a folded pair of pajamas that look just as cozy as the rest of everything Violet’s experienced at the Salt House so far. In Veruca’s interview, everything looked as cold and clinical as her trophy room was. But it seems effort was put into making her comfortable here. Might as well make her prison be as comfy as possible, she thinks, shedding the towel and pulling on the long sleeve minky top and the army green sweatpants. She lays the towel across the overstuffed pillows to protect them from her hair possibly staining the fabric. And finally, after many hours of pain, loss, and insecurity, Violet buries herself under blankets and stares up at the ceiling, 

Maybe this was all a dream and that come tomorrow morning, she’ll be back in Georgia with normal skin and a happy mother. Even though she’s not that delusional to truly believe it, she can still hope. Just go to sleep she whispers to herself, scrunching her eyes closed only to feel the ache in her body and head return. This makes her groan in frustration, turning onto her side and wincing when it pulls at her stitches. Facing the door to the room that she was granted, Violet notices something odd. 

The light was on outside her door and a shadow can be seen through the slit under the door. Someone was hovering outside. Her heart beats loudly in her chest until she remembers that Mr, Salt said that there was going to be someone that would bring her food. Why weren’t they coming in then? Throwing her legs over the side of the bed Violet stands and marches to the door. She throws it open with no hesitation. 

Behind her door was a surprise. Hovering close to her door with a tray in her hands was Veruca Salt, looking startled at Violet’s sudden appearance. She, herself, was cleaned up from her previous fate as a walking trash can and wearing a delicate pink nightgown. Veruca gasps quietly before schooling herself. The frown on her face was sour looking and her eyes were shifty. Violet analyzed the other girl, hoping to find an answer as  to why she was outside her door and why she oh so graciously brought her dinner. It didn’t make sense. 

“Um, hi?” She starts, raising an eyebrow at the heiress. Veruca purses her lips at her, not gracing her with a response as if she couldn’t think of anything to say even though a simple greeting would suffice. Sighing impatiently, Violet leans against the door, still half obscured by the heavy wood. “What are you doing outside my room?”

As if to answer her, Veruca lifts the tray and shrugs her shoulders. The tray itself is steaming, some kind of soup and steamed vegetables sit innocently on the platter. Violet’s stomach turns violently and she gags against the feeling. Just the thought of eating…after everything that happened today. What if she started swelling up again, the gum’s effects somehow triggered by other food? Violet covers her mouth with her hand as she tries to contain her nausea at the phantom feelings striking her all at once. She shakes her head at Veruca hoping that would be answer enough. Unfortunately it wasn’t. 

“Oh what could possibly be so bad about pea soup and vegetables? I made sure that they were healthy and that it didn’t have anything like-” She cuts herself off, huffing and looking at the ceiling as if trying to gather patience. Before she could scold Violet more, she spoke tersely. 

“I’m not hungry, now leave.” Violet slams the door in Veruca’s face. Or at least she tries to but a single pink bunny slipper jams itself between the door and the door frame. Oh come on. Violet feels frustration rise in her and she wrinkles her nose in protest. “What do you want now? Want to make fun of me some more? I'm not going to just do whatever you want, Salt. I'm not like your other pets. Now do me a favor and leave me alone!” 

For some reason unknown to Violet, Veruca looks startled if not hurt by her words. As if she had done nothing to deserve Violet's ire?! 

“What?! No! You aren't- you just- ugh!” Veruca stomps her other foot petulantly as she failed to find the words to express herself. She sets the tray she's carrying on the ground so she can grab at the door frame and try to push her way into the room. “If you aren't going to eat, you should at least let someone watch you to make sure you don't sleep. Daddy says you have a concussion and you aren't supposed to sleep until you've been approved by a doctor. You're lucky I'm being so considerate.” She states matter of factly, still failing to enter thanks to Violet's superior strength. Violet rolls her eyes. 

“As if you care,” the younger girl scoffs. “Besides the no sleeping concussion thing is a myth. A concussion is just like other medical issues and can actually be improved by sleep. Now if that's all,” Violet kicks Veruca's foot out of the door, “leave. Me. Alone.” Before she can close the door fully, the heiress makes her final plea. 

“Wait!” She sounds almost…desperate. Like she needed Violet to let her in. Violet cracks her door open again, exhausted by the other girl's frustrating behavior. “I…I need to be around someone right now. I don't want to be alone.” Veruca in that moment sounded so small and in some ways sad. Violet doesn't know what possesses her in that moment, perhaps it was empathy for someone else whose been through a lot today, perhaps it was a misguided sense of obedience to her new caretakers; in any case, the short girl finds herself opening the door and letting Veruca in. 

Veruca seems surprised at first, then she looks to the ground and wraps her thin arms around herself, entering the room without another word. And without another word, the girl pushed back the covers on Violet’s bed and made herself comfortable. Of course, what else did she expect from the princess, taking something from someone else just because she could. Violet rolls her eyes and sighs. She walks back over to the bed and sits on the floor. At least the carpet was soft, she shouldn’t have any problems falling asleep unless the pain prevents her from getting comfortable. 

“What are you doing?” Veruca asks, sounding incredulous. 

“Well, someone took my bed so I guess I’m sleeping on the floor,” Violet responds pointedly. This time it’s Veruca who rolls her eyes at her and she scooches further into the center of the bed, patting the spot beside her. 

