My Lost Starshine (Willy Wonka x Reader)(2005)

14

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I sat alone in my office long after the great glass elevator had carried me back to the factory. 

The silence was deafening—thicker than the chocolate in the river below, heavier than the weight of every mistake I'd ever made. 

The Oompa-Loompas had long since finished their evening songs and gone to their quarters, leaving only the low hum of machinery and the faint scent of cocoa to keep me company.

But even that couldn't drown out her.

Y/n. My starshine. The one person who had ever made the world feel safe instead of sharp-edged and cold. 

And I had pushed her away—again. 

I had stood in that tiny, patched-up house and spoken of family like it was some contagious disease, like love was a chain instead of the only thing that had ever kept me from falling apart completely.

I stared at the silver hair I'd kept in a small glass vial on my desk—the one that had started this whole disastrous search for an heir. It mocked me now.

"I do not understand..." I whispered to the empty room. An Oompa-Loompa appeared in the doorway, head tilted, eyes wide and curious. 

"Have I said something wrong? She isn't my family... She's my friend... That isn't the same. Is it?"

The little worker simply looked at me—patient, knowing.

And in that quiet moment, the truth hit me like a runaway chocolate cart.

She wasn't just a friend.

She never had been.

"Oh no..." The words slipped out, barely a breath. Then louder, frantic. "Oh no. No, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!"

I bolted from the chair, knocking papers and half-finished recipes to the floor. 

I ran—coat flapping, hat nearly flying off—through corridors lined with glowing candy canes and humming pipes, past doors painted like giant jellybeans, all the way to the glass elevator.

"I'm coming, starshine!" I muttered between ragged breaths as I slammed my palm against the panel. "Hold on!"

The elevator shot upward—then outward—toward the city lights.

I landed in the snowy street outside the Bucket house with a jolt that rattled my teeth. The little place looked even smaller from here, warm lamplight spilling onto the snow like spilled honey. 

I could see Charlie through the window, sitting at the table with his family. He looked up—saw me—and his eyes went wide.

I didn't bother with theatrics this time.

I knocked. Softly. Desperately.

Charlie opened the door before I could knock again.

"Charlie, my boy," I said, voice cracking, "where is your godmother?"

He blinked up at me, confused. "She's at home. She's been feeling quite strange."

The words landed like ice water.

Strange.

Sick.

Because of me.

"Come along, Charlie," I said, voice hoarse. "Please take me to her."

He didn't hesitate. He grabbed his coat, called a quick goodbye to his parents, and led me through the snow-dusted streets.

Every step felt like walking on broken candy canes.