This is my first time writing an Ib fic. I came across this game while looking around for horror games I could download on my computer. All I can say is I love this game.

Disclaimer: Ib does not belong to me.

Takes place after 'Forgotten Portrait'

It's contradictory. Normally that wouldn't be a surprising statement considering everything he's come across both since his initial arrival and after Ib left. However... He reaches into his pocket and digs out a long green stem. Devoid of its petals, it's quite ugly; its thorns seem to glare at him, nipping at his fingertips as he rolls it around between them. It makes no sense. Why is he alive? No, he thinks, I'm not alive. All the petals on my rose are gone. When the rose wilts, so do I. That's what the poster said, and it's true; that's why I collapsed after the painting of the Lady in Blue tore my rose apart.

But if that's the case, why did you wake up? Asks a small voice from the back of his mind, why are you able to move around?

He doesn't know. He should be dead, and by all technical rights he is dead, but yet he's not. His heart still beats and he still needs to breathe, the only thing different is he's lost all need for sustenance. Alive, yet not alive. Still standing even after his rose has been plucked apart; a contradictory existence. Of course, that's not the only odd thing he's noticed. No longer trapped in the Sketchbook, he can traverse freely throughout the gallery. Doorways stay open, walls no longer move around, and the stairs stay put. Guertena's crazed, so-called 'works of art' no longer hunt him down. Instead, they shy away from him. Stranger yet, the dolls that Mary so loved follow him around whenever they can. They speak to him in high-pitched chitters and squeaks. What scares him is he understands some of what they're saying. They call him 'Master', 'Guardian', and sometimes when they feel playful, 'Guertena's Joker Prince'. This earns them a stern kick into the wall and furious insults.

Garry tries to deny the dolls' words, but he knows they're right. He feels Mary's absence, and knows that he's taken her place as the twisted gallery's 'Special Feature'. It's strange and it frightens him. He doesn't want to be anything to or in the Fabricated World, he wants to get out and go home, but that's impossible. He knows he can't leave. So with no choice, he wanders the halls, passing time by observing the paintings and reading the books, and wondering what kind of man Guertena was. Of course, he doesn't have to. Garry can feel Guertena's madness all around him, feel his anger and pain, his sorrow and depravity as he sits in what can only be described at the labyrinth of Guertena's tortured soul. However, Guertena is not the only thing he can feel.

Ever since he awoke in the toy box as Mary's replacement, he's been connected to the gallery. Not a strong connection that binds him to the place like a heavy chain, but more of a thin, glittering thread linking him to the minds of the creatures existing along with him. The dolls miss Mary; Garry's fun to torment, but he's not nice like she was. The ladies clad in blue, red, green, and yellow clamor for something to feed on and to play their favorite game, "Loves Me, Loves Me Not". The creatures in the gallery whisper about him too.

Not like us...

He can be scary sometimes.

Too human.

Shouldn't be alive.

Shouldn't still be so human.

And he wants to laugh at these statements, especially the ones about him being human, because if they looked, really looked, they would see he's not so human anymore. He's still alive while his rose is dead, the dolls call him their master, he's mentally linked to the gallery, and as of late, he's gained a pretty frightening and fascinating power.

He can connect to people on the outside.

He can't do it with just anyone, only select people, but the fact that he can do something of this magnitude shocks him. From what he can gather by the hushed reactions of the things around him, it's an ability unique to him. Not even Mary could do this. If she wanted someone to come play with her, she would have had to rely on the sometimes-open gate that was the mural "Fabricated World". But Garry doesn't need the mural; he doesn't even need to be near it. All he has to do is close his eyes and picture the mural, and soon he can see the actual gallery, not the one depicted in the mural. From there, he can actually communicate with the gallery's visitors. They're amazed by this power, they're frightened by it, but above all they don't like it. The reason being is that everyone he can communicate with is sighted as the next unfortunate victim. Or they would be, if not for Garry. He reaches out to them and turns them away before they can meet their horrible fate. He warns them of what waits beyond the painted doorway and urges them to turn back, and each time he does so he's met with success. The creations of Weiss Guertena shriek in protest. Why? Why did he do that? Mary would never do that!

And he gives them the same answer every time, "Yes, but I'm not Mary."

They hate him, but they won't kill him because they're afraid to get close to him. Since he's not a true piece of Guertena's art like they are, they can't predict him. Besides, the mannequin heads don't mind him, and no one wants to make those things angry. Therefore, they begrudgingly accept him as Mary's successor, but that doesn't quiet their howls of protest when he saves yet another person from falling into the Fabricated World.

