Disclaimer: I do not own Ib or any of the elements in the game. They belong to their respective owner; I am merely using them for my own creative amusement.

AN: I got the idea writing this story while studying and listening to Ib's theme song, memories. A random thought popped into my head and I really wanted to expand on this idea. I also wanted to contribute to this small, yet growing Ib section here. Just a warning though, a lot of the game elements are present in this story so it is quite spoilery. I don't think it needs an M rating, but it's a pretty hard T C: Just saiyan. This is a combination of Memory's Crannies and Promise of Reunion. I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

Note: This chapter has been revised from the original. Grammar has improved, conversations/flashback conversations make more sense and there is more flow to the narrative.

Song recommendations will be here too ;) For this prologue, I'd say, go with the classic. Ib's Memories.

Prologue:

Japan, 1992

-Inside the Fabricated World-

Somehow, sometime when he fell down after Mary's portrait burned down, he had cut himself with the shattered glass on the ground. It started bleeding profusely. Despite just having faced several angry, terrifying and bloodthirsty art pieces fearlessly, she was still an inexperienced child. Ib's mind went completely blank at the sight of it. As a force of habit, her hands tugged on the soft cloth that decorated her collar. The material of ribbon felt smooth in her hands, and jolted something inside of her.

'Eh?'

Ib untied and yanked out the ribbon, grabbing his hand. She softly pressed it onto Garry's wound. The material was silky, wide and long enough to look like a makeshift bandage. She worried her lip and looked to his face with concern. Garry gave her one of the gentlest smiles he could manage.

"Oh Ib, you shouldn't have done this, now your ribbon is soaked. I'm fine now, thanks to you. You're really an amazing, selfless girl."

He removed the ribbon gently from his hand and thought for a moment before placing it into his left coat pocket. He stood up and offered his hand.

"Hey Ib, it wouldn't do to return it as it is. I'll have to make it clean and then I'll give it back, okay?"

She held onto his left hand tightly and nodded, not minding the slightest bit. If it was for Garry, it would be alright. They moved on, out of Mary's hellhole, out of the sketchbook, into the old gallery and out of the fabricated world.

xIxBx

-5 minutes after-

"Hmm? ...What is it, little lady?"

Ib gazed at the unfamiliar man and felt a sense of nostalgia and warmth, although she was sure she had never met him before. Embarrassed to be caught staring, she blushed and looked off at the large rose sculpture. She noticed his intense stare from earlier and shyly asked, "What are you looking at?"

He looked back and his expression softened. Ib felt the look suited his pretty face somehow.

"It's called 'Embodiment of Spirit' apparently. When I look at this sculpture I feel... somehow sorrowful. I wonder why?"

He noticed the child looking just as sad at the rose, absorbing his words. Garry immediately felt uncomfortable for suddenly bothering her. A child shouldn't be distressed, especially not cute little girls. Oddly enough, she felt like a far away, half remembered dream. He looked at his ticking watch, mildly curious in its steady movements. 'Don't be ridiculous' he mentally chastised himself. 'It's time to move.'

"Ah, I'm sorry if I said anything to trouble you. Well... I have to go now. Bye."

Ib couldn't help but feel sad as he walked away, stuffing his hand into his right coat pocket, a pamphlet in his left. Why? She had never met him before, but why was there this tightening in her chest? She felt a bit hollow somehow, her heart like an empty cavern. Ib started for her ribbon round her collar when she realised it felt... empty? Her mother saw her glance at the rose sculpture and came over.

"What on earth happened to your ribbon, Ib?"

She hadn't noticed herself and couldn't remember either. She replied that she must have lost it in the bathroom while adjusting it. Ib felt guilty as her mother looked sceptically at her. The ribbon was one of their favourites too. The restlessness nestling inside of her body made her fiddle badly. She kept touching her collar, twisting her hands aggressively, stroking the smooth material of her handkerchief inside her pocket.

Smooth...

Material...

... Of her ribbon?

She was with the same man from before, in a strange, pink room, kneeling next to shards of glass. Dolls and sketchbooks and crayons were everywhere. His hand was wrapped in her characteristically red ribbon. She was scared and concerned. He looked grateful. That smile sent a ray of hope through her. They were alive.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I suppose it represents a person's heart. Do you have such a beautiful rose in your heart, Ib?" The young mother looked down upon her child, smiling. "I hope it would blossom one day, very soon. Let's go look at the others, sweetheart."

