Disclamier: I do not own any 19th century ansty German teens. All credit goes to Wedekind, Sater, and Shiek.

One shot inspired by Jadem1122's "A Mother's Duty". Please don't think I'm copying you. Because I have no intetion to. :) Thank you for reviews! I think I'm going to attemp a multi chapter fic. Moritz/Martha because i think they would be cute. Bye :3


Frau Bergmann shook Wendla awake. Her eyes fluttered sleepily.

"Mama?"

"Get up, Wendla. We're going somewhere."

"But—"

"Up. Now!" Wendla yawned and Frau Bergmann felt a pang of guilt. She knew what she was about to do was going to hurt her. But it was for her own good. Wendla was much too young. A child could not bear a child. The thought of it was ridiculous! And that Melchior Gabor. He had been sent to a reformatory in Frankfurt. It had broken Wendla. It was like she loved him. But she didn't know what love was! Then again, neither did she. Was this escapade an act of love? Or was it an act of selfishness? Was she only doing this to preserve her reputation?

Wendla dressed and let her mother drag her through the dark streets. She was fully awake only when they reached the door below "The Champion's Inn".

"Mama, where are we?" She gripped her mother's hand. Frau Bergmann felt another wave of guilt.

"Frau Bergmann? Good, I'll take her now." Schmidt said, beckoning her in.

"Mama? Mama, what's going on?" Schmidt began to pull her through the door. "Mama! Don't leave me!" The terror in Wendla's eyes nearly broke her.

"I'll be with you every moment" Wendla held tightly to her hand.

"Mama? MAMA!" She disappeared into the dark room. Frau Bergmann held her tears. She waited anxiously. Wendla's screams pierced her thoughts. Schmidt came out a few moments later, wiping blood from his hands.

"Well?" she asked. He sighed.

"She didn't make it. The bleeding was too great. I'm sorry" Her heart stopped. No. No. NO!
"M-May I see her?" Schmidt stepped aside. Frau Bergmann walked into the small, dark room. There was Wendla lying, motionless, her dress stained with blood.

"Wendla?" She approached her daughter, hands shaking. "Wendla, I'm sorry." Tears began to fall onto her daughter's dress.
"Wendla, please. Please forgive me." She had murdered her. She had murdered her own daughter. Frau Bergmann laid her head on Wendla's chest and cried.

"You will always be my faerie queen."

Herr Bergmann hung his head in grief. Before him was his daughter, his sweet, little Wendla. She was forever enclosed in a coffin. Ina was sobbing quietly beside him. Her mother had refused to attend the funeral. She was laden with too much grief. Herr Bergmann let a single rose drop to the ground.

See the father bent in grief...

The mother dressed in mourning.