Time passes and Garry begins to wonder after another run in with a would-be victim, is this really a case of simple bad luck as he's thought? He sits beneath his painting (ironically, it's the one place where he finds solace anymore) and twirls the stem of the rose in his hand as he contemplates. There's too many people who just happen upon the mural to call it coincidence, not to mention the way the creatures react: shrieks of anger, insults and demands as to why he would do such a thing. It's almost like this place is calling people, beckoning them to put their heads into the lion's open jaws. But why? Because the ladies are hungry and they want something to eat? Because the dolls want a new playmate? Because Guertena's a sadist and he wants more people to suffer?

"Silly. That's not it at all."

Garry jumps and drops the stem. In front of him sits one of the demented dolls. Its stitched-on grin widens and Garry swears he sees the eyes glow with evil mirth. He blinks at it, trying to recover his composure. "What do you mean?"

It crawls closer, "Did you every stop to think that you and the brown-haired girl weren't the only ones who were pulled into the Fabricated World?"

Garry cocks his head to one side. Not the only ones? Then it clicks.

"You mean...Mary was...just like us?"

The doll laughs. High-pitched, insane giggles echo throughout the tenebrous corridor. Garry grinds his teeth. The doll laughs and laughs, its tiny body bouncing up and down. It tosses its head back and continues laughing, its smile nearly splitting its head in two.

"Knock it off!" Garry snaps, terror welling up within him. No matter how much time passes, those dolls still manage to scare him.

The doll stops. It gives him a condescending smile, "Oh you really are silly. No, Mary was a painting just as I am a doll, but she was special," the doll crawled closer, laying its tiny hands on Garry's knee, "would you like to know how?"

He shoves the doll back, "Only if you don't touch me."

The doll giggles, but remains where it is. "Okay, I won't touch you. Anyway, Mary was special. As Guertena's last work, she was the one he poured most of his heart and soul into. In other words, she was the most powerful creation in the gallery; and because of that, she could draw people in to play with her. She used to do it a lot, but everybody who she drug in either went crazy or died before meeting her. Until you two came along that is," the doll sweeps its arms out on either side of itself, "she'd never seen anyone like you two! You guys stuck together through thick and thin. You were strong and smart, and so much fun!

"Normally, she would have wanted to play together forever with you two, but by that time she wanted to be free more than she wanted a playmate," the doll gives Garry another wicked smile, "I'm sure you know all about that, right?"

Garry narrows his eyes.

"At any rate," the doll continues, "by the time she'd called you in, she'd already discovered her ticket out, which was to take the place of someone else. However, the little Mistress didn't obtain her freedom, and was destroyed by Ib who left this world behind and you with it."

"But I still don't understand." he states, frustrated.

"Not only silly but stupid." the doll murmurs, "think: you're kind of like Mary now."

"So you're saying I'm trying to draw people into this mad maze so they can take my place? Are you serious? I'll admit, being here is hell, but I don't want anyone to go through what Ib and I went through. I would never do something as selfish as trading my position for theirs."

"Ooh! You're so honorable Joker Prince! Careful, I think I'm falling for you." the doll gushes, swaying on its stubby legs.

Garry rolls his eyes and goes back to contemplating. Stupid little thing. He should know by now that he's not going to get anything more than mindless prattle out of it. As he puts the rose stem back in his pocket and goes to stand up and leave the horrid monster behind, its voice calls his attention back.

"Maybe you're not trying to call people in to take your place, maybe you're trying to reach out to a certain someone in hopes that she'll come back to you?"

Garry spins around, blood cold and heart hammering.

"W-What?"

Before the doll can answer, a tremor goes through the Fabricated World. Garry yelps and holds his head as thoughts from the gallery's inhabitants flood his brain.

At long last!

Back...back again...

Pretty red rose...

She's back! She's back!

Come to play with us again for sure!

"What...What is..."

"Your princess has returned, Prince." the doll remarks.

Garry closes his eyes and pictures the mural, trying to block out the shouts and squeals bouncing around inside his head. A light flashes behind his eyes, and he sees the gallery. People mill about, staring in awe at the art of Weiss Guertena. And on the second floor, staring at a portrait, his portrait, is a girl with long brown hair, and ruby red eyes. Looking at his painting is Ib. She's grown taller and her body has changed into that of a young woman, but it's Ib all the same. The moment he lays eyes on her, he's hit so hard with heartache it almost doubles him over. Tears prick the corners of his eyes.

"Ib..." he whispers.

The girl jumps and looks around, trying to find the source of the voice. After finding nothing, she shrugs, gives his painting one last look, and walks away. Garry watches her go. She's grown so much. She looks to be at least sixteen by now, which means seven years have passed since she managed to escape. Ib looks healthy and happy, and he's glad. Glad that she's living in her own world, glad that she heard him.

Garry's eyes snap open.

Ib heard him? He interacted with her? That could only mean...

