being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.
(a wonka x oc fic in which fickelgruber’s idealistic young wife, who married rich for the need to support her family and the hope to follow her dream of a life on the stage, longs for a chance to make a change and finds it in the form of the daringly earnest newcomer.)
i regret to admit that i have got a sweet tooth. unfortunately it must be confirmed that i have indeed got the hots for chocs. let the record show that i do think that candy’s dandy
plots are half revealed, and willy "mr accidentally steal yo girl" wonka gets his sorry ass saved by a woman wearing one of those "oh no my husband mysteriously floated away died" robes you see all over pinterest. (now there's a sentence i never thought i'd write.)
2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k
i would like to thank mr mathew baynton in that one bts interview for those bits and pieces of fickelgruber analysis that will totally now be used here. and also for being generally wonderful. thanks mat ilysm
also i thought it would be sort of funny for at least someone in this world revolving around chocolate to be lactose intolerant and then of course i had to turn it into something sad and poetic bc of Who I Am As A Person
enjoy!! and thank you for all the support on this fic so far!!
part two fic masterlist part four
She had a lot to think about that night.
Felix hadn’t returned home yet, and she started to worry that the fateful flying chocolates weren’t quite as harmless as advertised. The young man who’d made them, too, was swirling about her mind in a haze of schoolgirl blushes and piercing guilt.
Florence Fickelgruber had chosen her lot when she agreed to take on that name. Who was she to imagine a freer life, one of candy-coated dreams and a clear conscience, of gazes and banter with someone her own age, of running her hand through curls that weren’t slick with expensive gel? Who was she to foolishly wish for anything different, when so many people were counting on her?
She missed her home, her family, and it hadn’t been lost on her that Felix had never told her about his own background. Their wedding was attended mainly by those surrounding the Fickelgruber business, as well as another flood of press. She’d had to blink so much that day, unused to being in front of cameras after a youth spent on the stage, but her new husband had preened next to her as if this focus on appearance was where he felt most at home. She remembered the crowd’s polite cheers fading in her mind as he had slowly lifted her chin while she accepted a forkful of the most extraordinarily decadent chocolate cake.
For that day, she had allowed the feeling of his hand on her face to eclipse that of the too-rich frosting stuck in her throat.
Then he came through the door, humming a jaunty tune, and she blinked, torn out of the memory that she felt an entirely different kind of guilt for indulging in.
“Felix? Darling, where have you been?”
“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty auburn head, my songbird. The boy’s finished, absolutely finished. No one will be flying about the Galeries Gourmet if the police have anything to say about it.”
“What-what do you mean?”
“He’s disturbed the peace, made a commotion, even encouraged the-the-the unfortunate to disgrace our sacred sanctuary of chocolate. And the Chief is none too happy about it.”
“Is he?” she said suspiciously, stepping in front of him-because, up until this point, he hadn’t looked her in the eye.
Felix was silent for a moment, cacao eyes darting. His wife’s gaze was strong and unyielding-don’t lie to me again, I can’t take it-but her head tilted innocently to the side, a sort of plausible deniability.
A sort of protection.
“Yes,” he breathed with a curt nod, and took her hands in his. “I promise you, it was a solemn thing.”
“Then what were you singing as you came in?”
The chocolatier blinked again, falling into an absolutely done sort of expression, and Florence’s head tilted to the other side.
“You’ve had another musical number without me.”
“I’m terribly sorry, pet.”
“You know you can’t hide from me, Felix,” she said, something that would have been playfully teasing but held an edge of desperation that he refused to pick up on.
“It of course wasn’t the same without you,” he drawled in that ever-dramatic way, bringing her into their living room. “We’ll make it up now. Dance with me, Florence.”
He snapped his fingers, and some unseen yet attentive servant placed a needle on a record. A crooning melody started to crackle and bounce across the high golden ceilings, and Felix spun his wife into him, twirling her about with a smirk that she could only imagine to be the result of a monopoly saved.
She swayed to and fro in his arms, trying desperately to sink into the music, unable to focus on anything but the wrenching pull of her battling guilts.
~
Florence spent much of the next day in a state of ping-ponging worry. She’d looked intently out of the mansion’s sprawling windows over the town square, wondering whether her forbidden new friend had taken her advice.
“Just…don’t give up.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
And who knows what they’ll do to him now?
The hours had passed in a blur, and then she was laid limp, unable to sleep, and mentally exhausted, next to her husband and his piccolo snore.
She had screwed her eyes shut and burrowed into him, trying to force herself to feel as secure as she did two years ago; then, the slight sound of a little girl’s singing voice lifted itself into her consciousness, followed by the blare of a police car.
Puzzled, Florence carefully got out of bed and went to the window once more. The girl she’d heard was the one with the sweet smile that she’d seen in the Galeria yesterday, and Willy Wonka was next to her, warning her to run. The Chief of Police and Officer Affable faced them, but this wasn’t to last-the former seemed to tell the latter to leave, and the latter obeyed.
It wasn’t as if a switch flipped at that moment.
More like…
An extinguished candle was finally relit.
Before she could overthink herself into inaction, Wren was grabbing her robe and slippers and bolting downstairs, the snore that echoed after her serving as reassurance that she wouldn’t be found out. In her haste, she had the passing realization that this would be the first time she’d leave the house with her hair down and uncoiffed in over two years.
Through this rush, she heard the plunge of something in the town square’s fountain along with the shouts of the Chief, and she ran faster, throwing open the door just in time to see him about to club a drenched Willy over the head.
“OFFICER!”
Both men turned to her in an instant. She let out the breath she’d been holding since first hearing the girl’s voice, rolled her shoulders back, dropped into the character she’d played for the past two years, and stepped forward.
“What on earth is going on?”
They stared, each with a different kind of shock, as she walked toward the fountain. The Chief returned his nightstick to its holster.
“Mrs. Fickelgruber,” he stammered, “I thought you would have thought-well, I guess he didn’t tell-you aren’t-”
“No, I’m not thrilled about you clobbering this poor young man in the middle of the night,” she said, placing a hand on Willy’s shoulder. He looked at her, still touched with the fear of the past minutes but now grateful, and she tried not to be struck by the freckles she saw behind his water-plastered curls.
“Who said anything about clobbering?” the Chief laughed somewhat nervously. “We were just having a chat. An impactful, memorable chat. Right, Mr. Wonka?”
Willy dragged his eyes to him and held them there, a bit speechless.
What was probably three seconds but felt like an eternity of strange silence passed.
“Memorable indeed.”
“Right, then,” the Chief said. “You’ll do good to continue to remember it. Goodnight, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”
With that, he entered his car and drove away, his tail lights fading in the distance as the remaining pair stood, a little shell-shocked, her hand still on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said after a while, his gaze still trailing the receding police car.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, giving his shoulder an awkward pat, which made her realize just how cold he was due to the impromptu fountain bath. “Oh, God, you’re freezing. Let me…”
As he turned towards her, she looked up, trying to see through her window in the dark. She could barely make out the shape of a sound-asleep Felix, still in bed.