“There’s plenty of room for the both of us. You really think I was going to make you sleep on the floor like a dog?” Well it would be appropriate to start training your new pet, Violet grumbles bitterly in her head. But she doesn't disobey Veruca’s call, standing up and readjusting herself on the bed again. The two girls settled in underneath the covers. 

There's a lapse of silence, tense tense silence as the girls try to get comfortable despite being in each other's presence, Violet more so than Veruca. Once the stale air finally stilled, it is interrupted by the heiress. 

“So, I'm insatiably curious, what was it like?”

Violet already knows what she is asking, but she prolongs answering as much as she could. 

“What was what like?” Violet plays dumb. Veruca huffs, turning on her side to look at Violet with wide, icy eyes. 

“You know …being a blueberry.” It is an insensitive question. One that has Violet curling her lip in disgust for the other's lack of sensitivity. Especially since it is a fresh wound that Salt was dumping salt into. 

“Not fun.” Violet bites out between gritted teeth. Her jaw is so tense that she experiences a wave of dizziness in unclenching. Veruca huffs again. 

“I mean, I could guess that. I wouldn't like being treated like someone else's toy. Although it was kind of cute seeing your little feet and hands wiggle when they jumped on you.” Blazing anger flushes Violet's face bright purple and her fists clench, nails digging into her palms. Her thoughts of hurt, anger and embarrassment whip around her head so fast it's hard to focus on one emotion. 

“You want to know what it was like?” She asks, practically hissing. Either not picking up on Violet's hostile tone or thinking that her pet wouldn't dare to bite the hand that feeds, Veruca says yes pretty much immediately. So quietly, Violet sits up while the other girl looks at her questioningly. She throws one leg over the brunette's laying form, sitting on her legs and preventing her from moving. 

“What are you-OOMPH”. Veruca is cut off by three hard punches to her stomach. She groans and whines in pain as Violet moves off of her. She holds her stomach, eyes scrunched closed. 

“Awww, it's so cute how your feet kicked and arms flailed.” Violet cooes condescendingly before switching back to her chilly inflection. “See how dumb that sounds?” 

“I'm telling Daddy you punched me and he’ll kick you out! You'll be on the streets by morning!” Veruca bites back, glaring at her to which Violet could only roll her eyes. She doesn't lay back down instead, criss-crossing her legs and leaning against the headboard. Staring up at the ceiling to avoid having to look at the rich girl. 

“As if you two would give up on having the most exotic pet of the century.” Veruca opens her fat mouth again. Violet doesn't care what she has to say to that. “Besides, you were the one who asked and there's your answer. It felt like I was being torn apart, like I was only held together by thread thin stitches that strained against my skin. My skin burned but my insides felt ice cold at the same time. I couldn't move, could barely speak. I thought I was dying. And all you could do was joke and laugh at the dumb gum girl turned circus ball. And when they rolled me around?-”

“Okay I think I get it-”

“No! You will let me speak. You asked and you'll get your answer.” Veruca's mouth snapped close. “When they rolled me around, I begged someone to make it stop right before my head slammed into the hard ground. Over and over again, I'm surprised my nose wasn't broken. I got so dizzy and sick And even worse? When they jumped on me? Any breath in my lungs left because I was repeatedly getting punched in the stomach.” Violet took in one deep breath. “So, to recap; tearing apart, burning, freezing, dizzy, nauseous, slamming and punching. There. That's what it was like. Happy?” 

“Well the garbage chute wasn’t peaches and cream either!” Veruca hisses, getting defensive of her previous insensitive behavior by attempting to one-up Violet. Violet scoffed so hard her stomach clenched in response. 

“Oh please, like it’s even comparable.” 

“I had to spend hours in the bathtub just trying to get the smell of trash out of my skin and my hair. Those squirrels scratched up my body so badly, I’m covered in cuts and bruises that might scar. That’s something I’ll have to carry with me for the rest of my life! Not to mention, the disinfection process so that those cuts didn’t get infected, an all encompassing stinging throughout my whole body.” Violet rolled her eyes at Veruca’s rant; some little cuts that might scar? Try being blue for the rest of your life. At least she could hide her scars with long sleeves and tights; Violet? Violet couldn’t hide anything. The champion’s attention is pulled back to the other girl when her voice becomes less whiny and more serious. “I was so scared, just sitting at the bottom of that chute, hearing that I could get burned alive and having more garbage tossed down on me. I thought they might try to bury me in garbage. I thought I was going to suffocate. By the time Daddy fell down with me, I…I couldn’t stop crying. No matter how much he held me, I couldn’t stop thinking that I could die there.” 

Violet feels something stir in her chest at Veruca’s solemn, whispered words. She found herself relating to the heiress’s words. And as much as she wanted to stay angry and demand why she even tried to steal a squirrel in the first place, she found she couldn’t. 

“I…I’m sorry that happened to you.” She says instead, Her bones ache, deep and tired in her body. She wants to sleep. She wants to feel safe enough to do so. There’s a silence that falls on the other side of the bed before Veruca manages to muster up the words. 

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t know that it was that terrible and I feel bad for making fun of you now.” Now that surprised Violet. She turned her head so fast, her damp hair whipped into her face. Veruca actually regretted something? It must be raining fire, Violet needed to check if the apocalypse had started already. “Oh don’t look at me like that!” Veruca whines, covering her face with the duvet. 