Ib obediently followed her mother but hesitated for the slightest second. She wonders if she was dreaming. It doesn't even make sense. She looked over to where the mysterious man in the strange coat stood then turned and walked away.

xIxBx

'Why did that girl look so familiar?'

Garry paced in his apartment, holding the odd red ribbon he found in his hand. He had found it in his left coat pocket and couldn't remember why it was so... important to him? It was a brilliant shade of red, bright as fresh blood (he suddenly shuddered at the thought) and had a bit of lace at the edges, real lace. Ironically enough, there were darker shades of what he recognized was dried, old blood. As a person who quickly drifts from one art field to another, he was quite knowledgeable about his materials... and his injuries in each of them.

He buttoned down the clean ironed shirt he had put on and reached for his belt. He looked into mirror while adjusting his hair and for a strange reason, kept shifting his glance towards the right side of his reflection. He felt very uncomfortable the entire time, like he was being watched.

'So our mystery girl is wealthy? It could be possible, considering there are many snobs at the College. Could it be that I found this somewhere there and picked it up? No... I would have remembered. I can't... remember. There's a block there. Damn it, I can't remember, I just can't. Why can't I remember, why can't I just. I just need to...'

He quickly became frustrated and slammed his right hand onto a nearby table, suddenly experiencing an excruciating pain. He looked at his hand and saw a clean cut across his palm starting to bleed again. He had a feeling that it was cut with glass.

'Did I cut myself with one of dad's tools earlier today or last night? I really shouldn't leave any knives lying around... Pa would throw a fit and...'

Knifes...

A palette knife...

A young girl, garnet red eyes, longer than shoulder-length brown hair, grabs his cut hand tenderly and pressed the ribbon down, applying pressure to the wound. She looked scared and concerned. He was grateful. He saw the pile of ash on the ground, the smell of burnt paper in the air. He saw the palette knife next to it. He promised to himself, he would never let anyone try to hurt this girl again.

The girl in the museum, he realised. A name sprang into his head, but he couldn't remember what it was exactly. Eve? Eke? He inspected the ribbon again and found the smallest lettering sewed in at a corner. It was the letter I. No, no, her name was... Ib. Her name brought back everything. He staggered back a little, shocked by the sudden onslaught of memories triggered by her name. The blue lady chasing him, seeing Ib for the first time, the place full of eyes, the creepy mannequins, giving her candy when she fainted, the separation, the reunion, the sketchbook...Mary... and the ribbon.

He realised he made a horrible mistake.

He had promised to meet up with his mother for an early afternoon tea, the whole reason why he left the gallery in the first place, but he really needed to do this. He criticized himself again and again while grabbing his coat and rushing to get out of his apartment. The gallery was a good 40 minute bus ride away, but he needed to try.

Why the hell didn't he put his hand in his left coat pocket earlier?

xIxBx

He arrived at the museum a good two hours after he had left it, thanks to traffic. Please be here, he thought. Please, please, please, please, please. He searched the entire gallery and even asked people around if they saw a girl with garnet eyes and brown hair. One of them pointed to a lady standing nearby, admiring a painting.

She looks beautiful...

...

She looks old.

Garry studied her inconspicuously. The lady couldn't be nine; she looks like a very classy, very lovely woman in her early thirties. Despite that fact, she still looks very familiar. Garnet eyes aren't a common feature, yet there she was. Another stranger with a vaguely familiar face put their arm around the lady's waist. She leaned back, the man smiled.

"Esme darling, I think it's time to get going."

He spotted wedding bands on both of them and hurried away, wide eyed.

"Alright, dear, where's Ib?"

He scrambled up the steps and slumped against an empty wall nearby. That was... not Ib. Garry realised he forgot to mention to others that she was a little girl. She's a nine year old girl, not married, with hair loose and down, has her whole life in front of her and ... then he remembers.

"What's the matter Ib? What?! These are your parents?"