“Come to the office, I’ve got the key. There’s a fireplace there; you can stay as long as you need to to warm up.”
“Are you sure?”
His eyes moved up the same way, then back to her, and she shook her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Of course.”
~
“Do you want anything to drink? Water, tea? Hot chocolate?”
She hadn’t turned on most of the lights so as not to draw attention, but she’d started a beautiful fire, which Willy sat by in a plush emerald-green chair. She’d rattled off the drinks on habit, but she turned to him upon saying the third, sharing his smile.
“The last one, please. But I’ll make it.”
“No, you need to rest-”
“I insist,” he said, moving to join her by the small bar in the office and searching through ingredients. “Unless that’s some sort of corporate sacrilege.”
“Making chocolate in enemy territory?”
He took a small jar of powder from his sleeve and shook it into two mugs, considering this, and his smile faltered a bit.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked. “That they’d…that they’d send the police after me? That business rivalry is thought of like a war?”
She pursed her lips and nodded solemnly.
“They…feel threatened,” she said slowly, “and, despite how professional they seem, they can’t be mature or rational about it. Apparently, you really do have the best chocolate in town.”
He neither confirmed nor denied, but gave half of a smile as he looked down at the drinks he was stirring.
“And I, for one, am quite looking forward to trying it.”
“Here, then,” he said, pulling something out of a coat pocket that had managed to escape the frozen flush. “Nothing too dangerous about this one. Just some good old Wonka magic.”
He opened his hand to her, revealing a small, wrapped treat, and she sighed.
“I’d love to, but I really shouldn’t. Not even the drinks.”
“Why not?” came the stunned reply, and she nearly laughed at just how sweetly scandalized the boy seemed to be at the idea of anyone denying themselves that pleasure.
“Milk has never really…agreed with me. Bad for the throat, and I’m a singer besides, as you know-I mean, I-well, it’s just…”
PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.
“I shouldn’t.”
He took a moment, and she watched his eyes widen as he processed the shocking injustice of being genetically predisposed against chocolate.
“Does your husband know about this?”
“He does, but he doesn’t care. Says I’ll ‘grow out of it with time’, which I haven’t.”
“So he’s…”
“Essentially poisoning me, yes.”
They laughed a little, because, surrounded by echoes of Fickelgruber’s power, it was the only thing they could do.
Willy stared at the table for a moment, then pulled another vial, this one containing a liquid, from yet another pocket.
“Lucky for you, then, I’ve got milk made from the product of the finest almond trees on the islands of Seychelles,” he said as he deftly poured the liquid into her glass. “Guaranteed to go down sweetly, both on the taste buds and after.”
“...Thank you,” she murmured, touched by the gesture.
With a final flick of the wrist, he deemed the hot chocolate finished, and they each carried their mug to the fire.
“Wren,” he said thoughtfully as they sat down.
“Hm?”
She was instinctively flooded with warmth in the same way she was yesterday, though whether it was due to the stunningly perfect cocoa or hearing her name in his voice she wasn’t sure.
“Is it a nickname? Songbird, right?”
She saw in the fireglow that his face darkened a bit upon the memory of how Felix had always referred to her in the press, taking that potentially sweet title and spinning it in an almost dehumanizing manner. So someone did notice.
“Well…sort of. That was what my parents intended. They say a wren sang when I was born, so they gave me that name, and I loved it. But Felix assumed it was a nickname and suggested I should expand it; to sound more sophisticated in my performances, he said, but I knew half the reason was to fit with the alliteration. He’s always valued aesthetics above anything else.”
They were silent for a while, and the massive painting seemed to stare down at them, making the Fickelgrubers look almost menacing in the fireglow.
“That’s you?”
A moment passed.
“No. No, that’s not really me.”
Her voice was quiet, but decisive. Willy looked at her, really looked at her, and she felt more seen than she had in years.
“I want to help you,” she said.
“Hm?”
His head tilted to the side, a little stunned, and she nearly giggled as his now-drying curls flopped in front of his face.
How could anyone want to hurt him?
“I don’t know exactly what Felix and the rest have planned against you, but I know there’s something. He never really tells me anything, but I’ll…I’ll try to find out what I can, to distract him when needed. I don’t want you to be alone in this.”
“I’m not,” he said. “The others where I’m staying right now, we’re all in a rather precarious situation together, and I’ve got a few ideas, but…”
She watched the wheels turn in his mind, and after a few moments, he looked back up at her, for once lost for words.
“But thank you. Again. I’d…I appreciate it.”
“Thank you. For bringing some much-needed heart into this place.”
“I think you’ve done that rather well yourself.”
This was news to her often-guilt-wracked brain.
“...Really?”
“Well, of course. You clearly care, Wren…you’re kind, you’re poetic and talented, and far smarter than it seems they give you credit for. It’s in your eyes, too, I think. You can always tell the truth by a person’s eyes.”
Her heart had nearly stopped.
Somehow, though, she could tell that he was unaware of the full effect he had on her.
“Mr. Wonka-ah, Willy, I mean…”
“Forgive me if-I didn’t intend to-”
The clocks around the city chimed the hour, interrupting the two just as they had the day before, and the young man’s expression went from its dazed dawning to a startled realization.
“They’ll need me. Back where I’m staying, I mean.”
“Of-of course,” she said a bit awkwardly as they both stood up.
His hair had dried by now, falling in perfectly imperfect swoops around his face. He’d undone his necktie to keep its cold away from his neck, and his jacket was folded over his arm, and he was looking at her as if he hadn’t had a conversation quite like that with someone in a very, very long time.
And neither had I.
Or…ever, I suppose.
Until now.
“Thank you. Again.”
“You’re welcome. Again.”
She took a breath, let it out, and folded him into a hug, which he returned in an instant.
After two years of jutting angles and sharply possessive grasps, it was remarkable to simply, softly, hold and be held.
They bid a last goodnight before parting ways, and as she took her time walking back to the mansion, the moon seemed brighter than ever before.
that fateful first day at the galeries gourmet, and a little bit after, told from the vantage point of the fickelgruber balcony.
2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.9k
fair warning, i am a MASSIVE shakespeare nerd. but, if the 70s movie is anything to go by, so is wonka. so it's fine.
florence, however, as we've established, is Very Much Not Fine.
enjoy!!
(part one) (fic masterlist) (part three)
The outside air was refreshing, almost as refreshing as the young woman’s realization that not a single eye was on her.
That honor and worry went to the newcomer that was becoming ever curiouser to behold.
“Now, who wants to try one?”
The crowd around him clamored for a chance at his flying chocolates, and Florence’s spirit nearly lifted into their twittering flush, only to fall again when-
“I will.”
The buzz of the crowd fell silent at Slugworth’s words, and Florence frowned as the Chocolate Cartel stepped forward with intent to embarrass the young dreamer beyond repair. The boy, though, looked between the three as if this were suddenly the most exciting day of his life. He greeted them, utterly starstruck, but was caught off guard when Slugworth crushed him in a handshake, and Florence winced. She’d seen near-countless hopefuls come to the Galeries filled with entrepreneurial spirit and be driven away by the trio within minutes, but this one seemed…different somehow.