“You really mean it?” Violet doesn’t mean to sound as small and meek as she ends up sounding. Veruca looks up from her blanketed hiding spot with a furrowed brow. 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve always spoken my mind before, what use would there be in lying?” Violet pouts, pulling her legs even closer to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. 

“You lied about wanting to be best friends.” 

“Don’t tell me you actually took that seriously?” Veruca almost gasps incredulously.

“Of course not! There are no friends when it comes to competition!” 

“Then why bring it up?” 

It’s a question that Violet wasn’t prepared for. Why did she bring it up? It couldn’t possibly be because she wanted Veruca to actually want to be friends with her. Friends were just obstacles that stopped Violet from succeeding. Before now, she didn’t need any friends when she had her Mother. But at the moment? The moment reminded her just how lonely she was and is and could be for the rest of her life. Maybe that’s why but it’s not like Violet is going to share that vulnerability just yet. So instead she shrugs. 

Veruca looks at her with big, confused eyes and it prompts Violet to look away. She didn’t want to answer any more questions. Honestly…she just wanted to sleep. Sleep for years or until the blue fades from her skin, even if that means she never wakes up again. It’s a thought that dots tears in her eyes. She quickly wipes them away before the other girl could notice. She’s surprised by a sudden hand on her arm. 

The pressure on her still tender skin makes her hiss a little in pain and pull away. When her eyes find Veruca she looks surprised and sad. Which only confuses Violet further before she realizes that Veruca probably doesn’t know the state of her body at the current moment. 

“I…My body still aches and my skin still kind of stings. Don’t touch me…please.” The ‘please’ is tacked on at the end because the rest of it sounded a little harsh and Violet didn’t want to even imagine what her punishment might be for mouthing off. It’s already going to be bad because she punched Veruca but honestly…it was worth it. 

“I didn’t know.” The heiress says solemnly. “It honestly surprised me to see that you were still…you know. I thought it would come out in the bath like mine did.”   

For some unknown reason, this does make Violet cry. Like she could no longer stop herself from losing her composure. Perhaps it was the loss of hope she felt or the sense of abandonment or the pain radiating throughout her entire body. Whatever it was, it made the tears Violet was desperately trying to hold back start to stream down her face.  A sob catches in her throat and she brings her hands up to cover her shameful crying face. She temporarily forgets that Veruca Salt is there, all that matters is just how hard she can cry. 

“I! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you-what did I say that– tell me what to do? How do I help?” Salt shouts, hands hovering over Violet; trying to respect that she couldn’t be touched but also wanting to hold her to comfort her. Why was she asking her? It wasn’t like Violet had any experience in being comforted so how was she supposed to know what to do when she cries? This is the most she’s ever cried in a single day. 

Veruca starts humming. A melodic rumble that drifts into Violet’s ears and slowly but surely the tears begin to cease. A sense of calmness falls over her. Music. Violet loves music and the effects it can have on a person. It can make people happy or sad or even angry, but most importantly music can be a comfort. 

Back in her house in Georgia, Violet had a little Barbie themed radio that was a leftover prize from a pageant she was in. The bright pink thing barely worked and could only play three channels but Violet loved that thing with her whole entire heart. Violet wished she could listen to music all of the time but woe is she, she will never return to that house and to her room and to her little Barbie radio. 

Violet slips from her sitting position to one laying down. The humming continues as the last of Violet’s tears fall down her face. She’s so tired and the music is so nice. A song she knows but can’t quite name. She’s moments away from the darkness taking her when she speaks in a quiet slur. 

“Thank you,”she whispers. She can somehow feel Veruca's smile despite her eyes being closed. 

“You’re welcome.” Is the last thing she hears before sleep finally takes her on that awful day.

Chapter Text

The first time Violet wakes up it’s to Veruca’s shrill voice screaming at someone at their door. 

“But I want breakfast in bed! Why can’t I have breakfast in bed!” Violet can practically hear Veruca’s foot stomping through her foggy hearing. The voice that answers on the other side is stern but soft. 

“Because I said so. You’ll be dining with me in the dining room and that’s final, young lady.” Veruca harrumphs and whines. Violet nearly falls back asleep; her head feels stuffed with cotton. She can’t open her eyes either, feeling like they were glued shut by sleep dust and exhaustion. She feels sleep calling it’s sweet song to her once again and Violet can’t fight it. 

“Well what about Violet?! How come she gets to stay in bed?” Veruca’s voice is distant and far away but she can still hear her own name. Although she’s not sure she can bring herself to care as she snuggles deeper into her pillow. 

“Miss Violet is recovering from major body trauma, dear. She will wake in her own time and when she does, she will also be expected to come down to the dining room to eat.” There’s a long lapse of silence after that; so long in fact that Violet thought that maybe they had left the room and was surprised to hear Veruca pipe up one more time. 

“What if she doesn’t want to eat?” 

Violet doesn’t hear the answer because sleep finally swallows her in that moment. Her last thoughts about how if she could avoid eating forever, she would. 