He squeezes his eyes shut once more and focuses on finding Ib. Once he locates her, his blood runs cold for the second time. Ib is heading straight for the mural of the Fabricated World. Guertena's works cheer in delight. And beneath that, Garry can sense something else, something homicidal in their happiness. Frantic, he combs through the erratic thoughts of the creatures in the gallery. Then, he finds it, humming through every mind like an electric current:

Once she's inside, we'll kill her and avenge Mary!

Oh hell, Garry thinks. He turns his mind back to Ib and almost screams. She's standing right in front of the mural. Her eyes read the title. Ib blinks in confusion as she reads the words beneath the title that state about time being lost and never finding her way back. She reaches out a hand to touch the painting.

"Ib don't!" Garry shouts.

Ib yanks her hand back and looks around. Garry can feel her heart fluttering and feels guilty for scaring her so, but it's better than letting her fall prey to the twisted gallery once more.

"Ib, get away from that painting. In fact, get out of the gallery now. You shouldn't be here."

"Wh-Who's there?" Ib asks, whipping her head from side to side.

"It's okay," Garry soothes her, "you probably don't remember me, but I'm Garry. You met me when you were dropped into the world that lies just beyond the painting. Unfortunately, I had to give my rose up to Mary, leaving you the only one able to get out."

"Garry?" Ib questions.

"Yes Ib, it's me. Garry. I've been here for the past seven years, it would seem."

The girl blinks. Then recognition shines in her eyes, "G-Garry? It- it's really you talking to me? You're still alive?"

Garry chuckles, "More or less. Listen Ib: You need to leave. Now. This place, it's trying to pull you back in. I know you don't want to go through that nightmare again."

Ib blinks. The creatures of the gallery howl as one.

Stop! Stop!

Don't interfere! Revenge! Revenge for Mary!

Yes, for Mary!

We'll kill her! We'll scatter the petals of her rose all throughout this gallery!

Garry grits his teeth. Damn they're persistent. He can feel them clawing at his connection to Ib, trying to tear it apart and pull her into the gallery. Behind him, the doll smiles, "What are you doing? Your strong desire to see her again was what brought her back here. And even if that's not the case, she was destined to come back anyway. Do you really think we'd take Mary's death lying down? Once we deal with her, we'll find a way to off you."

He ignores the voice of the doll and the cries of the gallery's monsters and focuses on Ib. There's not much time. Their conjoined anger is proving a strong adversary, and his spider-thread of a connection can't stand up to that abuse.

"Ib, please. Leave."

"But Garry, what about you? Isn't there a way I can save you?"

No saving! No salvation for anyone!

You killed Mary! You should die yourself!

Snarling, Gary grips his head tighter, "Look, I'm already beyond saving. I've been locked in here for seven years. I don't think there's a whole lot you can do for me at this point. Please Ib," he yelps as a stab of pain tears through his skull. He can feel his connection being severed, "leave...now..."

Ib stands in front of the mural for a moment. She clenches a fist over her heart.

"Okay, I'll leave. But I will come back. I'm going to save you Garry, whether you like it or not. Because you saved me!" and with that, she runs from the painting, sprinting down the stairs and out the door into the bright spring sunshine. Garry sinks to his knees as the last piece of his connection goes spiraling away into oblivion. The demons of the Fabricated World scream at him in rage. Why did he do that? Why, why, why, why, why, why?!

"Ooh, they're mad now." the doll behind him states.

Garry smirks and pushes himself to his feet. His hand goes into his pocket. "Oh yeah? They're mad now? Well, they're gonna be pissed when they see what I'm about to do next." He pulls his hand out of his pocket. Held in his grip and gleaming in the dim light is his lighter.

The smile falls from the dolls face and its eyes swell to the size of saucers.

"That's right," Garry says, "I still have it. I've been pondering about setting this place ablaze for a long time now, but this settles it," he flicks the top open, "I'm not going to let her come back here, and I'll be damned if I let the likes of you cretins touch her."

The doll begins jumping up and down, chittering in such a manner that the sounds are alien to him for the first time in a long time. He smiles and flicks the flame into life. He walks around to the painting that is both the gateway in and out of this mad world. The doll screams. The creatures scream. Garry ignores them and touches the flame to the corner of the mural. Orange flames spring upon the helpless wood. He rams his fist into the glass, ignoring the pain and sets fire to the exposed canvas. There is a loud crack, and the smell of smoke fills the room. The doll shrieks, and he knows it's burning. The flames spread, licking over the painting, crackling to themselves as the inhabitants of the Fabricated World scream in pain and fear, caught by the fire eating their world. Garry steps back and smiles. The back of his coat sparks as stealthy flames creep up behind him.

"Sorry Ib," he says closing his eyes, "but I can't let you come back here. You're free from this nightmare. You should stay that way."

Smiling, he sits down cross-legged amongst the growing fire, listening to the death knell Weiss Guertena's Fabricated World.

Was it any good? Please tell me how I did.