It’s as if he has nothing without this dream, and somehow that gives him more to lose.
She blinked, wondering how such a specific thought could come to her when she’d only just learned this man existed. But her view from the balcony allowed her to study his face, which she did with fascination and a slight speck of shame.
The Cartel each tried one of the chocolates the newcomer had brought, and now they were the ones she watched closely.
Yes, something was different this time.
Because Florence Fickelgruber knew her husband, and despite his attempt to hide his reactions at this moment, the chocolatier had a very expressive face.
He liked that chocolate. He loved it. Even more surprising, so did the others.
They listed off the ingredients they tasted, trying to keep the wonder from their voices, and the younger man responded to each with a fascinatingly short anecdote telling where he’d gotten it.
How could he be so well-traveled, yet so naive? How could-
She realized then that she was smiling, blushing even, feeling as light as if she’d had one of those weightless chocolates herself. It was silly, she knew, to hope for real change simply because of one charming new arrival, but that hope bubbled up regardless as she watched the Cartel exchange eye contact which was far more frazzled than the cool assurance she’d seen earlier.
Slugworth then began his typical long preface to his judgment, the telltale sign that he was about to demolish the young man’s hopes, and Florence from her balcony was the only one who knew.
Should I say something?
Before she could, the “absolute, one hundred percent, worst” came crashing down.
Not hearing the end, the boy-Wonka, as he was apparently called-whooped into another call to the crowd, his smile wide and infectious as-
Then it hit him.
“Wait, the worst?”
“We three are the fiercest of rivals, but we agree on one thing,” Slugworth declared, and Florence rolled her eyes-she’d always been frustrated at never being told much about the inner workings of the Chocolate Cartel, knowing just enough to be sure it was corrupt but not enough to bring the truth to light and be believed, but she was certain that the three were anything but rivals-“A good chocolate should be simple. Plain. Uncomplicated.”
“Whereas this,” her husband said, dripping in condescension and pronouncing each W with a drawl of air, “with all its bells and whistles, well, it’s just…”
“Weird,” Prodnose finished, and the younger man’s gaze fell.
Guilt by association had become a familiar friend of Florence’s over the past two years, but it pricked at her even more intensely now.
“That’s a shame,” Wonka said, so quietly that she had to lean over the balcony to catch it. “If you thought the chocolate was weird…”
Florence leaned forward further, eyes widening as the young man looked up at the Cartel from under the brim of his top hat, his expression having taken on an almost darker confidence.
“You’re going to hate what happens next.”
And with that, Mr. Slugworth was floating.
The crowd gasped, and Florence gasped right along with them, especially when the other two soon joined him. Felix’s face twisted almost comically when he rose to the point of seeing his wife on his balcony, and he tried with little success to swim through the air towards her. They reached for each other again and again, futile attempt after knowingly futile attempt, accompanied by the crowd’s delight, Wonka’s shouts of a satisfied salesman, and the frantic bickering of the Cartel.
“Have a nice flight, darling!” she couldn’t help calling out as Felix continued to rise helplessly past his office and toward the high ceiling of the Galeries. With no one watching her anymore, Florence was free to fall into pealing laughter.
Well, one person was watching.
Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, she realized she’d caught the glance of Mr. Wonka, who looked up at her with a glint of recognition and a more genuine smile than she’d ever seen in her life.
Huh.
He tipped his hat to her, then turned back to his crowd of customers, who each dropped one single sovereign in his jar before relishing the candy. What’s more, his eyes spent much more time on the people’s happy faces than on the jar to make sure they were paying. This man was in this business for the love of it.
She could have ran down and kissed him right then.
…Aaaaaaaand that was not something she was going to think about right now.
Because apparently this day is so unusual that she’s now thinking in third person.
Get a hold of yourself, Wren.
She watched as customer after customer was lifted into the air, as her husband-your husband, till death do you part-and his Cartel floundered on the ceiling, as Wonka beamed at a little girl he saw near the Galerie’s entrance, as-
As the police came through that very entrance.
She should have known.
She’d tried many times to gain information from her husband by casually bringing up related subjects, because she had a feeling his group had something to do with the local police department being far less just than advertised. But Felix was perfectly tight-lipped, always flipping her words around themselves until he’d turned the conversation as if she hadn’t asked a thing at all.
…How did I ever think…
Never mind.
So they’d initially planned to humiliate the boy and then place him under the law’s eye, even if he hadn’t proved a threat, which he most certainly had.
She sighed, watching as the officers pulled people down from the air. It took them quite a while to figure out a way to retrieve the Chocolate Cartel from the ceiling, but retrieve them they did. Upon reuniting with solid ground, Felix cast his wife a wide-eyed, exasperated look, which she returned with an equally dazed shrug. He rolled his shoulders back, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and turned smartly on his heel to follow his colleagues out of the Galeries, presumably on their way to regroup.
Shortly after they’d reached the outdoors, the Cartel learned that being temporarily grounded wouldn’t stop the bugs that still resided in them from flying, and they involuntarily took off once again, shouts and curses echoing.
Oh, God.
Well, he said it only lasted twenty minutes.
…They’ll be fine.
Florence grinned and looked down toward Mr. Wonka, hoping despite herself for another glance, but he was in conversation with the one officer that she still trusted. Affable seemed to take pity on the boy, reaching into his pocket and handing him a sovereign of his own.
He wouldn’t have done that if he knew I was watching.
That idea that anyone would think she was against that act of kindness was a twisting thorn in her heart, and she internally vowed to make it as clear as possible that her morals were nowhere near lined up to her husband’s.
As clear as possible to everyone except said husband.
And anyone else that would put my family in danger of losing anything, if he finds out I’m not truly aligned with the brand that’s currently allowing them to survive.
He’d give her jewels, and she’d wear them for a while until he forgot about them, at which point she’d mail them home-under a secret name, her old name, her real name-to be bartered for food and board. What with Felix’s decidedly obvious aversion to anything resembling charity, it was the only thing she could think to do.
“So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”
Huh.
The police and customers had all left by now, and the young man was left standing there, staring at the mark of compassion that had been pressed into his hand by the officer.
The feel of the Galeries had become quiet after the chaos of all that had happened only moments before.
Florence had suddenly found herself nervous.
“Mr. Wonka.”
He startled at the sound, apparently having believed she’d left, but then smiled, pocketing the sovereign as he looked up.
“You’re the actress, the musician! You’re Mrs. Fickelgruber!”
“I am,” she said, lighting up a bit upon being noticed first for her art and only second for her marriage.
“So,” Wonka said with an ever-so-slightly deflated flourish of the hand, “what do you think? Of…all of this?”
“I,” she began, then paused, then cautiously smiled, “do not share my husband’s opinion.”
“Good.”
His eyes were hazel, like hers, and they sparked with an energy so striking that it seemed to travel all the way up to her slightly lofted position.