When Violet wakes up again, she’s a little more conscious and aware of her surroundings. The big canopy bed is empty and cold so she surmises that Veruca is already up. She can’t tell what time it is, the curtains way too good at their jobs. Lazily, Violet sits up, rubbing at her eyes. Her body feels lethargic and achy; her stitches are itchy and her eyes feel swollen and dry. When she tries to stand she finds that her legs are wobbly. Falling back into the bed, the girl tries again this time with a little more gusto. 

Too much gusto. She overcorrects and falls flat on her face.  The pressure on her nose and forehead produces a throbbing pain, probably bruised from the beating they took the previous day. Oh yeah…the previous day. 

She was challenged by a man child chocolatier, messed up and turned into a freak abomination; her mother’s words echoing in her head. ‘ How is she supposed to compete? ’ Underwent a painful and stressful surgery and came out on the other side still a freak abomination but at least she could still compete. At least Violet thought so up until she saw the cameras. Up until her mother up and left her to the hands of strangers who wanted to use her for their sick game of caring owner and loyal pet. 

The feeling of needing to cry tickles the backs of her eyes again but Violet finds it’s almost like she’s too tired to cry. That or too dehydrated. 

There’s a knock on the door that makes her jump up to her feet. She shakes out her hands and slaps her cheeks, trying to bring herself back together. Breathing deeply in and out, Violet puts her game face on and struts to the door; looking confident is the first step to feeling confident. 

‘Confidence is key’

Violet shakes that man’s voice out of her head and opens her door to an unfamiliar face. They are wearing a confusing mix of casually formal clothes with a kind smile on their face. 

“Sorry to disturb you Miss Violet but I heard a thump and I thought I should check on you.” Her confusion at this random person’s appearance although unspoken was not unnoticed. “My name is Marie, I work as a governess here at Salt Manor. Now that you are awake, I’m here to escort you to Mr. Salt’s office and perhaps get you something to eat on the way.” 

Violet blinks sleepily, waiting for her brain to process the words the other woman was saying. Okay. Governess. Marie. Office. Those were all the words she needed to figure out what was going on. So this was going to be her keeper while Veruca and Mr. Salt are busy. As for meeting the man in charge? Mr. Salt was finally going to drop the act and talk to her about her role as their newest shiniest toy. Might as well suck it up and get it over with; besides how long did exactly expect the niceties to last? 

“Oh okay,” She ducks her head a little, looking down at her cold bare feet. Little blue toes peek out from the hem of the green sleep pants. Her sleepiness evaporates at the sight of the color, she feels the pit in her stomach deepen. Her voice is empty but polite, reflecting her game of pretend. Pretend that she wasn’t on this plane of existence. If Marie notices she doesn’t say anything, standing quietly while Violet exits the room and closes the door behind her. Together they walk down hallway after hallway, turning corner after corner. 

Violet feels anticipation mounting so high it feels like trying to breathe in deep on the top of Mount Everest. Thin and stinging and barely there. She nearly bumps into the much taller form of Marie when the governess decides to randomly stop in the middle of a straight hallway. 

“Are you hungry Miss Violet? Mr. Salt was very particular about making sure you had a fulfilling meal before coming to see him. We have quite a spread available. Pancakes, bagels, french toast, bacon, sausage and many many kinds of healthy fruits like-” 

“No!” Violet shouts abruptly, placing her hands over her ears. It’s childish to think that she could avoid hearing that word forever. And even more childish to continue refusing food after not having eaten for…for…how long ago was yesterday? She looks up and sees Marie’s surprised expression, the woman’s mouth opens–most likely to yell at her for raising her voice at her. “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry. I-I mean no. No thank you. I’m plenty full from dinner last night.” 

Marie narrows her eyes a little at Violet before shaking her head, sighing. 

“Miss Violet it is February 3rd at 1pm. ‘Last night’ was over 24 hours ago.” Violet’s mouth drops open, marveling how she slept that long ?! “Besides, Miss Veruca already let me and her father know that you have been avoiding eating.” Damn that tattletale. “Would you like to give me a good reason why I should let you skip brunch on this day?” Violet opens her mouth to reply before closing it. Opening and closing again; she must look like a fish out of water, gasping for words like air. In the end Violet remembers that this is the Salt house, not her mother’s. And that she was a precious product so there’s very little that they could actually do to her without risking damaging their prized pet. Maybe she could afford to be a little bratty. 

“I won’t eat it. No matter what you try, you can’t force me to eat.” Violet punctuates her petulant reply with a crossing of her arms and the upturning of her nose. Instead of reacting in anger and frustration at Violet’s childishness, Marie simply pinches her brow and tilts her head. 

“Why?” 

Oh. Where Violet was expecting a much more hurtful reaction, the governess responds with curiosity in place of irritation. Honestly Violet should’ve expected more out of the woman who regularly dealt with Veruca and her tantrums but it still surprises her how gentle yet firm the question is. But despite this lady being nothing but kind to Violet so far, Violet still doesn’t want to divulge what happened to her and that she’s scared of it happening again upon the first bite of real food. 

“I just…I don’t want to. Please.” Violet’s voice loses the haughty tone she had taken in her defensive posturing. Marie hums, nodding a little like she could possibly understand what Violet was going through about this. 

“You know eventually you are going to have to eat something, that or get a tube inserted in your body to feed you. It's up to you, dear.” 

