"Ilse?"

"Morit--! Oh. Melchi Gabor, it's you. Not the person I was expecting to see."

Ilse had nestled herself in the dark of the woods during mid-day. It was dreary and dark out, and the cover of the trees made for perfect shade from the constant rain. In fact, Ilse's mind had been nothing but rain recently. She felt as though she hadn't smiled in weeks, not really, anyway. And the sign of Melchior Gabor did not help. He was handsome, as usual. Dark hair was tousled messily and his shirt was untucked and dirty, as though he hadn't seen a bath in days. Usually the rugged sight of him would make any girl swoon, but not as of late. Melchior Gabor had become an outcast, no longer the hearthrob he once was.

She rose from the sight of him. Her usual wild hair was semi-tamed and pulled to the side and tied in a bow. Melchior took a step toward her and Ilse started suddenly, one arm up in defence.

"Don't you dare, Mechior Gabor."

The tone was harsh and it made Melchi pause and stare at her even stranger than he was before. The look in his eyes was wild and scary and Ilse had no choice but to stand rooted to the spot she stood in fear. Getting her senses back, Ilse turned to run into the woods, wanting to leave Melchior standing alone in the clearing.

"Ilse..Ilse, please!" Instantly, he lunged after her, closing his fingers tightly around her wrist and whipping Ilse back to face him. Melchior's lips turned in to a snarl. It was a look no one had ever seen on the usual serene face. It used to be Moritz who would pull the faces of anger and distress and get the apprehensive looks of classmates. Melchior pulled the small girl closer to his face who returned the snarling look right back.

"Let go." Ilse felt his grip loosen and she wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I have nothing to say to you. How do you lose the memory so fast?"

Her eyes searched his for an answer, a flutter of recognition, anything. Ilse stepped back, feeling suddenly confident in her control over the situation. She watched him as his face glazed over, all evidence of harshness gone as he turned and started to pace, hands held over his eyes despairingly. His stride got wilder as he paced and the young boy threw his arms up in the air. Eyes rimmed with red and mouth curled into an ugly smile, he stopped and faced Ilse again, who uncharacteristically jumped,

"Do you think I forgot, Ilse?" Melchior's voice rose, "I didn't forget, I lost her. I lost Wendla! God took her from me!"

"You don't believe in God."

"Then I took her from myself, Ilse. But now I yearn..." Melchior's voice dropped as he ambled toward her, backing her into a tree. "I yearn, Ilse. For that feeling of such pleasure, such warmth."

"You won't find that in me." She stared, voice steady, into his eyes as Melchior pressed against her forcefully.

"But I know you can. I've heard stories about you, Ilse." He ran a single finger down her cheek. "You're not the same girl I used to play Crusaders with. No, no." His eyes lazily and sickeningly ran down her body. "You've grown up, my dear Ilse. The same way Wendla did."

With his breath so close it was easy to tell he had been drinking. Probably no where near what she used to do, but drunk to the point of all cares being thrown away. Ilse's eyes dropped shut as he traced her cheek lightly with one finger, and flinched at the mention of her old friend. As suddeny as it all began, all contact was broken between them, Melchior removed his finger and took a few steps back, causing Ilse to regain her balance and open her eyes. She felt so exposed, all alone in the woods with this rebel whom she used to admire. But he was anything but admirable now. Something she had done was making him shake his head and stare at her with disbelief.

"I didn't forget Wendla, Ilse. I got over her. The same way you should with Moritz. It would do you some good, to have someone else to fawn over." Ilse opened her mouth to protest but Melchior continued his rant. "I never understood your fascination with him. So close-minded, so normal. When we were kids, Ilse, we were the ones who made up the stories. Wendla and Moritz would just play along, just follow whatever we said. Me and you, we were the creative ones, my mother would also tell me, such free spirits. She said it would get us in trouble one day. Well. Look who got in trouble. Sweet Wendla and quiet Moritz."

"If I'm not mistaken, you got into trouble too, Melchi."

Her expression was deadpan and her voice matched. She braced herself for more violent contact, but none came. Melchior just looked at her, looked past her, even. The silence was unsettingly and the air seemed to feel it. It got more difficult to breath as a few raindrops and a crack of thunder made the atmosphere heavy and saturated. For the first time in their whole encounter Melchior looked lost, afraid, and Ilse's instinct told her to comfort him, against her will. It was something she was never so good at, even for herself. But she took the few steps at him to close the distance and reached her hand out to him. Melchior took it without hesitation and held it gently, cradling her hand in his. Ilse's expression softened as his hardened, she smiled as he squeezed her hand harder and harder. Acting quickly, Melchior overtook Ilse and had her pinned to ground, both of her hands over her head, held with one strong fist. Without so much as a kick, Ilse laid there, breathing, heart racing, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. Melchior waited for a response, a protest. None came. Nothing but silence from the girl who laid beneath him. In one swift movement he was removing his trousers and lifting her skirt. There were no words spoken, but for Ilse it got harder and harder to breath as Melchior Gabor, her longtime youth friend stared down at her with such malice and lust. She allowed her eyes to open and saw a fierce look over his face. One that Ilse was no stranger to seeing...that look was the reason she never opened her eyes.

An anger boiled up inside her and she made the noise that she had always longed to make. Ilse cried out loudly as Melchior got into a position and lowered himself onto her. With strength Ilse didn't even know she had, she kicked swiftly and directly and Melchior rolled away in pain, clutching his stomach. As quickly as she could, she stood and fixed herself.

"You little whore!" Melchior bellowed as he still sat in pain on the ground.

Ilse went to stand above his crumpled body and gave him another stiff kick, eyes now brimming with tears, body shaking with anger. Slightly losing control, she kicked at him again. Loving the feeling of the tears running down her face, the slight thud as she repeatedly dug her toes into his ribcage, and the horrible cry coming from her lips. This call was all it took, it was all she needed to be fearless. After all those years of taking it, never protesting, never telling. It was time for an end. Her wails cut out as another voice called through the trees. Ilse wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and smoothed down her hair and dress. The look of sheer anger was still played across her face as she knelt down close to Melchior's face.

"Listen, Melchi Gabor." She snapped her head up as the voice called again. "I will not be the next to suffer anemia." With a final parting glance, Melchior still on the ground, Ilse ran full-speed into the trees, and away. There had not even been a sign she was there.