A/N: Oh hey Guys! This is my second fanfiction! I hope you enjoy it. Ib is an amazing game, and I love it to absolute pieces. So I decided to write a fanfic. I know that, (due to reading nearly ALL of them) alot of Ib "Forgotten Portrait" based stories have a similar storyline of her coming back and saving him, etc, etc. But I'm going to try and make mine as unique as possible! I hope you enjoy it! R&R!
Ib bolted up from her bed, shivering and shaking as she assured herself she had escaped the nightmare that had just terrified her.
It had been nine years since what happened at the gallery, and Ib still remembered. She remembered her rose, as scarlet as blood, she remembered mannequins and headless statues and Mary and...
...Garry.
She could never forget Garry. Not for long. Sure, it had taken three months of nightmares for her to realize they weren't actually nightmares, but memories instead.
Ib's eyes welled up with tears, as they always did when she thought of Garry after her nightmare. She looked to see if his lighter was still on her bedside table, and smiled gently as it rest there, next to her handkerchief and red rose.
Ib changed into some tight fitting denim jeans and a red, paint splattered t-shirt before pulling on her red shoes and coat. She grabbed the precious silver lighter before she glanced at the clock as she left her apartment,
2:06 am.
Ib walked down the apartment complex's stairs and walked into the car park, before opening her BMW car door (which her parents had gotten her for her eighteenth birthday, they were pretty rich, after all) and then took to familiar route to the gallery.
Every year, since she was nine, she visited the gallery every day after school. She never had any friends anyway, so it never disrupted any plans she had. Ib had become even more quiet and reserved (if that was at all possible) and barely spoke. Of course, this made her a sitting target for those who needed to belittle someone.
It upset Ib of course, but she continuously shrugged it off, hiding the concern from her parents. The guys at her college still often commented, and even roughed her up sometimes, but it was never usually more than a shake.
Besides, she had more pressing things to worry about. Her parents had brought her up with etiquette lessons, which Ib absolutely detested. It was about what right fork to use when eating food and how to lift up a glass. Ib was more of a straight forward girl, what's the point in messing around when you can just eat the damn meal and drink the damn drink?
People confused Ib, sometimes.
The gallery was her safe haven from all of that. She could escape, she could retreat there. No bullies, and no stupid etiquette lessons. Everybody noticed that about her. They'd even moved some chairs and sofas and whatnot into the gallery for "artists who looked at portraits for inspiration". Ib knew, deep down, that the gallery manager she had known for years had done it after feeling sorry for her after watching her sit on the cold floor for hours on end.
She always sat in front of Garry's portrait. It calmed her down just as he once did, and she thought they could both use company. She refused to believe he was dead, and had tried many times to escape back to the world to free him. Everything she tried did not work. She guessed that, since Mary had gone, nothing was there wanting to bring her back.
Even so, every opportunity she got, she'd walk to the fabricated world and pray and beg to be let back into that world. But, alas, it was to no avail.
Anyway, ever since she was sixteen, Ib had started to sneak out to visit the gallery at night. The nightmares that had plagued her constantly interfered with her studies. She figured that if she visited Garry for an hour or two, she would become calmer and be able to sleep dreamlessly.
It worked, too.
However, Ib had to hold back tears as she remembered the manager's words the day before,
"Miss, I'm sorry to inform you about this, but... well... the gallery. It's being sold. The paintings are to be moved in two days. Including the Forgotten Portrait. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. Tonight will be your last night for your, ahem, midnight wanderings.'"
He had said to her with a sad sort of smile. So he knew about me breaking and entering?
Well, it would be obvious. She'd fallen asleep there on many occasions.
Ah, that's why the burglar alarms were deactivated years ago.
Why, Ib thought, her thoughts now miserable, why tomorrow of all days? When it's my birthday?
The depressing thoughts followed Ib as she climbed out of her car, slamming the door shut behind her and walking towards the gallery. She found the exit air vent, and, pulling on it, managed to remove it. She climbed inside, crawling along the air ventilation shaft and finally reaching to another opening. She pushed it outwards, before climbing out. She strolled cautiously towards her favourite spot, spying the scarlet colored sofa and sitting down. She stared ahead of her, at the one person, the only person, who she knew she could rely on.
She sighed, before speaking to him.
About everything.
About how much she'd miss him, how she wonders how she'll cope without him being there. She knew she must probably be going mad, speaking to a portrait, just as she has for nine years. No... not a portrait. She was speaking to Garry, the person she loved. The only person who had ever been there for her when she needed it most. After about twenty minutes of talking, Ib frowned as she noticed something different.
The security systems, they've removed them since the auction is tomorrow, she noted. They've been disabled...so...can I…
...can I touch the portrait?
Her eyes lit up as she stood suddenly from the sofa, wandering slowly and cautiously towards the po- No. No, not a portrait. Garry. She was walking towards Garry.
How long she had wanted to feel his warm arms again, though it was impossible for her to ever do so. She remembered them, wrapped around her as her small body racked with sobs, and his gentle voice comforting her, while the odd and bizarre gallery from nine years ago surrounded them.
She placed her palm tenderly onto the portrait, before a sudden feeling of warmth and then another red-hot pain shoot up her arm. She recoiled, before shaking her arm.
She sat back down, slightly confused, presuming that maybe not all of the security systems had been removed after all, before she sighed and continued to speak, pouring her heart out to him, before she felt the tears finally escape her eyes.
She glanced at her watch,
5:43am
She realized it was time to go now. Any longer she stayed would be even longer it'd take for her to prize herself away from him. And that would be hard.
Well, harder.
"I guess this is it," she whispered quietly. "I guess this is where we finally part ways."
She slowly stepped towards the portrait, deciding that, even if she was hurt again, she would not care.
She had to do this. She had to say…
"Goodbye, Garry," Ib whispered, placing her hand on the portrait and stroking her hand against the glass that separated them.
Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
"I-Ib?" A voice echoed in her mind. Ib stumbled backwards, just as the feeling from this time shot up her arm again, before it stopped and was replaced with a warm, fuzzy feeling.
"Garry?"
Bold writing is usually from Garry's view, unless evident it is not the case.
"Bold writing and speech means it is Garry in Ib's mind".
Italics are memories, thoughts, etc, etc.
Underlined and Italics mean a message, letter, voice recording, etc.