The mention of tubes makes Violet’s eyes widen and her stomach sink. Memories of hard glass tubes sticking out of her bloated body, sucking out juice like greedy straws flood her brain and her body lurches at the phantom pain pulling at her organs. There are hands on her shoulders, most likely to steady her but all Violet can feel are the tiny invasive hands that touched her all over and she jumps away. Her feet are clumsy and her vision is shaky. Calm down, she reprimands herself. Come on stupid, calm down she chants in her mind. Calm down calm down calm down. 

By the time Violet is solid on her feet again, Marie is staring down at her with concerned eyes and outstretched hands.  She must’ve lost herself again. Damn it. Violet is better than this! She’s a champion! Not some weak stomached loser who can’t function without someone holding their hand. For the second time that day and probably the fourth or fifth time that week, Violet slaps herself to focus up. 

“Stop! Stop! What are you doing?!” Marie surges forwards and grabs Violet by the wrists. They burn like hot metal on her skin and the ten year old rips her hands out of the other woman’s grip. Violet cradles them to her chest and looks up at Marie with confusion. But not fear. Never fear. The girl clings onto her mantra ‘I’m not afraid of anything’ even as her hands shake. 

Why was she yelling? What did she do? Marie sees her confusion and seems to calm down. At least a little bit, because she’s no longer trying to grab at Violet but she still has a very distressed look on her face. She looks absolutely horrified and it makes Violet squirm. She’s going to have to get used to looks like those if she really is going to be put on display to the public. Horror and awe and laughter. The laughter will probably be the worst part; Violet hated getting laughed at. 

“Miss Violet.” The young lady was shaken out of her thoughts by Marie gently talking to her. Her hands fidget and Violet can’t help but wonder what the other woman had to be so nervous about. “Why did you do that?” Violet tilts her head. 

“Do what?” 

“Slap yourself! Why would you hurt yourself?” Oh. Violet comes to the realization that Marie didn’t understand how she worked. And that she wasn’t actually hurting herself, just…refocusing. She does her best to explain just that. 

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” She shrugs, rubbing at her arm before self correcting her fidgeting. “It’s to help me focus and get my game face back on. A champion always has to be focused on the prize. And when my thoughts wander or I start to get unsure I…I do that and it helps me get back on track.” 

For some reason Marie only looks more concerned at her explanation, a hand going up to hide her gasping mouth. Her eyebrows drawn together to meet in the middle of her forehead. Violet feels so confused that her head hurts and it starts to feel fuzzy. Looks like sleeping for as long as she did didn’t cure her concussion as she hoped. 

“Look, I’ll eat something later, I promise. Lets just meet Mr. Salt please, I want to get this over with already.” Violet prompts, starting to walk away before she’s stopped by a soft ‘wait’ by the governess. 

“Miss Violet, you and I are going to be spending a good amount of time together while you are here. You will see that you can talk to me. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe and happy and it’s a responsibility I intend to fulfill. But I can’t do that unless you confide in me. I’m seeing that it won’t be today nor tomorrow, but eventually…Eventually I hope you’ll trust me enough.” Her solemn words made Violet feel…guilty? For some reason, Violet feels guilty that she doesn’t trust this random adult who would be keeping her on a leash while her owners were busy. As much as she wanted to believe that she actually cared, the champion knew better. Everyone was out to get something and no one showed kindness for free. Not even that little poor boy she met at the factory.  

The two don’t exchange any more words as Marie leads Violet past the kitchens and towards Mr. Salt’s office. The silence which once was awkward now fit the atmosphere as Violet moved on from thinking about being forced to eat to being forced to perform. Although the longer she thinks on it, didn’t her mother do the same exact thing? She found a promising prospect–her own daughter– and used it for all that it was worth. Pageant after pageant. Competition after competition. Performance after performance. Money raked in from all sides and gold medal winning smiles made her mother happy. And therefore made Violet happy. It didn’t matter that Violet didn’t care for pageants or sports all that much because Mother was pleased with her. And that mattered more than the bruises, tears. and bloodshed. 

And now the Salts were simply doing the same thing. They found something unique in her, something her own Mother found irredeemable, and wanted to profit from it. She should feel honored. But instead all she felt was dread and hurt. How ungrateful was she?  

As her mind whirled with justifications and reassurances that being a prize poodle wouldn’t be so bad, they had arrived at the large door that presumably led to Mr. Salt waiting patiently for her to show up. 

Marie knocked a little melody on the door and a gravelly voice invited them in. Violet took a deep breath, puffing her chest out and straightening her posture. Into the lion's den they go. Marie enters first, holding the door open for Violet. The little girl enters, holding her head up high despite the unpleasant sinking in her stomach. 

“Ah, Miss Violet. It’s good to see you up and about.” 

Mr. Salt sits at a large and tall desk with organized piles of papers stacked on top, a desk lamp and Newton's cradle decorating the formal space. The walls are tall and sloping up to a point making Violet feel smaller than she already was. There’s a window behind him that casts afternoon light through gauzy curtains and Mr. Salt’s shadow is tall and reaches the tips of Violet’s toes. It looked like he was looking through some papers before they had arrived, of which he was now setting to the side to put his full attention on Violet. She kind of wished that he remained flipping through documents so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye when he gave her her role here at his company. His loyal and exotic showcase. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asks politely, waving a hand that apparently meant that Ms. Marie was dismissed. Again, Violet wished for the buffer that Marie would have provided. But now it was just her and him. The man who witnessed the most embarrassing and most painful incident in her life. Just thinking about it makes Violet want to cringe into her shell and never come out. But Mr. Salt asked her a question. And polite, good girls speak when spoken to. 