“Don’t tell him I said this,” she said, looking around to ensure their secrecy and feeling quite like a teenager, “but you’ve really got something. No crowd I’ve seen has ever taken to a newcomer quite like they have to you, so don’t worry about the others’ scare tactics. There hasn’t been anyone here lately with a passion, talent, earnestness like yours-”
I’m rambling I’m rambling STOP RAMBLING you are MARRIED you are a RESPECTABLE WOMAN you are being TOO SINCERE you NEED TO STOP TALKING.
“Just…don’t give up.”
“Thank you,” Wonka said, after a moment, and just as sincerely.
Everything about him is sincere.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he continued. “Giving up, I mean.”
“Good,” she echoed, and he smiled. “I have a feeling the world would be far worse for it if you did.”
He shook his head as he looked at her, seeming rather unsure of what to think beyond a strangely certain trust.
Well, that makes two of us.
“Really, thank you,” he said. "That means a lot, especially…well, especially coming from you.”
She glanced down for a moment at the swirling wrought-iron balcony beneath her hands, and laughed a little at the sudden realization of their position.
“Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”
He blinked, stunned by the reference, and continued it.
“I take thee at thy word.”
A nearly disbelieving smile broke across her face, then his, and the clock then rang out before she could say anything truly stupid.
“Well. Good day, Mr. Wonka.”
He nodded, considered her for a moment, then slung his cane over his shoulder.
“Call me Willy,” he said with another tip of his hat, then turned to leave. “Glad to have met you, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”
A beat, and then, without thinking, before she lost her courage-
“Call me Wren.”
The clock’s final chime of half past ten echoed and faded, and the young chocolatier smiled once more.
doing my first full wonka rewatch For The Soul and I noticed-
FICKELGRUBER’S HANDKERCHIEF IS PURPLE.
y’all I promise I’m not cornplating here, the cartel’s designs are airtight.
the other two have pocket handkerchiefs of different shades of their signature color, but his matches wonka’s jacket. i’m convinced it has something to do with what mat said abt how felix wasn’t born into wealth like the others. that he, like willy, worked his way up-but, unlike willy, did it by becoming classist and casting morals aside.
SO.
(edit: one of his ties is purple too I’m losing it. like yeah he’s the one of the three who would do accent colors but it’s GOT to be otherwise significant, this movie’s design is so intentional)
shit goes DOWN. as y'all have probably gathered. bc. yknow. the plot of the movie. but first there's a song yayyyyyyyyy
2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k
god, i love musicals.
(edit: realized after posting that i was looking at the wrong page of the screenplay while writing this and therefore royally screwed up the song structure of a world of your own but it’s fiiiiiiine)
once again, thank you mat for that interview taking a typical one-dimensional dahl villain and letting him be a more complex character. also i should probably throw a content warning on this one for depiction of a slightly abusive relationship
but i promise everything's gonna be okay soon-happy new year everyone!!
part three fic masterlist part five
While going through a time of personal growth involving trying to unravel one’s identity from that of one’s rich and powerful husband, it often happens that there are advantages to said husband being wrapped in worry over a new business rival-and, therefore, spending far more time at the office.
Wren’s favorite advantage at the present moment was that she was the only one to watch the mail come in.
Deep purple stationery was the signal she looked for-and steadily received, then returned with her own emerald letters-every day. The notes included scrawled updates regarding the operation to allow the earnest young chocolatier his day in the sun, anecdotes about the group of launderers that supported it (who she’d snuck out to meet often enough that they now felt like a second family), tales of a mysterious orange man, and exchanges of advice, witticisms, and Shakespeare quotes.
The handwriting was inexperienced, and there were more than a fair share of spelling errors toward the start of their correspondence, but she didn’t care a whit.
We’ve got the shop, Willy had written one day. For now, the task is digging through its decrepit debris and designing its decoration. (The credit for those words goes to Noodle-she says hello.) There are so many possibilities, I barely know where to start.
Start with the “why”, Wren wrote back. That’s what I always do. If there’s a piece I’m struggling to sing and I lose motivation to practice, I go back to the reasons I love the piece, even all the way back to the reasons I love the arts in the first place. Maybe there’s something in there for your shop-what made you want to share your chocolate with the world? (And hello to you too, Noodle!)
My dear Wren, came the reply, you’ve just given me the best of ideas.
He told her then about his mother and the inspiration she provided. Wren would be lying if she’d said a tear hadn’t fallen onto that particular letter.
As for how to keep him safe from the Cartel, police, and every other corrupt authority, Wren did her part by becoming Florence again whenever necessary. She acted less suspicious around her husband, leading him to be less secretive-although the gain in information was miniscule, it was better than nothing.
Felix’s rages would range anywhere from tittering, jealous rants to scheming monologues during which his whole being seemed to take on a lower, darker, more calculating tone. She’d listen carefully to all of these, tactfully calling out anything that might get him to consider he was wrong, but that had little to no effect.
Plan B, then, she’d realized, is all I can do.
So, whenever Felix seemed particularly incensed or just on the verge of coming up with how to destroy his rival, Florence would swoop in with wine and dark lipstick and a low-cut dress. She’d endure being his caged pet songbird, his doll, his perfect plaything, only because she had the growing feeling that things were about to change.
If Willy’s shop becomes successful enough to be completely undeniable, maybe the Cartel will finally acknowledge him as an equal. Maybe I’ll finally be seen as an equal, too. Maybe things will finally be truly fine.
So, night after night, she’d sit on her husband’s lap, twirl his tie, and kiss his neck until he’d forgotten the name of Wonka.
The same could not be said for her.
~
Due to just how glamorized she always had to be while in public, it didn’t take much to come up with disguise enough to be able to visit the new shop on its opening day.
With a fluttering sense of hope, Wren approached the fourth building of the Galeries Gourmet, blending in seamlessly with the sea of soon-to-be-wonderstruck passers-by. She cast a few nervous glances to the window of the Fickelgruber office, at which the man stood in his usual stance. There was no chance, though, of his recognizing her trademark ginger flame amongst the crowd; it was safely tucked under a dark, low-brimmed hat.
This could have set her mind at ease, but the fact that he looked even more smug than usual as he surveyed the ground below him made her nervous.
Did they plan something?
She was distracted from this worry by a sudden flash of color at the long-empty shop’s door. Willy Wonka stepped through, looking more himself than she could have ever imagined. He addressed the crowd with a flourish, and she marveled at his ability to combine showmanship with authenticity.
He took a skeptical older man’s arm, leading him to the shop’s entrance, and began to sing.
All at once, the shop transformed before all of their eyes, flooding with color, and the music settled into a sparking pulse that thrilled Wren to the core.
Willy grinned, fully in his element, and the doorway went dark. Gloved hands presented chocolate wonders as their creator sang them into existence. When he lit a match, the store seemed to come alive, and Wren gasped.
If his letter was anything to go by, the sight he had created was an homage to his childhood on his mother’s boat, brought to life in a way nearly too beautiful to be true.
Willy and the other man danced up a bridge of sorts as his song continued, proudly offering his shop as a world for each of his customers to call their own. Overtaken and lifted by the enchanting environment, Wren squealed with the rest of the crowd and ran into the shop, ripping the hat from her head and allowing her auburn curls to tumble freely down.
She threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her lack of makeup, and plain blouse and skirt replacing the usual emerald-colored finery, gave her assurance that she wouldn’t be recognized here; this was the closest thing she’d experienced to liberation in a very long while, and she relished it, along with the sweetly simple soar of Willy’s voice across his song.
When she looked up at him again, he was sitting on the boat that floated on the circling chocolate river, and she noticed he’d already been staring with a sideways grin. As the bassline that came from nowhere launched into a rollicking chromatic vamp, he tipped his hat to her, and she gave an enamored wave.
The second verse passed, and suddenly he’d reached her, extending a hand which she took without a second thought. He helped her onto the boat, then pulled her alarmingly close, but before she could say a thing about it, a cloud of smoke appeared around them.
Wren blinked and realized that she and Willy were now at the base of the massive chocolate tree in the center of the shop.
“How did you-”
But he only smiled and started to dance his way up the tree.
“A world of your own,” he sang, then gestured an invitation straight towards her.
This’ll be easy enough, she thought, nearly bursting with joy.
“A place to escape to,” she continued, running farther up the tree to meet him in the middle. His expression filled with awe upon finally hearing her sing, and they began a whirling back-and-forth.
“A world of your own-”
“-where you can be free!”
“Wherever you go, wherever life takes you…”
“This is your home,” she sang to him, twirling herself into his arms and beaming with pride. He’s found it-he’s created it.
“A world of your own,” they finished. He looked at her for a moment, seeming struck, then kissed her hand and disappeared through the branches of the tree to continue with the song’s bridge. She let out a dazed and happy breath, taking a moment to let her gaze roam the shop from her perch in the chocolate tree.
She didn’t know what would happen next, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t let herself enjoy this moment.
~
What did happen next was…as an understatement, not what any of them had hoped.
She wished she could say it was a complete surprise, and she wished she could have done more to stop it. The candy started having disastrous effects, the customers understandably balked, and it was clearly not Willy’s fault in the least. In a blur, the shop was in ruins, and Wren sat in shock with the little group who’d worked so hard to make it magical.
The candyman himself was devastated; not just by the massive setback, but by the absence of his mother’s spirit. Wren and Noodle sat by his side, but Abacus ushered them up. It broke Wren’s heart to think of leaving him like this-if the truest and most trusting dreamer on Earth can be broken down, where’s the hope for the rest of us?-but she somehow still felt she had to follow the group out.
She felt a hug around her waist and a held-back sob, and looked down to see Noodle clinging onto her. Wren immediately knelt to her level and hugged the girl close, finding it hard now to keep back her own tears.
“Terrible shame what-”
“Florence?”
Slowly, she opened her eyes, her breath dropping to the floor.
Slugworth had spoken first, a smooth and practiced opening to what would have turned into a gloat. The voice that had interrupted him was genuinely shaken and clearly belonging to her husband.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Noodle, who nodded. “You can go, you shouldn’t have to see this-”
“Florence,” his voice came again, at a loss. She took a breath, stood up, and faced him with tears in her voice.
“Hi, Felix.”
Silence.
Slugworth looked with growing puzzlement between the woman and the girl, and Felix could only stare at his wife with dawning realization.
“You’ve been working with him,” he said simply, every usual quirk of inflection having vanished.
For a moment, the wash crew surrounded her in an attempt at a shield, and she heaved a breath to keep back a sob-of fear, of gratefulness for these friends that had become family over the past weeks, of everything suddenly crashing down.
“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly to the wash crew and perhaps to myself. “You all should go. Like you were going to. I’m sorry.”
They didn’t move.
She looked at Piper, whose worried hand was on her arm. There was an unspoken vow of protection between the women in that moment, but Wren’s eyes pleaded, so Piper nodded sadly, took Noodle’s hand, and the group left.
Wren was almost afraid to look at Willy, but she did; the boy was staring at the old chocolate bar in his hands, looking as if he could barely process a thing.
The sympathy in her gaze must have been far too obvious, because she suddenly heard footsteps, felt a hard grip on her wrist, and gasped in pain as it was yanked up and backwards.
“Darling,” Felix hissed with a sinister edge, though his voice was breaking, “I don’t know how or why this betrayal-”
“Betrayal?” she finally cried out, breaking free from his grasp as Willy rushed between them. “You lot have just poisoned dozens of innocent people, all for a business rivalry, and I won’t-”
“If you want your family not to starve, you had better lower your voice,” he barked.
Every speck of air seemed to leave the room.
“...My family?”
“I may have been distracted enough for the past weeks to ignore the mail that came in and out of our house, but I had not always been that blind. I thought your compassion to be an incomprehensible gesture, but I let it slide. When I felt like it.”
…They haven’t gotten everything I’ve sent.
They haven’t-
“In fact,” he continued, “it served as what was almost a pleasant reminder of the truth. For your family, for your stupid dream, and for your sweetly dependent soul-you need me.”
“If you knew I was poor, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it’s the same way for me!”
This was the peak of what had been a building explosion, and this was the moment in which they both remembered there were other people in the room.
“What?” the four besides him breathed, almost in unison.
“Oh, you heard right,” Felix launched into speech, the characteristic gestures starting to work their way back into him. “I came from nearly nothing, just the same. But I did what I had to do to climb to the top. I cast them all away, left my old life behind completely, and I suppose it was a foolish hope to think my wife would do the same. But she-but you-you are nothing but a guileless, deceitful bleeding heart.”
“I…”
Tears blurred her vision.
“I am…genuinely sorry that you felt you had to hide your past, but that doesn’t excuse trying to make the rest of the world match your insecurity and fit your little chocolate mold. And if that makes me a bleeding heart…I’m proud of the title.”
For a moment, the man looked as if he would allow his wife’s words to affect him.
Then his face, normally so expressive, turned completely cold.
She’d lost him.
She’d never truly had him to lose.
But she looked at Willy, and she thought of the wash crew, and she realized she finally had a truer support system. And if she could try to start over, find some other way to earn money to send to her family without interception, and some other way to reach the dreams that felt so far away at the moment, she knew Felix would be wrong: she didn’t need him.
After a long silence, Slugworth cleared his throat.
“Get her out of here. We have business with Mr. Wonka.”
What?
Her and the younger man’s eyes widened, and they grabbed each other’s hands on instinct, but a small number of policemen came around the corner of the shop door at Slugworth’s order. They clamped hands on her shoulders and dragged her away from Willy as the Cartel stood silently and watched.
“Wait-wait, no, I-”
“Wren-”
She struggled, fought, kicked, but was forced into the backseat of a police car-
“Let me go, you corrupt bastards-”
“Wren-”
“Let me-”
“Just drop her somewhere in town,” Felix said coolly. “Somewhere that isn’t my home.”
“WREN!”
The car door was slammed, and the last thing she saw was the Cartel advancing on a dazed Willy, opening a suitcase of cash.
All she could do was scream, and the scream turned into a cry.
