The rest of the tour was fairly unremarkable. Veronica was shown things that would boggle the minds of most men, scratching routinely at her checklist, and making notes here or there about anything special. Wonka had chosen to continue as if they had never even entered the room of roses, a childish light in his eye, a spring in his step, and a smile on his face. The fact was, he had become so used to forcing a smile, it didn't look forced anymore. Inwardly, Veronica was deeply worried about the candymaker. In one fell swoop, together, they had shattered his reality. Every wall he had built to guard against that one terrible truth lay broken. The present truth was that, for the rest of the day, he had been holding up remnants of that self imposed innocence, attempting to fool Veronica into believing that he was fine… perhaps to fool himself as well. But both of them knew, inside, that the façade had fooled no one. His most inward hope was that, once he was left alone, he could pull together what he had left and rebuild his walls. But even he gave himself more credit than that. He was too intelligent to believe he could just make it all go away.

To Veronica, it was a remarkable thing. She had seen, somewhere in that day, the boy Willy Wonka finally grow up. The child was gone, and there was nothing either of them could do. She hoped he could somehow use whatever it was he had gained from the experience to his advantage, but she knew he would need support for that. And that was something she wasn't sure that Wonka got on a regular basis. So when she was all but shooed from the factory, as the sun was setting on the little British town, she turned back to the chocolatier and looked him in the eye.

"I'm sorry for whatever damage I may have done today."

"You didn't do any damage. You behaved as well as Charlie did the day I gave him my factory."

"I didn't mean… I meant any damage I may have done to you."

"Nonsense…"

"It's not… nonsense…"

"I just need to be alone for awhile."

"And it's that simple?"

"It's always that simple." He said, rather less convincingly than the first time.

"I wish I could believe you… It was a pleasure to have met you, Mr. Wonka." And with that, Veronica turned on her heel and strode away, flat soled shoes clicking lightly on the cobbled stone street.

That night, Veronica had a dream. She saw herself, first entering the factory, seeing the chocolate river. She was with a young boy with shocking, blue velvet eyes that followed her wherever she went. She herself was still as she had been that day, proper, and stiff, hair tightly up. But her glasses were in her hand. Next, she saw herself in the inventing room. Her hair wasn't now falling in soft curls as it had been in reality, but instead remained in its bun, and there was a streak of grey running along it, from her left temple. The young boy was still there, and as he spoke to her, reliving the conversations of earlier, she saw herself grow a little younger too. By now they were in the room of roses, and the boy was rapidly growing older as they sat, back to back, on the bench. She, conversely, was de-aging, until both looked about sixteen. The teenage Veronica burst into tears, and the boy with the striking blue eyes and now rebelliously long hair turned to comfort her. And together, in a graceful dream-dance, the both of them grew into what they should be as the final conversation in amongst the roses took place. He had grown up, and she… returned to normal? She woke and sat bolt upright in bed.

"I can't pretend that what happened yesterday didn't affect me too…" She thought.

She knew exactly what she had to do.