Lottie Morgan decides to use her week's vacation to visit her Uncle Andrew and his family at Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Little did she know that she was about to enter a magical, delectable world and capture the heart of the sweetest of men.

"All that is gold does not glitter; not all those that wander are lost."

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, 1954

Based on the 2005 Tim Burton film, starring Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka.

That entire afternoon was spent going from room to room in the factory. Willy happily showed Lottie all around the factory, carefully explaining each invention to her. He couldn't remember a time when he felt so entirely happy and at ease with himself. He loved how her aqua-green eyes continually lit up in childish delight.

Willy showed her the Lickable Wallpaper, Fizzy Lifting Drinks, and Eatable Marshmallow Pillows. However, he prudently chose not to take Lottie to the Whipped Cream Room…

As they zoomed by in the Great Glass Elevator, Lottie busied herself with reading the labels on the buttons: Sweet as a nut…Sherbet shed…Stars in their pies…

Willy noticed she was occupied looking at this buttons, and leaned over to smell her hair.

He thought she smelled like caramel, or toffee, or was it nougat? Her hair, he decided, was definitely almond-colored.

They were passing another room now, one full of large pine trees with gummy fir needles and chocolate bark. Willy peaked at her and grinned to himself.

"This is the Gummy Pine Room…would you like to see it?"

"Um, alright," said Lottie, blushing slightly. How embarrassing it would be if he discovered she'd already seen this room before!

Willy smiled and stopped the elevator. "Come on!"

They walked into the room. "Do you like my pine tree glade?"

"It's exquisite, Mr. Wonka," said Lottie, dreamily looking around the room. "This room provides much 'scope for the imagination,' you know. If only…"

"If only what?"

Lottie was very frustrated. It was true that she loved his factory – his remarkable creativity. She was torn between two distinct emotions: admiration and envy. Lottie sighed deeply.

"What's the matter?" asked Willy. What was worrying her? What had he done?

"If only I could convey on paper one fraction of the creativity you've obviously invested into your factory, I'd be as happy as a queen."

Well," said Mr. Wonka, "if you've built castles in the air, your work need not be lost – that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them."

Lottie smiled at him. "I know you're right, of course," she said, "but…"

"But what?" said Willy, staring intently at her.

"Well," she began, "how could I ever hope to measure up other brilliant people that have gone before? Why even try?"

Willy thought a moment. "Why do you try? Why upset yourself? Just enjoy my factory, Lottie…"

"Willy!" retorted Lottie. "People don't write poetry…or paint pictures…or compose concertos… or invent marvelous chocolates because it seems like a good idea at the time!"

Willy stared at her. The shy, blushing woman was suddenly gone, and an impassioned woman was in her place. He couldn't decide which one he liked best.

Lottie continued. "We create things because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for!"

Willy gulped and stared at Lottie. Her misty eyes shone and sparkled like the sun.

Lottie, shocked at the speech she had just made, winced in alarm and put a hand on his arm. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be rude, Mr. Wonka – truly I didn't!"

"It's quite alright, Lottie!" said Willy sympathetically. "Really, it is!" He looked at her peculiarly. "Don't you think that I, of all people, would understand the importance of dreams?"

"Yes," admitted Lottie. She looked at Willy and saw no spite or embarrassment in his eyes – only understanding. Getting bolder, she smiled up at him. "Although I haven't written anything of my own, I have memorized some poetry written by others." She grinned at him and curtseyed. "Would it please my lord to hear it?"

"Yes, it would," said Willy, sitting down on the mint grass.

"This one is called The Lady of Shalott. It was written by Tennyson." Lottie stood on the grass and shyly prepared to recite the tale.

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

To many-tower'd Camelot;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow

Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott…

Willy watched her in fascination as she recounted the tale of Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat. Lottie knew Tennyson's entire poem by heart, and punctuated the story with dramatic hand gestures.

…There she weaves by night and day

A magic web with colours gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott…

Willy was truly fascinated by now. Why couldn't the Lady simply leave her castle and stop weaving her tapestry? Why couldn't she go down to Camelot?

…Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross'd themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."

"She…she died?" said Willy, a bit perplexed.

"Yes, Elaine died." Lottie was please that he had seemed interested in the poem.

"Why did she stop weaving her tapestry?" said Willy. "I'm confused…"

"Well, Elaine was cursed, so she had to continually weave a tapestry depicting what was happening outside her window. She looked at the people going by in her mirror. If she actually turned around and looked at the people with her own eyes, she'd become cursed!"

Willy pondered for a moment. "The moment she sets her art aside to actually gaze down on the real world after being isolated in her tower… she dies! It's just weird."

Lottie was intrigued at Willy's turn of mind. "What do you mean?"

"Well, here she is, a brilliant artist, and yet she can only stay a brilliant artist if she remains locked away in her tower from everyone. The minute she actually looks at another person, let alone talks with them, she dies!"

"Yes, I suppose that's about it."

"Can't art and life mix, Lottie?" said Willy, suddenly very poignant. "Can't a person be creative and yet have people they care about around them all the time?"

"Of course, Willy…of course they can!" Lottie was upset at his turn of mood. "Listen, I didn't mean to cause a huge philosophical dilemma!"

Willy laughed at her. "Oh my dear girl, I'm not being philosophical! Willy Wonka is never philosophical!"

At that moment, an Oompa Loompa with an impish grin tugged at Willy's pantleg. "What?" asked Willy, bending down to speak with the small man.

"Oh, really? I'll be right there!" said Willy to the Oompa Loompa. He turned to Lottie.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but there's small problem with a batch of peanut brittle and an Oompa Loompa is sick – I must go at once."

"Oh, gosh, Mr. Wonka, I understand!" said Lottie kindheartedly.

"Thank you," replied Willy. "I had just a totally, completely and wonderful time...isn't that just weird!" Lottie smiled at him. "Meet me by the waterfall at eleven o'clock tomorrow, 'kay?" he asked, fidgeting and becoming nervous. "That is, if you wouldn't mind…"

Lottie peaked over at him. "Um…alright. Thank you."

Willy smiled at her. "Good!" he said, turning to leave. When he was almost back into the glass elevator, he suddenly looked up at her with an enigmatic smile, remarking softly:

Only in their dreams can men be truly free.

'Twas always thus and always thus will be.

"Is that Shakespeare?" asked Lottie, suddenly intrigued.

"No," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "it's Wonka."