“I slept…okay. Probably the most I’ve slept in a long time.” Violet plays with the drawstring on her sweatpants, eyes pointed towards the ground. “Thank you for asking, sir.” 

Inexplicably, Mr. Salt lets out a hearty chuckle. 

“Only my workers and associates call me sir, Miss Violet. You can just call me Richard, or if you prefer formalities, Mr. Salt.” Violet’s head spun once, twice and then landed again as her twisted logic tried to make sense of itself. Wasn’t she to be a worker? Why have her address him so specifically? Even her own mother refused to let her call her anything other than ‘Mother’ because Mommy and mom were too babyish and too casual respectively. “Is that okay, Miss Violet?” 

“You can just call me by my name. I don’t need a Miss in front of it to know who you are talking to.” Violet counteracts, still not looking up at the man at the desk. Whom of which let a smile grow across his face, under the impression that he was bringing the girl out of her shell. 

“Okay, Violet. If that makes you more comfortable, then so be it. I called you in here to discuss your living situation. I figured out of everyone you should be the one to know what is going to happen to you in my care.” 

Here it comes. Violet closes her eyes, thinking somehow if she didn’t see then she wouldn’t have to hear. Words in big red letters flash behind her eyes; mascot, pet and worst of all toy . 

“Violet, dear, open your eyes.” Violet shakes her head, not realizing what exactly she looks like to Mr. Salt at the moment. A scared child. The girl hears the man stand up from his seat at the desk. His footsteps stop in front of her, making her take a step back. She doesn’t know it but she’s trembling. “Violet, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you…Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” His words are so kind and so gentle. Violet shakes her head so hard she gets dizzy. It’s not that she’s scared of him. She could probably flip him on his back in under two seconds. She doesn’t think that Mr. Salt could hurt her. So why was she freezing up so bad? Why was she so…So…afraid? “Okay dear, just take a couple of deep breaths. No need to rush, we have all the time in the world.” Violet does as asked and tries to suck in air. It’s cold and sharp in her lungs but she’s thinking a little clearer now. It feels silly how much she’s shaking under his gaze. Yet she can’t stop herself from experiencing that sinking feeling so heavy it is like cement bricks tied to her feet. Like the carpet beneath her is turning viscous and she’s slowly descending into it like molasses. 

“I’ m sorry, Mr. Salt.” She whispers, not meeting his concerned gaze. In fact, she doesn’t think that she’s looked at him once this entire time. Violet is calmer but no less trepidatious of her guardian/owner. It shows when he reaches a hand toward her and she flinches. He recoils and Violet doesn’t see the way that his lips purse and his brow furrows. 

“Do not worry about it dear. After everything you’ve been through I don’t blame you for being…um…” He’s avoiding the word ‘scared’ Violet just knows and while she appreciates it, she wishes he would just stop pretending already. “Can you tell me what’s gotten you so worked up, young lady?” 

“Will you just drop the act please? I can’t take this pretend kindness anymore.” Violet finally snaps at him, throwing her arms down then bringing them up again to wrap around her stomach protectively. “I-I can’t take anymore questions about how I’m doing or sympathies about what I went through when I know what you are going to do to me!” 

M r. Salt doesn’t blanche like Violet thought he might, instead he takes a knee. He gets on the floor so that he’s more on her level. He doesn’t attempt to touch her again either. 

“What do you think I’m going to do?” The older man asks, sounding inexplicably sad. Violet scoffs self-deprecatingly. As if he doesn’t already know? Why was he playing with her like this? 

“You are going to sell me!” She shouts out, moving her hands from her middle to her head, pulling at her already short hair. “Come get your nuts and popcorn! Come gawk at the Great Blueberry Wonder! Isn’t it so funny-looking?!” She starts laughing as tears come to her eyes and trail down her cheeks. “Let’s all make fun of the circus freak! Ha ha ha! Ha..haha...ha” Very soon her laughter turns into full body sobs. Violet heaves for air in between manic laughter and heart-breaking cries. She’s not quite done though, to Mr. Salt’s surprise. “But wait! Why have just an attraction when you could have the world’s most exotic pet for the world’s most specialist girl. A-after all, what better a consolation prize? If Veruca can’t get a trained squirrel, she could get her very own one of a kind, walking, talking blueberry! HA HA HA!” Her combined cries and laughter continue even as Mr. Salt wraps an arm around her and pulls her tight into his chest. 

Her fists weakly pound at his form, objecting to being held so tenderly. But was it because her skin burned at the contact or because she didn’t want to get used to this kind of comfort when it could just as easily get ripped away from her? Either way she wanted out but unfortunately Mr. Salt’s arms only tightened around her, mistaking her need to be comforted for..well…a need to be comforted. Perhaps he wasn’t so mistaken. Violet lets her tense body relax, hands still curled into fists but no longer punching and hitting. She feels his warmth all around her, and with her not as tense it actually felt kind of nice? Aside from the pins and needles at the pressure on her sensitive skin, Violet wondered if hugs always felt this good or only when she’s coming down from her hysteria. 