They did indeed drop her somewhere. She burst out of the car the second it had stopped, and the officers drove away without a word.
Sick with worry and trying to regain her breath, she looked around, almost fainting with relief when she saw the laundry building. Piper, having heard the commotion, stood outside, and they looked at each other for a moment before Wren fell sobbing into her arms.
the power of a found family heist saves the day (six of crows who??) (god these summaries have become rather unhinged over the course of this fic huh)
2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.3k
just wanted to say thank you to all you lovely people who've read and loved this fic! please lmk what you think, like reblog yadda yadda yadda. i'm euphrasiepontmercy on ao3 if you want to see any more of my near-embarrassingly escapist writing :) there will certainly be more wren coming in the form of playlists, pinterest boards, drawings, etc
so much love <3
part four fic masterlist
The next day, for half of a moment upon awakening, she thought the whole past month had been a dream. That she’d go on living in her unpierced golden cage, that there was nothing revealed and nothing to reveal, that things could be fine for a little while longer.
Then she heard the blaring vocal warmups of the comedian who lived down the hall.
…Okay, then.
It’s real.
She stayed up in Piper’s room, hoping to escape notice from the owners of the establishment, whom she’d never seen but hated due to their imprisonment of her friends. She’d warned them all the previous night that the Chocolate Cartel had seemed about to propose a surely sinister deal to Wonka-regrettably all but Noodle, who was asleep, and who she thought would probably take the hit the hardest, whatever hit that might be.
She wasn’t sure where to go from here.
Willy had wound up under the thumb of men who would gladly destroy him, the wash crew was nowhere near the freedom they deserved, and she herself was disgraced and thrown out by the only practical lifeline she’d had for two years, the man she’d thought she’d loved.
She realized, though, that the chain of actions that led to finally standing up to Felix was the first thing she’d done in two years that she didn’t regret.
That new sense of assurance, though, wouldn’t put any food on her family’s table.
Or her own.
And still, the thrumming in the back of her heart took the form of olive eyes, soft curls, and chocolate-dot freckles. How much danger was he in? Had he really lost all hope?
Was he even alive?
The only venture she’d made that morning was a careful one to Lottie’s room; the telephonist had snuck her a bit of gruel and told her she could borrow some of her clothes for the day. When she got back to Piper’s, she heard a large clank against the wall, and opened the window to investigate.
She was met with those same olive eyes, accompanied by a tired but teasing smile.
“We have really got to stop meeting like this.”
Relief flooded her so thoroughly that every rational thought momentarily disappeared, and suddenly Wren realized that she was kissing him.
And that he was kissing her back.
And that he was very precariously perched on a very tall ladder.
“I, ah…”
She trailed off, struck speechless by the haze in his expression that could be described in no way but adoring.
“You’re alive,” she breathed. “You’re here.”
“So are you.”
“And you feel the same way?”
“Very much so.”
Apparently unable to form any longer sentences, they fell into shaking, half-disbelieving laughter.
“Wrap it up, Romeo, a person can only keep this steady for so long,” came Piper’s voice from below, and Willy laughed again.
“Alright, I-well.”
“Yeah?”
She watched him run through the events of the past hours in his mind as he tried to sum it up, and he quickly shook his head.
“Come on down, we’ll all explain what happened. Then we need your help to rescue Noodle.”
~
And so they did. Once the whole crew had been informed of all that had happened, they planned and began to carry out their heist, and Wren-while still fully aware of the danger-allowed part of herself to be thrilled at finally having adventures with a found, created family like she’d read about all her life.
There were a few variables, of course-there was a plan for if Willy and Noodle were caught by the Cartel and a plan for if they weren’t, which, of course, they were. Wren flitted through various windows enough to throw a surely-still-reeling Felix slightly off his game, enough that he’d gladly drown his thoughts in the planted Hoverchocs. She also misdirected those who somehow weren’t distracted by the giraffe, allowing the Oompa-Loompa to enter the cathedral and do his part.
What she wasn’t expecting to do was help him to rescue the pair from death by chocolate.
She’d started to make her way out of the cathedral when she heard a shout of “thank you, little orange man!” from under the ground. Puzzled, she’d looked down to see a chocolate-drenched Noodle and Willy gasping for breath under a circle of glass and flooring as the brown liquid receded. She startled, then quickly came to her wits in time to break the surface and pull each of them through, all three falling into each other’s arms.
“What-”
“Oh, God-”
“What on earth-”
“Thanks, Wren-”
“What happened?”
“The plan,” Willy said, pausing to clear his throat of chocolate, “ran into a few setbacks.”
“I can see that.”
“But,” and here he reached into his vest to produce a large and somewhat soaked envelope, “I brought you this, from the vault.”
Wren opened it carefully to see that its contents were luckily mostly untouched by chocolate. Half of them she recognized as what she’d sent to her family, the things that Felix had withheld, but the rest of the envelopes were graced with her mom’s handwriting.
She’d thought she’d cried more in the past days than ever before, but apparently there were still plenty of tears left, and they all threatened to break loose upon that sight.
They’ve been writing to me all this time.
It was devastating and hopeful all at once. Her husband had spent two years keeping her from contacting her family and keeping them from the reassurance that she cared, but now that she had the letters, she could finally start to make things right.
Also in the massive envelope was a shinier letter, addressed to her from the city’s opera house, stating that a new artistic director had been hired: one who didn’t live in fear of the Cartel, had programmed Romeo et Juliette for the upcoming season, and wished nothing more than for Madame Fickelgruber to play the second title role. Not because of her association, not her relative fame, but her.
She hurriedly looked at the postage date; it wasn’t too late for her to write back and accept.
It’s not too late.
The thought, and its application to just about everything, filled her with light.
She didn’t know why Felix had kept all of this instead of throwing it out; possibly to feed his own ego, to know that his wife was in demand but he was the one that had her. Whatever it was, Willy had found the truth and held it even when he’d thought all was lost, and given it to her the moment he’d had the chance.
“And we found out why Slugworth was acting so weird,” Noodle said excitedly, still catching her breath. “We’re related, if you can believe it-but my parents really did care-and my mom, we-we found her!”
“Oh, Noodle, that’s wonderful,” she gasped, pulling the girl into a hug.
“Yeah, Willy managed to find her name in the ledger-but even after that, he kept looking around the vault until he found that envelope. Said it was for you-that we’d find your family, too.”
Tears brimmed in Wren’s eyes as she nodded to the girl with a smile of sweet solidarity. She then looked over to meet Willy’s gaze, more grateful than she’d ever been, and saw that he’d been watching her with a compassionate blend of sympathy and shared hope.
“Thank you,” she breathed, and kissed him again, heedless of the mess. “I know this will come as no surprise, but-”
“I taste like chocolate?”
“I could get used to it.”
“Okay, WE GET IT,” came Noodle’s laugh, “you like each other, it finally happened, hallelujah. Now-look!”
They all turned to the door to see the unmistakable silhouettes of the Cartel, and Willy grinned. It was time for the final phase of their plan.
