A/N: Well, it looks like I had more free time than I expected during the traveling, sorting, and moving in! I'm sure many of you are just as delighted as I am at the surprise, if not more so. Now, let me respond to your reviews.

Worstwitch1998, I couldn't agree more about how annoying this quarantine is. I am fed up with the restrictions being put in place. My having ASD might actually be making this harder for me than for many other college students. I'm glad that you love the story, though! My writing is one of the things keeping me together currently.

Ironbiohazard03, thank you for the extended compliment! It made me glad to read that at least one person is being helped even slightly through COVID-19 via entertainment. Regarding the analysis, that was exactly what I hoped to get going, minus the vibe stuff I hadn't considered. It can't be easy at all having chances robbed and easy tasks made hassles because of an angsty and unbelievable situation. It's quite the contrast from the point of view provided canonically, which has the sense of schadenfreude from the audience's perspective.

Violet had an unpleasant surprise when she came back to the factory from Bill's Candy Store the following Friday. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred when the shift ended, and the twenty-minute walk back had no incidents. However, when she took the Wonkavator back to the lodging and headed back into her stomping grounds, a big inconvenience occurred shortly thereafter.

Just minutes after coming back, she was sitting on a chair in one of the rooms near the kitchen when her skin turned blue without her noticing. She then started to blow up, again without her noticing until her inner thighs started to rub together just a few seconds later. Violet looked down finally and realized, to her shock and anger, what was going on.

"Oh, you have GOT to be KIDDING me!" she exclaimed to herself angrily. Quickly, she tried to hoist herself out of the chair before her arms became too thick to bend. She wobbled a bit as she stood up, but fortunately, she was able to keep her balance by waddle-straddling for a moment, although she was close to falling. There was nothing more that she could do to help herself after this point, so she just stood straddle and waited for the inflation to be over.

Never in her whole life had Violet been so grateful for a magically accommodating wardrobe. Since she had gotten back to the lodging just moments prior, she was still in her school uniform, which, of course, had to be kept in tip-top shape. She had no idea whatsoever how to make any kind of sewing repair. She took relieved comfort in the fact that the uniform was not going to get damaged, but that still did nothing to ease her peeved attitude. Why was this happening when it wasn't even half past five?

It was just her luck that this room had no windows, so there was no way to check if the sun actually was setting. Agitated, once rounded out, Violet pivoted her feet and waddled towards the door, gripping the T-bar attached to it to open it. She figured that she may as well have Mr. Wonka ordered here secondhand for assistance or an explanation. Hopefully, when she got to the Wonkavator and asked Rungdin about Mr. Wonka's whereabouts, he would not be in his office.

Violet made her way down the hallway, trying to muster enough energy. As a blueberry, it normally took her a full minute to waddle about twelve feet, and it was kind of exhausting besides. She had to shift her weight to each foot consciously, and part of her body always was giving drag resistance on the floor. Normally, she had to grin and bear it for only short periods of time every evening. This was the longest distance she ever had to face mastering—out of this room, down the hallway, into the common area, through the kitchen, through the living room, and towards the Wonkavator. If she couldn't get Mr. Wonka over as soon as possible to assist with all of her needed afternoon and evening tasks afterwards, heads were going to roll.

Unfortunately, Violet made it only partway through the extremely wide hallway. As it happens sometimes with older children, she had carelessly left an item—in this case, a small tennis ball—in the walking path. Not being able to see that particular portion of the ground ahead due to her girth, Violet tripped over the ball and fell forwards. She landed on her gut, facing the ground, while the ball skidded backwards out of the way.

The force of the tripping nearly pushed Violet's gum to her gag reflex. She was able to use her tongue to force the gum back into its optimal position instinctively. She then lifted her head and realized, to her dismay, that she had landed on her gut, without either hand near the floor—perfect for rolling, not so perfect for independent movement. Though she knew that it was futile, Violet tried her hardest to strain her sides to roll just a little bit. As expected, nothing happened. She was truly stuck. She looked around, glared with a big frown, and uttered an interjection that would have gotten her another stroke of the cane had she been at school.

Violet let her neck go limp. She wanted desperately to cry, stopped only by her view of it being a loser's reaction. Now what could she do? She was lying down with no way to move, nobody was present to roll her, and, as far as she knew, nobody was aware that she even was in this predicament.

She lay there for two hours.

...

Suddenly, without having cued it whatsoever, she heard the familiar "Ding!" of the Wonkavator coming from the living room. Mr. Wonka's low, calm voice followed. "Violet? Are you in here?"

Violet looked up to the hallway's corridor but couldn't see him, as he was in a room that was out of the line of vision of that area. "I'm in the hallway! It's just past the kitchen!"

Evidently, Mr. Wonka could hear her from that short distance, as he walked over promptly. On sight of Violet being on her gut and immobile, he paused in surprise.