“Violet.” Mr. Salt whispers, pulling away much to Violet’s unexpected dismay. “Whatever gave you those horrible ideas? That is no way to treat a child, especially a traumatized one.” 

Violet blinks her wet eyes a couple of times, trying to comprehend what is being said to her. 

“You mean…You think I’m still human?” She certainly doesn’t feel like one. “That after the–the thing…I’m still a person and not just-”

“Of course you are, dear. What else would you be?” The father interrupts her, sounding scandalized, disgusted but most of all worried. He sounds so earnest. So caring it makes Violet’s lip wobble. 

“A piece of produce? A freak? A fully articulated advertisement? I don’t know.” She does her best to explain just how inhuman she felt. But it did not deter the man in the slightest. 

“What happened on the tour. It doesn’t make you any less deserving of being treated like a human being, Violet. If anything, you deserve that compassion more than most people. They haven’t seen the things you have; felt the pain you have.” Violet stares at the floor trying to process this information with fat tears racing down her face and hiccups stuttering in her chest. A hand gently raises her chin, so that her blue eyes meet the father’s own. “You are a child, Violet. You may not act like it, but you are.”  

Violet searches the older man’s face for any sign of falsehood. Like she could somehow x ray through his words and see all the ugly ulterior motives to match each sweet emotion-filled reassurance. Her mother’s tick was a cloyingly false upward tilt of her eyebrows; it was just a little too forced and it was how Violet knew to fall in line with the act. But Mr. Salt’s face seems to be free of any kind of cartoonish forceful expressions; only a long, sad face with a five o clock shadow and a torturous brand of pain in his eyes. 

“Now, I can’t begin to fathom the terrible things that go through your  head but at least let me reassure you of this. You are more than a product, more than a showcase and definitely not a pet. I called you in here to talk about your fostering situation as both Mrs. Gloop and I want to offer our homes to you.” 

Violet’s head spun with all of the information that was just laid out before her. Like a broken record, it kept getting caught and replaying Mr. Salt’s declaration of her person hood. She barely shakes out of it enough to comprehend that someone wants her. Not just someone, some two! Two people want her . For reasons that Violet can’t come up with, with her brain so scrambled at the moment. 

“Now you don’t have to make this decision right now. I understand this is a choice that will affect your future greatly.” Mr. Salt puffs out his chest a little, bringing a hand to his chest proudly. “I’ll have you know that unlike Frau Gloop, I have access to the best tutors and professors from across the world that I can offer you. Not to mention your own room, your own governess and if you still wish to be in competitions, your own coach and personal trainer-” 

He continues to go on like that, trying to persuade Violet into choosing him as her foster parent. Who could have even imagined that someone would try this hard into being chosen for a terrible responsibility of raising an ungrateful brat like her. Oh! Not just an ingrate but also a freak! Violet could only watch with wide confused eyes as Mr. Salt continues to posture and flaunt his prowess as a possible parent to her. Her brain decides to tune back in when he moves away back to his desk to pull out a small wrapped parcel. 

“And! I already have gotten you something to make your stay here more comfortable.” 

He holds out the package to her to take with an excitement akin to someone receiving a gift not giving it. No wonder Veruca gets everything she wants with such a conceding parent. One that foolishly believes that Violet has a future, especially one in the competing world. 

Before Violet could spiral down the hole of why her mother deemed her unworthy of competing so how could Mr. Salt possibly believe she’s still capable; the parcel was placed in her shaking hands. It's a really simple light blue wrapping neatly folded over something soft, Violet can feel through the paper. She looks up at the grinning man unsure. It had only been a day in his care and he’s already gotten her a present. Could this be a trick or another way to make fun of her? She doesn’t know and honestly she’s so tired and confused that she doesn’t care anymore. 

She unfolds the wrapping carefully, not wanting to tear into it just in case it was expensive. Violet tries to think back to the last time she was given a gift like this. Maybe it was all the way back when she believed in Santa Clause and before she started seriously competing but it’s hard for her to remember that far back at the moment. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t realize that her gift is fully revealed until she brushes her thumb over a fluffy texture. 

Sitting innocently in her hands is a mint green stuffed animal. Judging by the long ears and the little pink plastic nose, it’s supposed to be a rabbit. It’s cute but best of all it’s almost unbearably soft and heavy in her arms. For a bit she just stares into its beady black eyes before she hesitantly brings it to her chest, wrapping her arms around it. It feels…nice. Like a kind of comforting nice that Violet only previously found in scheduled routines and her lucky blanket. She’s nearly startled when Mr. Salt pipes up again, having lost her focus to the plushie in her arms, 

“Do you like it?” He asks, sounding an approximation of nervous, like if she didn’t like his gift the world would end.  “It took me a bit to find something like this, as weighted plushies do exist but normally are used in hospital facilities. And when I finally did find one, I was unsure what color you liked best so I just went with green; if you don’t like it, I can find another one-” as he says this he reaches for the stuffed animal in Violet’s arms. A flash of fear darts through Violet and she turns away so that the little green rabbit in her arms is hidden from the adult. She…She doesn’t know why she did that. It was just some stupid plushie. It shouldn’t matter if Mr. Salt wanted to take it from her…but it did matter because-because-

“I-I wanna keep it.” She says, biting her lip. “It’s really nice, thank you.” She says politely. Almost emotionlessly if it weren’t for the fact that she’s clutching the rabbit like a life line. Mr. Salt lets a small knowing smile grow on his face, seemingly serene.  The intense tiredness from before resurfaced and she, for some inexplicable reason, let her posture slump. She nuzzled her face into the stuffed animal, closing her eyes for just a moment. 

