willy wonka was something of a visionary, an inventor, a chocolate maker. he was a young man, yes, his forlorn appearance out of place in the city, yes, however his desire to make his name in the culinary world as a chocolate maker overpowered that. after all, what else did he need other than his chocolate, and a hatful of dreams?

well, apparently the chocolate world was filled with corruption, coersion, and sabatoge; how poetic.

see, after getting entrapped in the laundry under the strict eye of mrs. scrubitt and her goonish bleacher with the other unfortunate souls who had been scammed into having to pay a lifetime of sovereigns for their freedom, his underground chocolate-making business had gained rapid success, thanks to the help of the other captives, piper benz, larry chucklesworth, lottie bell, abacus crunch-- and you, and the young girl, noodle.

but alas, his newfound success was abruptly halted by a sinister ultimatum; if he abandoned chocolate-making forever and disappeared, everyone trapped in the laundry would be set free-- and with a heavy heart, he had agreed. little did he know, that that had been a murder attempt from the cartel; and sure, they had let most of the captives go, but not you, nor noodle.

when he returned later with friends to liberate you and noodle from captivity, he found the both of you on the verge of freezing to death-- it was not technically his fault, but he was distraught all the same.

"i-- i didn't know, i thought they'd let you go." wonka murmured, cupping your face in his hands out of concern as he surveyed you for overt damage; and to gauge how pissed off you were, how betrayed. "there was a plot, apparently the cartel paid mrs. scrubitt extra to keep you here, and, oh dear."

he looked rather like an ashamed puppy, with his hat off and brown curls astray over his forehead. noodle had forgiven him, to a degree, but you, in his eyes, had not. "i'm so, so sorry. if i knew that woman would have done such a thing, i'd never have left."