"Oh, dear!" he remarked, sounding genuinely concerned. "How did this happen?"

"I just tripped." Violet scowled. "Now I can't even move. I've been stuck here for a long while."

"Here, let me help you with that." Mr. Wonka walked around her, kneeled down, reached towards where her shoulders would be normally, and pulled, taking care not to do it too hard or she would be tipped onto her back. Violet was lifted back to her familiar upright position.

Violet looked towards Mr. Wonka. "Thank you."

Mr. Wonka nodded. "You're welcome. It dawned on me that this time of year has much earlier dark hours, so I felt it necessary to come over and see if you were being affected yet."

"Oh, so that's what happened," Violet snarked. "You know, barring the occasional winter day, it never got THIS bad in Miles City!"

Mr. Wonka gave Violet a sad sigh. "Well, I have some bad news. Due to our positioning on the Earth's surface, the evening is just going to come earlier and earlier through the fall. By mid-winter, the dark hours should readjust to what you're used to. I'm sorry that this didn't occur to me earlier; I haven't been outside the factory for at least ten years, so the issue slipped my mind."

"Well, that's just great! How am I supposed to take care of myself in the late afternoons now?"

Mr. Wonka looked at the clock hanging over the mostly vacant sitting area where the hallway emptied. The short hand was between the 7 and the 8, and the long hand was pointing directly at the 5. "It's twenty-five minutes past seven right now. How long ago did you transform?"

"Who knows? I just got back from Bill's Candy Store, unloaded, and sat down, and the next thing I knew, this was happening way too early. Then I tripped when trying to head to the Wonkavator to have that midget collect you, and I got trapped in that lying position. I was bored to death."

"First of all, Violet, Rungdin is not a 'midget'; Oompa-Loompas are their height naturally. That's just his species. Don't be disrespectful. Getting to your main concern, I'm guessing that the sun probably set sometime before half past five, given that this occurred shortly after you got back. Unfortunately, this is just going to lead to earlier sunsets from here. I think you might need some extra assistance for a while. I'll figure something out by tomorrow."

Violet glared at him. Her brow almost turned her namesake. "Well, what about tonight?! Did it occur to you that I don't have any arms right now? It's not even my bedtime yet!"

"Of course, it occurred to me," Mr. Wonka answered calmly. "I'm sure you're not going to like this, but you are going to have to be cared for dependently for now. Have you had anything to eat yet since you got back here? I suspect not, going by your account."

"No."

"Then you will have to be spoon-fed, for lack of a better way of putting it. Believe me, I won't like to do this, either, but it looks like we don't have an alternative."

"Please tell me that you won't have any of those Oompa-Loompas watching. I don't want to be seen being spoon-fed like a baby!"

"Relax, Violet; none of them will be here. It will be just for tonight. This likely will be repeated ad infinitum for the fall and early winter, but I'll figure out something else by tomorrow."

"What about after dinner?" Violet prodded Mr. Wonka.

"Well, I'll need to brush your teeth, too, just like feeding. The same will go for letting your hair down before you get into bed, but I don't think that that one sounds quite as embarrassing."

Violet didn't confirm or deny it. She had no choice; what could she tell him?

"At least you can get into bed by yourself still," added Mr. Wonka.

Violet looked down at her stretched-out dress shirt, tie, and blazer. (She could not see her skirt.) "It's a good thing today's Friday. How would I be able to launder this for school tomorrow otherwise?"

"True," Mr. Wonka observed. "At least you won't be required to wear it tomorrow, since you'll pretty much have to sleep in it."

Mr. Wonka headed towards the kitchen, urging Violet to follow him. When she refused in fear of tripping again, he placed her on her side and rolled her there gently.

Once there, Mr. Wonka placed Violet upright again. The brief rolling had made a little bit of a mess out of her neatly pulled-back hair, but as it was close to her bedtime, this didn't matter so much.

He looked through the freezer. "How about sausage coins and perogies?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I figure that it would be best to avoid anything that left a lot of juice or crumbs, given that you won't be able to wipe them away for the time being," Mr. Wonka answered. "This way, we can avoid stains at worst, or at least a notable mess."

Violet was startled. She had more supposed restrictions? "Fine. Go ahead."

Mr. Wonka poured the contents of the box into a frying pan and got the whole thing ready, also adding a glass of water with a straw. Once finished, he prompted Violet to open her mouth and removed her gum, setting it in a napkin to throw in the trash.

"Don't throw that away!" Violet panicked. "I want to break a world record for chewing length!"

She was too late. It was in the wastebasket already.

"Oh, you're still at it, are you?" Mr. Wonka asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Well, I'm sorry. Feel free to start a fresh piece tomorrow if you'd like."

