After Charlie had left, Veruca got out of her dress, and into her nightgown of pink silk. She then made her way over to the exquisite bed that Wonka had set-up for her. It seemed that sleep would come easily to her that night, as she had be forced to awaken early in order to get to the factory on time. Being the busybody insomniac that she was, it was very rare for her to actually be tired enough to go to sleep at a decent hour. She picked-up the book she was reading, a Lewis Carroll collection, but then found herself drifting off to sleep, so she dropped her book to the side, before sinking back into the down pillows. And then, the door opened.

The girl sat-up with a start, as the last thing she had expected was for her door, which was locked, to come flying open. At first, she did not see anyone there, but simply an elegant silhouette of a tall man in top hat and a decorative walking cane.

"Mr.Wonka," she mumbled, still rather tired, "What are you doing in here at this hour?" She pulled the blanket up past her breasts, as she knew her nightgown did not leave much to the imagination.

"Oh? Oh dear…this is not the Invention Room," yet he spoke in such a style that proved that he had found the very place he had wished to enter. He remained at the door-jam, the moonlight causing an eerie ghost-like glow to dance off of him.

"How do you not know your own factory by now?" She did not mind that he was there, but something about his presence caused her to feel uneasy. Well, uneasy in a way that she either wished to run as far away from him as possible, or take his hand just to assure herself that he was, in fact, real. She knew he was real, of course, as she had kissed him once a long while ago, and it is common knowledge that one cannot kiss a person who is not real. He was as 'real' as she was unless she was Schizophrenic, which was not the case. She remembered having read-up on Schizophrenia and learning that it caused people to see and interact with beings who were not really there. One of the telltale signs that they person who they were speaking to was fake, was that they never changed. Wonka was the same as he had ever been. But then again, other people knew Wonka and he made chocolate. Unless those people were fake as well, but she had attended the factory with her father, and without her father she could no possibly exist. What it she didn't exist? But she knew she existed, and as Descartes had concluded in such questioning: I think, therefore I am . Thus, she existed and so did Mr.Wonka. (Mind you, although not related to anything that was happening in the room at the moment, such thoughts were very common to Miss Veruca Salt, and were questioned, worked-through, and resolved within less than a minute's time).

"And how do you know I meant what I said?" He retorted with a sly smirk as he made his way slowly over to the bed where the girl was still huddled. As he approached, she got out of the bed, turned her back to him so that he could not see more than she wished for him to, and put on her bathrobe of white silk.

"I knew you did not. But then why did you bother saying it in the first place?"

"Veruca, you will come to learn that most people do not mean what they say. Why, if we all said what we meant, then we would be friendless, rejected, and possibly facing jail-time."

"I think that it a little silly," she walked over to her vanity table and sat down, mostly so that she could speak to him through his reflection as opposed to looking him in the eye.

" A little silly? Say exactly what you are thinking, and such will prove that my theory is correct."

Veruca took a deep breath, "I think you are mad. I am also rather creeped-out by how you just came in here. You are a curious man, Mr.Wonka. Rather frightening, but curious."

He smiled in a way that caused a cold jolt to run down the young girl's spine, "You see. I am correct."

"Yes, but you are also a hypocrite. You surely are not saying exactly what is on your min," No that she had much a desire to know. Actually, strike that. She did. She wanted to know, but would not even admit such a thing to herself.

"That is because if I were to say what I was thinking, you would…I will actually not progress with that thought, as then you will argue it," Or yell at him, as he had spent the past several minutes allowing his eyes to moved over every curve of her body, slowing adjusting to the woman she had become. For such a skinny child as she had been, Veruca had filled-out very nicely, Of course, Wonka had never paid any mind to the figure of a woman before, (well, he had a few times, but never to the extent that he cared for detail), but to him, she was the example of what a woman should be. She had soft curves while still maintaining a childish look. She was purely ethereal; much likes a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Girls like her no longer existed, except in the case of Veruca.

"I most likely would," she responded rather honestly. Why was he in there, anyway? It seemed rather curious to her, but she did not mind. Yes, he was a bit frightening, but he was also entrancing. In the sallow light of the moon and the dimming candle upon her nightstand, his skin looked almost luminescent, "Did you come in here just to sit on my bed, or was there a reason?"

He stood-up and walked slowly over to her, placing a cold hand upon her bare shoulder. His hand was so cold to the touch, and so smooth, that he felt much like an embalmed corpse. Perhaps that was why he always wore gloves. But not now, no. Instead, it seemed as if through that touch, he was trying to let Veruca in on a secret.

"My dear girl," he whispered so lightly that it sounded more like a hiss, "I just wish to help you understand how my factory works."

"But why so late?" She arched her neck back as to try and get his frigid hand off of her.

"Because at this hour of the night, most the world is asleep. And when most the world is asleep, the din of their thoughts are entrapped within their dreams."

Veruca gazed-up at him for a moment, as if trying to take in what he had just said, "But what does that have to do with your factory?"

"Everything here is the result of uninhibited thoughts. We have all learned to suppress thoughts of things that seem impractical to most. When people find themselves thinking things beyond comprehension, then they consider themselves 'mad'," he gripped onto her wrist as to guide her along with him out of the room.

She followed in suit, not knowing why she had chosen to do so. However, she felt almost as in a trance, perhaps because she was lacking sleep, perhaps because he held an odd sort of power over her. Either way, she followed him into the Chocolate Room which, when not lit, looked more like a haunted forest.

"Look at this, Veruca. It is an entire room made of candy. An oasis of imagination come to life."

Veruca nodded, 'I know, Mr.Wonka. We came in here during the Golden Ticket tour."

"But you see, you were still young enough to appreciate it then," he gripped onto her wrist a bit tighter, as if claiming her by keeping her there.

"I appreciate it now. It is very beautiful and…"

"That is topical, my dear child. This is proof that if one truly wants something, then they can make it happen by imagining it. I dreamt this room up. I dreamt this factory up. I dreamt my fate up…and here it is right here before you," He let go of her wrist, but only to bring his hands up to cup her face, "The problem with people is that they listen to people."

She closed her eyes as those freezing hands touched her face; she was frightened, but eerily calm, "And I am…?" She was just wondering why he was telling her all of this. After all, it was not the type of thing that one person told another, or even said to themselves. Then again, this Willy Wonka, so Veruca realised she had to expect the unexpected.

"You are skeptic, but here is proof, here in this room, here in this factory, here in me," he leaned down in order to rest his forehead against hers.

"I do not know what you are talking about," she stepped away from him, but in her attempt to move, he grabbed back onto her wrists. She stopped trying to move back, as she knew that it would only cause more problems if tried to. That, and she was intrigued. There was no possible way his intentions could have been pure; Veruca may have been sheltered, but she was always on her guard.

"You want everything, and you can get it so long as you imagine it. Everything, Veruca. I wanted everything, and I made getting what I wanted possible, and now I have almost everything I have ever wanted, by simply wishing it upon myself. Anything you want, Veruca. Anything ."

She moved backwards a bit, "I want to get back to bed."

He let go of her hands, and just smiled, "Alright. Go back to bed, dear child. But let me take you back in my yacht. You remember my yacht, don't you? I made it from a hollowed-out candy. Remember, you wanted one just like it?"

Veruca nodded, "Yes. Yes. I remember," Oddly enough, those words soothed any fear she had, 'Just this time, please do not show the movie."

Needless to say, no one else in the factory would see Veruca for four days.