UPDATE! This is gonna be a pretty short intro. Thanks to Destiny Xavier16 for reviewing, reviews make my world go round! :D

Warnings: Dark Themes, Brief Gore, and Fluff

Theme Song for this Chapter: Young Blood by Birdy (I'm going to use Skinny Love soon too, such a gorgeous song), and the little piece young Harlow sings is an excerpt of Castle on a Cloud from the play Les Miserables. On a related note, I'm going to make a Broken Shards of Chocolate Glass Soundtrack (My brother's idea, not mine. XD I'm going to put it on my profile) And no, It's not going to be filled with Creed and Linkin Park, I rather listen to Rebecca Black. XD

On with the show, kids!

The memories had been eating away at the back of his mind for quite sometime now. The crippling flashbacks, the pangs of anger, everything delayed by Harlow's presence was quickly returning. Just tonight, he had a night visitor. A familiar one- but all the more unwelcome.

Roselyn Nightingale had peculiar ways of popping up when least expected. And Willy was certainly not expecting her inside his dreamscape, sitting by an imaginary fire and holding a little black bag.

To say the least, he was startled. The room was small and there was not enough space between Roselyn and him, there were no miles of land and sea. There was only the fireplace, and Roselyn, and the two Holmes-esque armchairs between them.

It was the fairy who spoke first; her blue eyes never leaving the flames. "You know, Wilbur, your mother didn't have to die that night. She could've saved herself..."

By that time, Willy's hands were already beginning to tremble. "Wha...What are y-you doing h-here-"

"I mean, she certainly had enough magick left in her to heal the bullet wounds. But she didn't. Isn't that interesting? Your mother chose death over raising you." The words began to pelt him now, tiny flicks of burning coal. He covered his ears with his palms.

"Lalala, I'm not listening!" Though, in the depths of his heart, he already knew.

"I loved your father, but when I left, he changed. I never really should have married him. I was reckless with love. I abandoned myself to it and abandoned my true self. I knew I would have to go back someday, but I still married him…you really should have never been born..."

"I don't know what she sees in you, that Harlow. You're cruel, cold, and angry. You don't even remember what's it like to be a kid, so you act worse than one..." Roselyn paused in the middle of an insult, "She doesn't know, does she? I suppose that's why she's still here."

Willy nodded, hands still clasped to his head. "Not a thing." It was rare for the chocolatier to give out such a straight-forward answer, but Roselyn had ways of... encouraging people to talk. It was best to save himself the pain and answer honestly.

"Boy, won't she be in for a shock. What if she leaves? Then we'll both be without a girl, and we can cry and eat ice-cream together!" The fairy laughed, and in the shadow's flame he saw a pair of all too familiar dimples. Harlow's dimples, Willy knew them anywhere...

Didn't Roselyn have a daughter? The little girl in the pale blue dress, wandering outside the gates. The one with the pretty voice and the broken song. Ah yes, he remembered her. She was the reason this whole curse began, began he wouldn't take in the little pipsqueak. Things were different back then.

"Did you really expect me to save her, Roselyn? I...I didn't-"

"Your father and I had an agreement, that when the time came he would-"

"I am not my father!" Willy's face was ashen, he was trembling. "I am nothing like him."

"Damn right you're not! And maybe if you were you could've spared her a lot of pain. I couldn't take her to Taninli, she's half-human, she needed you! And you claim you love her, that she's 'your' Harlow, when it's all your fault she's...that she..." Roselyn's voice shattered into a million pieces, and she handed the black bag to him.

Willy's arms stayed where they were, the bag went unnoticed. "D-Did you just s-say...Harlow? Did...Are you..."

Flashback to that November night, fifteen years ago, the clouds were weeping and the rain was pounding on the factory door.

The little girl stood on the wrong side of the gates, her toddler knuckles too white from clutching on the bars. Her big blue eyes looking up at the chimneys, the smoke and the ashes.

He watched from the tower, the whole scene magnified in front of him, the whole outside world. He could see her skinny arms, her puffy lips, he could hear her voice. Like an angel singing outside the gates of hell.

There is a room that's full of toys,
There are a hundred boys and girls,
Nobody shouts or talks too loud,
Not in my castle on a cloud.

There is a lady all in white,
Holds me and sings a lullaby,
She's nice to see and she's soft to touch,
She says "I love you very much."

I know a place where no one's lost,
I know a place where no one cries.
Crying at all is not allowed,
Not in my castle on a cloud...

There was a man walking behind her, and he was twitching. "Come now, Harlow."

The little girl still stood outside the gates.

"Still there, Harlow? I thought I said come!"

She didn't flinch, not even as his hand swooped down and slapped her. Hard.

"Goddammit, I said come!"

And that's when the curtains closed, and Willy Wonka exited the tower. He didn't even look back.

Not at the three-year-old being mercilessly beaten on the street.

He woke up in a cold sweat, with his fist clenched around the black bag. Roselyn was gone, her voice still ringing in his ears, and he was in his own room.

"And you claim you love her, that she's 'your' Harlow, when it's all your fault she's...that she..."

He was up in a heartbeat, breathing heavily and tearing open the bag. He needed to know...what she meant.

Was Roselyn her...her mother?

"Oh...Oh my."

Inside the bag, there was a picture. Of a new born girl, wrapped in a pepto-bismol looking blanket, her face was paler than his own. Her little fist clenched and her blue eyes half-open. Willy's fingertips paused at her eyelashes, like tiny feathers tickling her cheekbones.

"Oh my god...Harlow..."

There was no denying that baby was her, especially with Roselyn's script across the photo's bottom.

Harlow Rose Nightingale, 6 Pounds 13 Ounces, 17 Inches.

December, 17th, 1993. Oh sweet child of mine.

The confectioner sat there for minutes, staring at her picture, her sweet infant face. For Wonka was holding it right before the tears had started to form.

There is a room that's full of toys,
There are a hundred boys and girls,
Nobody shouts or talks too loud,
Not in my castle on a cloud.

There is a lady all in white,
Holds me and sings a lullaby,
She's nice to see and she's soft to touch,
She says "I love you very much."

I know a place where no one's lost,
I know a place where no one cries.
Crying at all is not allowed,
Not in my castle on a cloud...

"I-I never thought less of you, my darling Harlow," the chocolatier whispered in a strained voice, "It was m...my fault, not yours."

He tucked the photo in his jacket, next to his heart. This was no time for shock, not yet.

"Tonight." Willy decided. "I-I will show her tonight."

And with a final dab at his eyes, he was off to find her. After all, that was all a part of Roselyn's plan.

I know this chapter must be confusing or devastating, but it'll all be explained in the next few chapters. We're finally going into Willy's past, and shits about to get real.

Don't forget to review. ;) Now. Or there might be...an accidental discontinuing of this story.

Check my profile for the soundtrack :D Chapter by Chapter.