Violet ignored him. As a consolation, she figured that, given the fact of the kitchen being semi-private, this wasn't a be-all, end-all. As soon as she got her arms back tomorrow morning, she was going to root through that wastebasket privately and retrieve the wad.

Mr. Wonka fed Violet dinner manually by cutting it up into little bites and feeding them to her like she was a toddler, allowing her to use a straw to sip the glass of water by herself. Unexpectedly for her, every swallow tasted like she had mixed it with a blueberry drink of some kind, as she could taste the blueberry juice inside her throat as the food went down.

Mr. Wonka did a similar procedure for brushing Violet's teeth afterwards (although she still could rinse and spit by herself, which dyed the toothpaste bright blue), and he later removed Violet's hair clip and shoes before she got into bed. She managed the rest of the routine by herself, as usual.

...

The following afternoon, Violet had an important but uneasy announcement to make to Bill as she arrived into the candy store.

"Hello, Violet!" he greeted automatically. "You're a tad early this afternoon."

"Oh, yeah," Violet responded. "About that…" She checked to make sure that nobody else was coming into the building, so that she could have Bill's undivided attention. "I actually have to make a major change in schedule." Violet leaned further at the counter.

Bill looked startled. "Oh. I guess school got the better of you so soon?"

Violet gave a slight nod. "I'm going to have to drop Fridays." Anyone who was familiar with Violet could tell that she was a bit nervous, as her jaws were rotating much more visibly than normally.

"This soon in? You've been here for only three of them."

"Yes. You see, it's getting into that time of year where it starts to get dark much sooner, or so I've been told after observing it yesterday, and I'm still not too familiar with this area. I think that it would be best if I got home while it was still light out, and besides, I think I've gotten enough side cash by now anyway. I'll be here on Saturdays still, though." Technically, that was a half-lie; Violet had walked around these parts enough to familiarize herself with nearly everything's location, but the part about needing to get back during daylight was true, at least.

"I understand," replied Bill. "As I mentioned weeks back, students frequently run into complications like this, so it's no big deal. Your Fridays are dropped."

Violet gave a slight grin of relief. That was easier than she had expected. Bill lifted the flap in the counter shortly thereafter and let Violet into the storeroom to begin the day's shift.

...

Meanwhile, at the same time that Violet was talking to Bill about changing her schedule, an old worker of Mr. Wonka's arrived into the factory for another accommodation discussion. Jacob Wilkinson had been an employee of Mr. Wonka's during the time that the chocolate factory had been staffed by humans pre-espionage, and even after he had to fire all of his original employees due to the incident, they had maintained a close friendship. Mr. Wilkinson, in fact, was the only one besides the Oompa-Loompas whom Mr. Wonka trusted with business matters anymore, and Mr. Wonka often sent him letters urging him to come over for assistance. He had a scar on one cheek, presumably from an incident in youth, although nobody besides him knew for sure. Mr. Wilkinson also was notable for wearing glasses shaped like octagons. In this case, Mr. Wonka had sent a letter the previous evening, telling him that he was to come to the factory's office for a private talk sometime in the mid-afternoon.

Mr. Wonka heard a knock on the door to his office. "Come in, Jacob."

Mr. Wilkinson opened the big door slowly and entered. He looked around for a place to sit, before Mr. Wonka offered him a spare half-chair positioned near his half-desk. Mr. Wonka's office had everything, from the clock to the safe to the lamp, cut in half. He felt that a normal office was just too odd for an eccentric such as himself to handle.

"I read that you apparently had to discuss something that wasn't about the Wonka Corporation?" Mr. Wilkinson started off.

Mr. Wonka gave a concentrated sigh. "Yes. Just like our normal talks, though, you are to be sworn to secrecy on this one. Her parents would have wanted it."

"'Her parents would have wanted it'? Have you adopted an orphan recently?"

"No, Jacob. This is a much more unusual case than that. You see, I have a feeling that if I were disclosing this to anyone but you, you would think me mad and call an insane asylum."

"Well, nobody really could accuse you of being exactly normal in the first place," Mr. Wilkinson added. "Just look at all of the logic-defying products that you've invented!"

"That's true," Mr. Wonka agreed. "In this case, though, it has nothing to do with my corporation. I've been having a young girl staying in the housing attached to the factory for a while. No, nothing happened in a custody battle or parental tragedy, and her folks are alive and well."

Mr. Wilkinson's eyes widened in surprise. "This is the first I've heard of this. How long ago was it, and why is she staying there?"

"Well, that's where the bizarre part comes in. She had a curse placed on her very early in life, and her parents found it just too much to handle now. During the daytime, all is well, and she appears to be no different than the rest of us. At night, though, she turns into a blueberry. They got along somewhat well with this problem at first, but then she got too big for the inside corridors of the house to accommodate her properly, so I moved her in here because of my ability to modify space. She's been staying here for almost a month."