“Alright Violet, I’m sure you are very tired but we need to get you to eat something and to check you out with a doctor before I let you go back to sleep.” Mr. Salt speaks to her slowly but surely, like he’s speaking to a sedated animal. The sound of food makes her scrunch her nose but she’s so tired she doesn’t feel like protesting anymore. 

Maybe a little bit of food wouldn’t be so bad. Just some crackers and water…water. Water sounds really nice right now. 

And the adult is right, her stitches are really itchy and probably need to be cleaned out. Having a real doctor and not just an Oompa Loompa look her over and make sure she’s okay is a good idea. The prospect is scary objectively, but Violet feels like as long as she’s holding this…this thing. This bribe. This nice feeling that burrows in her bones; she’ll be okay. 

Yeah, Violet will be okay. 

Richard Salt felt proud. Proud of what he had accomplished. He managed to convince a frightened girl to calm down as well as successfully delivered his well-researched present. It took him longer than he’d like but Violet was calm and that was what mattered. 

The appointment with the private doctor ran long and the professional had to do a full body evaluation and was abhorred to hear about what happened and how the surgery went down. Of course Violet explained it all like it wasn’t at all concerning how her bones had to be reset and how she was unsedated the entire time; she didn’t know any better. She gripped the stuffed animal given to her so tightly it made Mr. Salt’s heart twinge a little. He waited impatiently outside while the Doctor finished her evaluation, thinking about how to help this very damaged child as a parent who needed to take responsibility for messing up with his other child. At least  his other child knew her worth and was somewhat well-adjusted. Violet on the other hand seemed to believe that everyone was out to get her, constantly in fight or flight mode. 

Immediately after the appointment, Richard could see that she was falling asleep on her feet so he gently guided the little girl to her room. She curled into a ball on the bed, hugging her weighted plushie to her chest and breathing softly; out cold before the blankets could even be pulled up over her.  

For a while, Richard Salt just stood there, watching Violet sleep. He felt so many things at that moment. Loss, heartbreak, worry so intense it was like it was injected directly into his veins and the beginnings of blossoms of anger towards the man that threw his precious girl away like trash and genetically mutated another terribly conditioned little girl until she was no longer recognizable as human. Who was he, a man child of a business owner who no longer had control over his own creation, to be criticizing who Richard was as a parent and scaring his little girl so terribly. Yes, Veruca was demanding and didn’t appreciate the things that she had but that did not give that awful man the right to capital punishment or his little workers the right to make fun of them. Of course it never would’ve happened if he had taught Veruca that no meant no but for some reason Richard gets the feeling that Wonka set them up somehow. 

That just by chance every single room they were shown was a room that caused an ‘accident’? 

But Richard could work on his lawsuit later. Right now, he needed to make sure that Violet Beauregarde was okay. A girl that confused him from the very beginning of meeting her. 

“Daddy, what are you doing?” 

Veruca strides next to him peeking her head into where her father is staring off into the distance. Richard notes how her eyes light up a little when she sees Violet and she goes to enter the room. He doesn’t want her to disturb Violet’s rest so he stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. His little girl pouts, sticking her lower lip out. She looks up at him in a silent question as to why he stopped her. 

“I know you want to spend some time with her, but Violet needs her rest.” 

“But she’s been resting for forever! She can spend a couple of hours with me, I wanted to show her my horsies!” Richard shook his head at his daughter’s demand. At least it was a reasonable demand this time, nonetheless he had to put his foot down. 

“Violet was barely able to stay awake for her doctor’s appointment. I’m sorry dear but she’ll probably be like this until her body recovers from the…shock…that it experienced. Besides I don’t think she’d be too happy about being woken up by someone who called her so many names.” He gives Veruca a stern glare, referring to her downright cruel behavior towards the other girl. 

“I already said sorry for that stuff.” Veruca pouted again, although this time it was filled with regret and disappointment. It takes her a moment before she lights up again, grabbing his hand and pulling on his arm. “If I can’t show Violet, can I show you?! Sea Biscuit just got back from the groomers and the braids in her hair are so pretty.” 

Normally Richard would turn his nose up at the thought of having to deal with smelly animals but he’s not doing anything else important today other than signing some paperwork. And he had to admit that he’s not spent a lot of time with his daughter since she turned 12. Spending some quality time with his daughter sounded nice after the harrowing experience the both of them went through. 

Richard Salt pushes back a stray curly hair from his daughter’s face and nods, eliciting an excited squeal out of her. She then takes his arm and with surprising strength pulls him away from the door frame and down the hallway towards her stables. 

The last image of Violet in his brain makes him smile. They have a long, arduous journey ahead of them; one that will no doubt be a lot of screaming and crying; but right now Violet is getting her much deserved rest. Little green rabbit perched on her chest and duvet pulled up to her chin, Violet slept peacefully. Which is all he could ask for in this moment of sad, painful endings and new beginnings.