(Author's Notes): Hey! So I'm not dead, as it turns out. And no, this fic isn't finished. There's more to it, of course. I've been over on ao3 quite a bit, so I've left this story in the dust. I'm actually a bit excited to get back into it! I don't know how long it's going to go on for. Wonka's a rather persistent man.


(Matilda's POV):

As we rapidly descend, I feel more isolated than ever before. I'm stuck in, essentially, a glass box in the dark with no way out and the only other person inside is the man who kidnapped and imprisoned my father, who wants to use my imagination and creativity to achieve world domination. The only thing I have to comfort me is my notebook, but being that Wonka's also there, it's not much of a comfort.

"Comfy?" he purrs.

It scares me to hear his voice. We're in an enclosed space in complete darkness, so for all I know, he could be right next to me.

"James and Charlie will find me," I growl determined to not let my fear show.

"Oh, I don't think they will, not this time. This is a room on a floor that even my oompa loompas do not know about, nor have they ever been to. It is where I store my most precious and valuable commodities. It's under such tight security that even the most intelligent and highly skilled people have had trouble breaking in to. I've created another machine, another throne, in case there was to be such a riot."

As he speaks, he's hissing and growling and now he's so close to me that I can feel his breath on my neck and face.

"It's time we put an end to this cat-and-mouse chase once and for all," he growls slowly.

A few silent moments go by.

"You won't get away with this," I tell him.

Even in the darkness, I can tell that he's smirking based on his low, growling chuckle.

"I already have."

"Even if it's under such tight lock-and-key, there's no way you'll get me to sit in that thing."

"Are you so sure about that?"

I try to keep myself composed but, no. In reality, I'm NOT so sure. The last time he had me in that throne, I felt this strange sensation of power and control, something I've never really felt before. I've never really felt like I've had much control in my life. But in that throne, it was like I had the whole world in my hands, in my mind, in my veins. I could see anywhere, anytime, anyone; I could control what I wanted to, who I wanted to. I could make things disappear and reappear. I could make new things appear. It was liberating.

"I know you want to have that power," he whispers.
"I can give you all that you wish for, and more. I saw all of those memories you've tried to repress. Memories of people abusing you because of your differences. No more will people try to change you or make you conform. Because you'll already belong in this new world. It is they who shall have to change to belong."

"How is what you're doing to me any better than what they've tried to do to me?"

"Because I'm giving you power."

He stays silent for a moment longer as the elevator keeps plummeting down.

"You know, my dear," he smirks knowingly, moments later.
"If you truly consider it, we're not so different, you and I."

This makes my stomach jump.

"What in the name of sanity are you going on about?" I scoff shocked.
"I'm nothing like you!"

"Are you so sure about that?" he questions.
"Are you so sure that you're REALLY nothing like me? Tell me, what is the one thing about you that your mother so desperately despises?"

"That….that I'm different than other girls," I retort defensively.
"But that's—"

"What's the one thing you keep so close to you, the thing that you might kill a man to keep safe?"

"My notebook of my candy ideas, but—"

"What's the one thing you despise more than anything?"

"Conformity, but how—?"

"What is something you so heavily value, something that the world has so often tried to take from you?"

"Individuality, but that doesn't—"

"What kind of people are you most drawn to?"

"The ones that are different, but what—?"

"Why do your friendships with them last?"

"Because we understand and relate to each other, but why—?"

"Why are you so fond of Dorian?"

"Because he encouraged my creativity, but you—!"

"Why is it you get along with Daisy Bloom?"

"She's an outcast, but—!"

"Why don't you take note of the other Oompa-Loompas?"

"They're pretty much all the same otherwise, but why does that—?"

"And when you hypnotized that Oompa-Loompa to help you free Violet, WHY did you implant that command to make them act and think like a chicken and after it wears off, insist it never happened, no matter how much evidence tells them so?"

A chill rushes through my body as I recall back to that moment. It was something that I never really thought about, just an idea that spontaneously came to me. That question immediately makes my defenses drop and once again, I feel helpless and lost.

"It…." I begin weakly.
"It was…..just a harmless suggestion."

"Did you care whether they wanted you to do it or not?"

"Well, that….wasn't really on my mind."

"Then why did you do it anyway?"

"I just…..thought…..I just thought…."

My answer trails off. I'm afraid to admit it, but I don't know what I thought. I try to push off the weakness.

"Why all these questions? What are you playing at?"