For a moment, the office was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. "Do you mean," Mr. Wilkinson finally broke the silence, "that this is just like that candy you had where…"

Mr. Wonka nodded. "It's just like that. She turns blue and blows up into a large ball, just like those Oompa-Loompas who tested that faulty gum of mine. Unlike them, though, while I presumably could get this child back to normal via the juicer in the evenings, it would be of no use. She would just go back to a full blueberry the following sunset."

"I now see what you meant when you said that anyone but I would call you crazy, Willy," said Mr. Wilkinson. "After all, I actually witnessed a few of those Oompa-Loompa trials on that three-course-meal chewing gum. Jeepers, I'd hate to think of what would happen if she chewed the gum while already like this. Could she actually get to the point of bursting?"

"I don't like to think about it, but luckily, I won't have to do so," said Mr. Wonka. "There is quite a creepy coincidence about this, though. This child is so fascinated by chewing gum that she has it in her mouth at almost all times. Her parents thought that it was only a phase, even though it's been going on for years. I admit it, Jacob, I don't mind that stuff occasionally—heck, I actually make it—but chewing it all day long is one of the most disruptive habits out there. It causes noise, and when not disposed of properly, the used wad can create a sticky mess."

"Wow," replied Mr. Wilkinson, "that is quite a creepy coincidence. What's her name, anyway?"

"Violet," answered Mr. Wonka. "It's the English spelling."

"Make that two coincidences," Mr. Wilkinson corrected. "Violet is a very close color to purple, and blueberries are naturally purple on the inside, despite their name."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" Mr. Wonka exclaimed. "You're right. Yikes."

"So, what did you want me for?" Mr. Wilkinson asked.

"Well, there has been a bit of a complication. Remember when I told you about this happening at night? Now it's that time of year when the sun starts setting in the late afternoon to early evening. Just yesterday, Violet discovered this the hard way when she changed into her blueberry form before she could do any of her evening prep, or even have dinner or goof off. You've lived in town long enough to know about early sunsets in fall, so you know that this only will happen earlier and earlier for a while. What I want you to do is to help her around physically for the time being—feed her, do part of her evening routine, and so on. She can't do them herself when she's like this."

"I understand, Willy. Say the word, and I'll be there at the proper time."

"I think you ought to be back sometime around half past five tonight and stay for a few hours so as to get everything finished. I do have to warn you though, Jacob, that her manners leave a lot to be desired. She not only chews gum all the time, but she also has a habit of snapping at people and talking like a smart aleck, sometimes with scoffs and eye rolls. I've received some of this treatment myself. I can only assume that she picked it up from her father, going by what I saw of him while she was being dropped off, but her parents seemed all laissez-faire about it, whatever the origin."

"I have been warned," Mr. Wilkinson asserted. "Snobs are nothing new to me. I don't like that attitude any more than you do, but if I'm the only hand you can find, so be it."

"It won't be forever, just until February, when daylight starts returning to normal," Mr. Wonka went on. "She won't even be staying here for the rest of her life, either. I was told by her parents that there is one way to put a stop to the morphing, and that's if she gets someone to like her mutually and seal it with a kiss. You probably knew it in your youth as the soulmate concept. Her parents plan to take her back when this is finished, however long it may take."

"Then it sounds like she'll really need to improve on her manners if she wants to lift her curse. From what you described, she sounds like the type to turn away a lot of people. I'm sure she had friends at home, but attraction just seems to work differently."

"I actually told her that quite a while ago. Goodness knows if it imprinted, but I sure hope that it did. Your thoughts are the same as mine, Jacob."

Mr. Wilkinson started to get up from his odd position balancing on the half-chair. "Just to make absolutely sure, I am to assist from around half past five until she goes to bed tonight, correct?"

"That is correct," Mr. Wonka confirmed, holding open the door for Mr. Wilkinson. "As I also mentioned, please keep silent about this. Her parents didn't want it blabbed any further than necessary, so think of this as another business deal."

"Okay," said Mr. Wilkinson, leaving. "I'll see her early this evening."

A/N: I have seen several first names that people have given to Mr. Wilkinson. The most common one, by far, is "James", but I also have seen "Thomas", "Jeffrey", and "Arthur". In this case, "Jacob" wasn't from a random name generator. The origin of the name is a Hebrew term meaning "supplanter", or someone who steps into the role of another. (I'm assuming that this is in ties to the Jacob and Esau story in the Bible, given that Jacob pretended to be Esau.) In the actual movie, Mr. Wilkinson stepped into the role of Mr. Slugworth to test the kids' morals. Here, he has been asked to step in for Mr. Wonka for the time that Violet will be faced with early dusk. He's definitely a supplanter in both cases, hence the meaningful naming here. I felt it perfectly apt.