The three misfits helped each other off the ground and made their way to the cathedral’s entrance, just in time to hear Prodnose’s “in which they died” followed by the men’s laughter.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
All heads turned at his voice, and Wren grinned to see all three chocolatiers pale at the sight of them.
“Wonka!” shouted Slugworth.
“Florence,” formed Fickelgruber.
“What?” piped Prodnose.
“Officer, would you kindly take a look at this?”
Willy handed the ledger he’d held to Officer Affable, and Noodle smiled as she stepped forward.
“It details every single illegal payment these men have ever made. Thousands of them.”
“Affable, don’t listen to her. She’s lying,” the Chief said, but Affable had already opened the ledger.
“Well, of course she is,” said Slugworth, his clear nervousness betraying him. Wren smirked and looked back to Affable.
The Chief blinked, then tried as he might to take back control.
“Oh. Well. Then it sounds like a case for the Chief of Police. Give it to me, Affable, I’ll take it from here.”
“I can’t do that, I’m afraid, sir.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because your name’s written down here, sir. A lot. Gentlemen, you’re under arrest,” he said, addressing the Cartel with the latter statement.
Slugworth nodded slightly, his eyes widening, and barely turned to his colleagues when he spoke to them.
“Run.”
And run they did, but they didn’t get far. Gasps went up in the crowd as the Chocolate Cartel took to the air once again, and the other trio strolled down to the base of the fountain.
“Wha-what’s happening,” Slugworth cried, “why are we airborne?”
“You didn’t eat any of those chocolates, did you, Mr. Slugworth?” Willy asked, knowing full well that he’d won.
God, certainty looked good on him.
“Why?”
“Because they’re Hoverchocs! Delayed action. But extra strong.”
“Florence!-” Felix called, the adrenaline of flight having pitched his voice up nearly an octave as he grabbed onto Prodnose’s leg with one hand and reached to her with the other. “Just forget it all, my pet, I’ll forgive you in time, don’t worry, we’ll get rid of him again and all will be well-”
He always was one for the dramatics.
And that’s something I can easily match.
She looked straight at him, made a show of removing her wedding ring, held it aloft until it glinted in the sun, and let it go, allowing it to tumble through the air and land directly on the edge of a convenient storm drain.
Felix let out a strangled gasp, his eyes not on her but rather trailing the expensive ring as it fell. From his vantage point, it was gone forever in that drain, and she was happy to let him believe that; she’d pick it up later and send it to her family.
Though, perhaps, with her dream off to a real start, she’d finally be able to make her own way in the world and help to support her family on her own accord.
That thought was sweeter than any amount of candy.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Wonka?” Slugworth was saying. He went on to rattle off assurances on how the Cartel could still defeat him, a frantic gloat of their societal power over him, but Wren barely heard it; she was becoming progressively more distracted by Willy’s slight and slowly growing smirk.
“I wish I’d thought of that.”
Then, with something close to darkness, he looked up at them through the chocolate that framed his eyelashes, and Wren thought for a moment that she might faint.
Noodle gave her signal, the ground started to rattle, and Wren’s heart beat faster and faster.
No going back now.
She took a last look at Felix, feeling strangely sorry for him despite herself. In another world, perhaps, he could have been given the space to regard his humble past without shame, could have used it to become a more compassionate person.
Then she reminded herself that, in this world, he had tried to kill two people and had possibly already killed many more, spent his life prioritizing appearance over literally anything else, lied to her countless times, and allowed his chocolate monopoly to uphold an elitist society.
And this world was the one she lived in.
And this world was the one in which the frozen fountain burst with chocolate, rocketing the three men who’d clung to it up and out until they were sailing through the sky.
“Don’t worry, gentlemen!” Willy was calling to them. “You’ll come down eventually, I think. Probably.”
He then turned to her and whispered, “they will.” Through all of this, he still refused to completely harm anyone. The bare minimum, perhaps, but more compassion than the Cartel would have faced opposite any other foe. She smiled and squeezed his hand in silent thanks.
With that, he threw a few ingredients into the chocolate fountain, causing it to sparkle as it never had before, and invited the crowd to enjoy.
As the wash crew came together in relief and celebration, Wren realized that the teasing phrase she’d spoken earlier had more meaning than she’d originally known.
She could indeed get used to this.
~
Not too much of a time later, that same group stood in that same town square on those same cathedral steps, but there was something different in the air.
The Cartel had indeed come safely down from the skies after a few hours on that fateful day, and had promptly been arrested by the newly appointed and much more just Chief Affable of Police. There was more color in the town, more music; everything had seemed a bit lighter, or maybe that was just how it felt to be genuinely living in love.
Because now, Wren Matterson was able to write back and forth with her family again. Now, she was in rehearsals for a role she adored. Now, she was coming into a state of self-empowerment unlike anything she’d ever known. Now, she spent time not perched restless on a fainting couch, but laughing with and learning from a better group of friends than she ever could have imagined, and had even worked together to reunite one of them with her own mom, which they were just about to do.
And right now, in this very moment, Willy Wonka, with tears of grateful closure in his eyes, carefully broke apart his mother’s last chocolate bar, handing a piece of it to each of these dear, dear friends. He then looked to Wren with an expression she was still bowled over by every time, and reached into his pocket.
With a soft but sparkling smile, he opened his hand to reveal an emerald-wrapped, heart-shaped almond milk chocolate.
So, no, Wren Matterson was no longer fine. She was so much better than fine.
florence fickelgruber, the famed chocolatier's idealistic young wife, ponders her past, her regrets, and her longing for a change. guess what? she finds one.
2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.7k
chapter one is a shit ton of exposition for the character, but i promise you, dear timothee fans, the content you're here for is coming. i tried to capture the dahl style of storytelling (without, yknow, the racism and fatphobia and all that) which was so fun. this character essentially popped into my head last night, and the story will follow her development through the plot of the movie. after i left the theater, i realized i'd painted my nails to match mat’s costumes without realizing, and then suddenly WHOOM there she was. almost like magic. :)
enjoy!!
(also. even if the cartel’s offices don’t actually have balconies, THEY DO NOW.)
part two fic masterlist
"Free if you Truly Wish to Be", or, "the Chronicles of the Songbird", being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.
Things were…fine.
In a world such as this one, there was very little luxury for a girl such as herself to hatch, nurture, and follow a dream. It would spark up in the purest of fashions and launch onto its way, glittering with promise of a life’s hopes fulfilled, only for the world around it to force it down a path of compromise and disillusionment until the dream’s poor follower found it nearly unrecognizable.
Such was the lot of Mrs. Florence Fickelgruber’s passion for performance. Long before either of these names were attached to her, she knew she longed to spend her life swept up in poetry and music, creating a better world through the arts she loved.
That dream, she often swore to herself, had not died.
It had simply…not turned out as planned.
For now, at least.
For a little over the past two years, more specifically.
It would have been nice to have the means and time to try to make her own fortune, to experience a sweeping romance with someone her own age, to live in a world fair enough that allowed her to both support her now-faraway family and live according to her ideals; it would have been nice indeed.
