Wendla knew, at heart, that Melchior was not a good person, no matter how much Wendla convinced herself otherwise. She was good at that, playing pretend. Melchior, Ilse, Moritz and her would play pretend often when they were little, they were so innocent back then, not exposed to the horrors of life. Now here they are, Moritz is dead, Ilse is god knows where and, Wendla is pregnant with Melchior's child.

Wendla didn't know this would happen, heck she didn't even know how it happened. If she had known it would've led to this...
She tried to stop him, "No Melchior! Don't, oh please don't!" she remembers saying, although Most of that day is a blur. She remembers the feeling of hay, the feeling of his hands, her own hot tears, but it still feels like a dream.

Before then she often felt off about Melchior. there was the time he beat her, though she had asked him to at first, it quickly escalated. Its not his fault, she tells herself, its my own, i asked for this.

She blames a lot of people for this baby. Her mother with those stories, Melchior and their intimacy, but most importantly, she blames herself. Deep down she knows she's not OK, she knows there's something evil inside her, something rotten, something dark.

Evil is natural, its everywhere, its a byproduct of our humanity. this is t
What she tells herself, the only thing she believes in. the only thing she can believe in. Not her mother, not the stork, not god, not melchior, only herself is what she has left. Her darkness.

Wendla takes her dying breath on that metal table, thinking of how different her life would have been if her mother had told her, if she never went to the hayloft. She closes her eyes and lets her thoughts drift away, met with a welcoming darkness, hugging her with their soft hands. They whisper all forgiven.

Here rests in god
Wendla Bergmann
Born 5 May 1878
Died of anaemia 27 October 1892
Blessed pure at heart