He smacked himself for forgetting such a thing. They were even wearing the same clothes as the "Couple" painting. The lady must be her mother, she has her colouring. The man must be her father, for they shared same features. He stood until he calmed down enough to go back downstairs.

"Come along, Ib. Let's go have some tea, you must be starving."

He saw the couple again and obeys the urge to hide. He first saw them in a painting, so he must be uncomfortable from seeing them walk around so freely after his experiences. Meeting Mary was enough to give anyone a heart attack. He didn't particularly want to meet a young child's overprotective parents either. He was never good with normal folks anyways. Garry hid and watched the happy family from behind a wall edge.

He sees her then, truly sees her; White shirt, red skirt, black socks, red Mary-Jane shoes. The assemble would have been completed with... a red ribbon about her collar, the red ribbon inside his coat pocket, stained with blood. He smacks his head for not noticing earlier at the rose sculpture. She looks sad, an expression he worked so hard to keep off her face before. Her hands play with her collar while she keeps looking around from time to time. A sort of hope gleamed in her eyes while she still looked partly dazed. Her strength was still there, but slightly dampened.

Ib.

Garry was dazed. That just confirms everything. The nightmare was truly and horribly real. They survived it together, conquered it together. They helped each other and forged a bond. The way she stood up to those weird things were admirable and he really came to care for her. She became a true friend to him, something he didn't have very much of outside of his family. He had even promised to go eat macarons together...

Macarons.

Tea.

What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he hiding and day-dreaming?

"IB!"

They were gone. Ignoring the annoyed stares, he rushed out of the entrance door to see a golden Honda, with his small friend in the passenger seat, driving by. The traffic light on the road ahead was green and they sped up, moving on, away from the bustling gallery. People were continuing to move in and out while he remained motionless, affixed to the ground.

Garry stood, staring at the vanishing car, while the pager in his pocket kept vibrating. He couldn't believe it. How could he have been so stupid? Thanks to his newfound fears and paranoia, he had let her slip by while cowering away. He knew he was being stupid, being irrational, but the trauma was still too fresh. Like a puppet with strings, he messaged back emotionlessly.

Ma, sorry I'm late, I'm coming.

Gone.

He dropped the pager back in his pocket and stared gloomily at bustle and hustle of the city streets. The birds were singing cheerfully and the late afternoon sun shone on his hair. He looked up and was mildly thankful of the blue skies and fluffy clouds. He remembers that the same shade of blue in the sketchbook was used for the lake and the sky. He remembers wishing to see a real sun again.

"Make sure you don't fall in while you're spacing out, Ib." She gives him a curious look, mildly amused by this peculiar statement. They moved on from the lake.

"When we get out, I can't wait to the real skies again." They stood outside of the ice-coated door, enjoying the warmth of the fake sun. "Ib, sunbathing is nice, but we have to go."

Ib was gone.

He had no way of finding her.

He doesn't know her last name, her home phone number, her address. He doesn't have a lot of options to find her again. He can't ask around lest he wanted to sound like a paedophile. He wonders if she would remember him, if she would try to search for him too when she is older.

...Unfortunately, most probably not.

He had no way of contacting her.

He would probably never see her again.

"I'm sorry, Ib." he whispered. He walked away from the gallery, his head hung low, his shoulders slumped and a racing mind replaying their brief time together, their conversations haunting his mind. While one man brooded, desolate and bitter, the world continues to move in its own rhythm, cheerful and hopeful of a better tomorrow.

xTxBxCx

COMING SOON:

She felt the smooth, hard sweet in her hand and held on to it tightly. When she was younger, she never liked lemon sweets. Now, it was her favourite, one of her most precious keepsakes. Somehow she knew it was significant she kept it, it was her link to ... something... something amazing, something wonderful. She hopes she remembers soon.

A warm, gentle smile and soft pat on the head comes into mind whenever she grips it hard.

Ib slipped under the bed covers and placed the sweet underneath her pillow.

'Please, please let me remember.'

And then, she dreams.

AN: Memory's Crannies broke my heart, but I always wondered what would happen if Garry didn't notice the handkerchief before he left Ib. And for those of you who had seen the previous version of this story/wondering "Why can't Garry just find her on Facebook?: You'll understand once you see the timeline of this story. Thank you for reading! Take care!

Next chapter in 4 days :3