But for now, life was not quite nice, but fine. The sleekly fonted Fs that monogrammed nearly every surface in the mansion in which she lived had stood during the beginning months for her husband’s, and now her own, alliterative names. Now, she only saw them as golden signifiers of things being nothing more than Fine.
She was currently perched on an emerald-colored fainting couch in her husband’s office that, despite its plush craftsmanship, had lost any semblance of comfort long ago. She sat, and she considered the striking portrait of the two of them that hung over the fireplace, which they’d posed for when she’d still thought this was a good idea: a self-satisfied smirk rested on his face, and her emerald-manicured hand rested on his chest (intended by her to show her devotion, intended by the artist to show her ornate ring). She sat, and she looked into the hall, and she sat, and she stared out the window for a time, and she sat. Eventually, she picked up a set of paper and an emerald-set quill.
“What’s that you’re writing, darling?” came Felix’s voice from across the room, and she nearly sighed in annoyance, a direct contrast to the way her head snapped toward the sound.
There shouldn’t be a melody to that voice, she thought. Not when he only seems to initiate conversation at the exact moments I’ve decided to do something for myself.
“To the opera house,” she responded as he entered the room.
“Again? I thought they’d rejected you.”
“On the grounds that they were scared to hire me, they said, lest they write my role not fully to your liking and lose their concessions wares because of it.”
“Pish, posh.”
“Do you think, my love,” she asked, standing and moving to him, “that…well, would you dictate something I can write here, to reassure them? They’ll take your word over mine.”
“There wouldn’t be a point,” he said flippantly. “Besides, they’re right. Just keep singing for my radio commercials, darling; the customers love it. I can’t imagine you needing anything else. They’re installing our new grand piano next week, you can have all the little fun you’d like on that…”
Throughout this speech, he’d been digging through the pockets of his impeccably tailored blazer, eventually producing a cigarette.
“Give me a light, pet?”
She gritted her teeth as she lit his cigarette, and he brought it to his lips with a smile. She hated when he called her that.
It used to make her feel…wanted, wanted when nobody else did.
Now it just felt…
“I want to share my work,” she said, pushing aside the previous thoughts and pushing forward the previous conversation. “I want to have a genuine impact on the world.”
“And you will, I swear it. Once Fickelgruber Chocolate’s advertisements started using your voice, sales went up nearly twenty percent, and they’re only growing; if that’s not impact, what is?”
With that, he kissed her before she could give an answer-there was a time I would have romanticized that taste of cigarette smoke-took the half-finished letter, folded it so crisply it nearly ripped, and tossed it into the gold-leaf wastebasket.
“Felix-”
“Just wait until the new radio spots are released. It’ll be marvelous, darling.”
She should have known this was how it would be.
It had seemed too good to be true in the moment. To receive, after a performance in her home city, not only the praises of a world-famous chocolatier but also an offer to travel to and perform in his world-famous city, and later a proposal-albeit more businesslike than romantic-to be set for life, to provide for her struggling family; although, she’d come to learn, her husband would have wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her if he had known of her humble origins.
He’d just never bothered to ask.
Well, save for once-
“I assume you come from a good family?”
“Oh, yes, they’re the warmest souls you could ever-”
“Wonderful.”
I grew up nowhere near those obsessions with reputation; how was I to know he meant “good” in that sense?
Before she truly knew him, she had liked him. Felix was undeniably smart, and not unhandsome; she thought him to have a solid wit and an intriguing way of speech, with eyes and hands that would have been attractive on a kinder man. The clean lines and deep green hues that seemed to follow him everywhere suited her well, and she used to have reason to believe that association with him might give her a platform to create positive change, that he saw her as an equal in ambition and intellect.
Once they were married, once she’d seen him with the rest of his Cartel and realized the depth of his disdain, arrogance, classism, and general apathy for anything that was not himself, that reason to believe had dwindled faster than a sweet drop of hot chocolate on a waiting tongue.
…Not to mention that I could practically see him almost rescind his proposal when he learned I’m lactose intolerant.
But she’d suffered through the resulting throataches and occasional days of less-than-stellar singing that came with the barrage of dairy-filled sweets as she was announced to the world as the famed chocolatier’s fiancee, telling their story (which Felix embellished quite often) to the press over and over again.
“Yes, that’s right,” she remembered him saying on the television broadcast that announced the engagement, “my little songbird has finally found her golden cage.”
She had winced, forced to make it seem like a smile in the face of the blinding sea of flashbulbs. That had been the first moment in which she couldn’t ignore the deeper feeling that this was wrong, and she wondered if anyone watching would notice her flash of pain.
What she didn’t know was that, thousands of miles away, in the middle of a far-off ocean, a boy on a ship had been holding a tiny transmission screen (assisted somewhat by magic in order to obtain a stronger signal), eager to see the news about one of his idols, and that, despite his core tendency to give the benefit of the doubt, that idol lost a bit of his respect that day.
I shouldn’t have done this.
But if my family was still starving, all because I wanted to wait for someone kinder, someone who’d support my dreams, I couldn’t forgive myself.
She was startled from her thoughts by a shout calling from below the office, followed by…
A song.
Felix discarded his cigarette and went to the window, posturing into a lean against its frame, and Florence followed. His arm slunk around her waist, so her hand found its way to his chest; it was the portrait pose again, the frozen frame, the unspoken understanding.
I do love acting.
But I don’t know how much longer I can take a life of…offstage performances.
The boy in the center of the Galeria, though, seemed not to be putting on a persona for the crowd, but rather infusing his entire soul into his song to them. He was indeed meaning to sell something, but his passion for it shone brightly in a way she’d never seen from a businessman, present company included. The people that were starting to surround this young man hailed from all walks of life, and he beamed at them all with the same sunlit smile.
With a flourish, he opened the lid of the jar of candy that he held, and-
Oh!-
Each piece of chocolate had flown from its container and flitted into the air, leading to a gasp of delight from the crowd. Florence was able to suppress her own squeal, but couldn’t stop a flex of the hand, involuntarily causing her to grasp her husband’s tie.
“Don’t worry, pet,” Fickelgruber said, clearly misunderstanding his wife’s reaction, and with the tone of his voice clearly opposite of his words. “His charm over them will be…short-lived. Our business is perfectly safe.”
The boy finished his song to rapturous applause, and it took every ounce of Florence’s theatrical training to keep from joining it. She felt a shift next to her, and looked to the side to see her husband making pointed eye contact with his colleagues in their respective offices. The smirk that used to set her soul aflame-before she’d learned what it could mean-formed slowly across his face.
“Florence?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Go home.”
“I-”
“We’ll take care of him. Go home.”
Saying this, he left her side and swiftly went out of the office, presumably to join forces with the rest of the Cartel in terrorizing the poor young man.
The moment Felix’s presence could no longer be felt, Florence let out a breath.
Turning back to the window, she considered the boy, who was wholly wrapped up in the joy of his work having an impact on those who witnessed it.
Tentatively, and with the slight smile of a small rebellion, she turned the window’s handle and stepped out onto the office’s balcony.
She wouldn’t let his light be dimmed in the same way she thought hers was.