"Do you really think this town wanted me to build my factory here when I first arrived?" Wonka replies resentfully.
"Of course not! I tried to raise fundings for the factory, show my ideas; they all laughed at me, mocked me, told me to just…..get a desk job like every other man. The only ones who understood me were other outcasts, the other 'weirdos,' the other eccentrics. A woman in platinum blond pigtails. My cousin, a mad man with a hat who's skilled in mesmerism. My sweet little niece, a blonde Irish girl with extraordinary powers and someone who also values creativity and individuality. Those at the City Hospital in the mental ward. The artists, the creative writers, the actors, the innovators of the world, to name only a few. They encouraged me to keep going, built me up when the rest of the world tore me down. But they too were also shunned by the rest of society for being different.
"Once my factory got on its feet, I only selected those who were different, thought differently, saw the world through a different perspective. Because I knew they wouldn't try to shut down that creative flow. Because they would have at least a basic understand of the method behind what society would call 'my madness,' though I prefer my genius, my creative muse. A normal man would want to do everything his own way, or should I say the way that the world brainwashed him to believe was his own way, not mine. He would try to 'fix' it all because it would never fit the societal convention.
"Did you father ever tell you WHY he fell into poverty? Not simply because of his idealism. No. He pursued the dreams that made the world mock and ostracize him. But his ideas were unique, innovative, extraordinary. He was someone who I knew I absolutely HAD to have as an employee. At my insistence, it was HIS father, someone who had found himself in poverty for the same reason at his age, who convinced him to speak with me. He had hit rock bottom. He'd been fired from multiple positions because he wouldn't always do things THEIR way. No other job would take him because his former employers would tarnish his name to make certain of that.
"You're the same way. You've idolized me because of my eccentricity, my novelty, my creativity. Traits that you despise your mother for attempting to suppress in yourself. I told you earlier. That world you claim to call home? You'll never belong there; you and I both know that. You've been told what to do and what not to do, who to be and who not to be all of your life. You know it's not conducive to a creative atmosphere. Try any of your ideas out in that world and you'll be institutionalized.
"I also know that you're angry about that; all of those people who mock you for being different, who suppress your true self, who call you insane for your natural way of thinking. Why else, when given power, would you choose to force an Oompa-Loompa, workers that are, in your own words 'pretty much all the same,' to humiliate themselves? Why else would you so heavily despise conformity that you'll go to such extreme lengths to avoid it? Why else would you take such solace in that notebook of yours? Why else would you value it above your own life?"

I try to remain steadfast, but each sentence is causing me to feel weaker and weaker. He's making so many legitimate points.

"You and I," he hisses slowly into my ear.
"Are one in the same."

Tears form in my eyes, as I feel my values conflict. I try to let them slip down quietly, but I feel a gloved finger softly and slowly wipe them away, as well as another hair gently petting my head, causing a tingle to run through my body.

"Dry your eyes, my dear Matilda," he whispers seemingly lovingly.

I can feel his body heat right next to me.

"It's far from a terrible thing, for us to be so similar. We both understand each other."

At this moment, it's like every sound but his voice just…fades away. Even though light begins to appear, I'm so caught up in this sensation that I only faintly see it, along with a silhouette of a soothingly-waving finger.

"You can have any little thing your heart desires, make anything your heart desires so easily. The world will never be a bore. Something new will always be waiting."

Excitement, adventure, always? My eyes widen at the mere mention. Finally things would never turn against me.

"Think of all of the fun we could have," he continues.
"The world will be at our finger tips to do with it as we wish. Father and daughter. And whats more, you can finally take vengeance on those who made fun of you, tried to suppress you; you can let those creative juices run with reckless abandon, something I know your mother would never approve of."

I'm like a fish on a hook at this point. I could…..finally take revenge on my mother, make her see things my way. She wouldn't have a choice. In my world, she'd be the crazy one. Yes! Yes! I want this! I need this. I'm going to say yes! I'm going to—!

Matilda!

A familiar voice calls out to me.

Snap out of it! This isn't like you!

Charlie?

I see his silhouette in the darkness. Have I finally lost it?

I know you're creative, and you want to change the world, but doing it like this just…...isn't like you. If you agree to this, you'll become a power source. You'll change yourself entirely. How is that a good thing? Change the world, by all means, but please: don't do it at the expense of your identity. We can change the world together, Matilda. Sure, it won't be easy, but you'll get to see all of the hard work you put into it pay off when it's finished! So what do you say? Why don't we change the world together? You, me, and James, as a team!

The silhouette holds out a hand. My mind is still trapped in between the two points. I could have things so easily and quickly, or I could draw it out. And yet….he's right. Would there really be any excitement in making things appear by using almost nothing? I doubt it.

Finally I hear a ding and the elevator opens into a long hallway. As I step out, I hear something fall to the floor, but I don't pay much attention. We trek down it for what seems like hours until we arrive at a large vault door. As he puts in code after code, unlocking lock after lock. I suddenly realize where this is. We're indeed at the very bottom of the factory, and I begin to question it. Is this really what I want, to essentially become nothing but a source of power for chaos? Be completely isolated from the outside world for eternity? Sure, he promised me a prince, but would I actually ever even see Charlie, especially after that whole fiasco?

After several beeps, I hear a lock click and, straining, he opens the vast door to reveal a tall, large, white room with the same throne but higher up. I can barely see it from down here. Alongside the wall is a large vent, as in nearly stretching from floor to ceiling large, I could probably fit through the gaps. We must be extremely close to the center of the earth for this room to need such a large air vent. Other than that and some machines, there's very little else. And that's when I wonder: Am I actually going to spend eternity down here?

Not a chance! I'm not going to power a world full of chaos. I'm getting back to Charlie and the others!