She was soaked to the skin and hardly cared, laughing to herself as she wandered through the woods. This sort of rain Ilse liked, when it was warm and the sun was barely peeking through the clouds. Her bare feet weren't cold and her patterned dress stuck to her like a second skin
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He hadn't brought an umbrella with him - bad enough. He was shielding his head - very ineffectively - with his tablet, squinting through the trees. He was supposed to be on his way home, anyway. He was supposed to not be noticing Ilse skipping about. The walk home just got-- longer and longer. Every day. "Such dreary weather and you're skipping as if it's summer," he called out, voice cracking a few times, augh.
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"So very... bittersweet. Melancholy. I like the wet grass between my toes." She wriggled her toes for emphasis.
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"It's-- but. Your dress." Which he was not staring at, lalala! He was looking at her face! What a lovely face. "You aren't cold?"
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"Are you going home?" she asked softly, tilting her head to the side as she looked him over.
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