Alright... I need to stop watching videos and then staying up so late. I want to say that I've never played this game myself, but I've watched other people play it. I liked the story and characters, and my mind went into that stupid overdrive thing it does when I'm sleep deprived. So, I felt I had to write this, however unrealistic it is.

SPOILERS abound.

This sort of takes place nine years after a combination of the Forgotten Portrait and Together Forever endings (though I'm not sure if there is one such in the game, or if Mary taking Garry's rose is still part of the Together ending). Either way, the point of this is that I don't like Mary, I love Garry, and I actually like Guertena. I play fast and loose with Guertena's timeline here, but what the hell? Because Ib was TOTALLY logical to BEGIN with.

I wouldn't mind owning Ib, but I do not.

It was a thick envelope that had the velvety feel of flower petals. It was a deep purple, a royal colour, like a perfect night sky. But there was something about the envelope and the graceful, shimmery silver writing on it that made Ib distinctly nervous. Perhaps it was the way it smelled so familiar, and yet she could not place the scent. Perhaps it was the fact that neither of her parents recognised the name on the name on the return address.

Or perhaps it was the way her sister Mary tried to burn it before their parents saw it.

Both girls were legally adults now, with Ib at eighteen and Mary at nineteen, and Ib had thought they were beyond this childishness. But when Mary had taken one look at the envelope's contents and then tried to throw it in the fire, Ib felt compelled to scold her for it. Mary had apologised, but she had refused to look her younger sister in the eye. When their parents opened it, they were bewildered.

"They're museum passes." Their mother murmured, looking through the silvery rectangles of paper.

"Yes, but why send them to us?" Demanded their father.

"According to the letter, they're for winning an online contest."

"Kara, neither of us ever entered such a contest."

"I don't know, Karl. The letter mentions us all by name, and specifically requests we come to opening night. Apparently, Weiss Guertena's son is also contributing to the exhibit with more modern pieces." She turned the sheaf over. "I don't see the harm in it. The Gallery's been closed for ages, ever since our visit nine years ago! I think it would be lovely!" Whiel her husband, Karl, grumbled about it, Kara eventually won out, and the date was marked on the calendar in red marker.

The evening before the opening, Ib retreated into her room, closing the door against Mary's questioning. For some reason she couldn't name, she felt an immeasurable sadness about returning to the Gallery, though she couldn't imagine why. She hadn't been there since she was nine and Mary was ten, when they'd wandered off for a few hours alone, but her memory of that time was very vague. There were only blurs of colour and sound, probably due to the strange artwork. It was odd, though - out of all of the different ones, one colour dominated them all; and absolute, deep, blue, the colour of the sea on a clear day. Ib hated the colour blue. Not because she thought it was ugly; in fact it was because it was beautiful that she hated it. Whenever she looked at blue, she always wanted to cry, no matter the situation. Her mother and sister would rush to comfort her, and ask her what was wrong, but she never knew.

All she could call to mind was blue, and a rose.

These memories, or lack thereof, was why Ib was curled up in her bed, clutching her stuffed animal to her chest. She was tall now, and beautiful, with long, straight dark hair and almost crimson eyes. This earned her a great deal of attention from the boys at school, but she neglected to pay any of them any mind. Other girls called her 'the Ice Queen' and feared her. Once, one of them had gotten up the nerve to ask her why she didn't accept one of the numerous requests for dates she received; Ib had surprised herself by automatically replying that she was waiting for someone. The girl's eyes had gone all starry.

"Really? That's so romantic! Who?" Ib had had to pause for a moment before answering, because she really didn't know what she was talking about.

"I... I don't know." The girl had left her alone after that.

Slowly, fitfully, Ib drifted off into sleep, sometime late in the night, but her dreams provided her with no escape from the feelings she didn't understand.

She stumbled down the hallway in the dark, her hand running along the wall. Where had she gone? It couldn't be far.

I'll get it back. I must get it back,

The sound of a voice ahead of her made her run faster, her feet thudding against the ground, her chest hurting. There was blue strewn on the floor.

No. No. No no no no no!

She had to catch up. The voice was getting closer now. She was almost there! Mustering the last of her strength, she burst into the room, a scream tearing from her throat.

"STOP!"

The figure in the room turned. She could see an outline, hair, a dress, a bow. She couldn't see her face in the blinding light. But that didn't matter. She could feel her heart cracking. She was too late.

A shredded rose stem fell to the ground.

Dead.

Ib woke up screaming a word she didn't know, a name she couldn't remember.

And she didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

"I'm so glad you decided to come! I'm the curator here, Helena von Bismark!" The woman was relatively young, and dark, from her hair to her skin to her eyes. It fell in a single black wave down her back, and her similarly black eyes smiled at them out of her dark brown face. She had a slight German accent and a nice smile, perfect, white teeth glittering in her face, her hands linked behind her back in her maroon suit and pencil skirt, black blouse and heels.

"We were certainly surprised." Kara was explaining. Helena laughed gaily, moving her hands to clasp Ib's mother's hand in both of hers.

"Oh, of course! That was the point!" She turned to the girls. "I'm so happy it was a family. I love it when young people get to see art. I'm certain you two will enjoy yourselves!" They both shook her offered hand. Ib liked her. She was kind and warm, if a little too perky for comfort. "The owner really should be here to meet you, but he's so dreadfully lazy about such things." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "Tell you what, you go wander the GAllery, and I'll come get you when I've found him!" It was agreed that they would do this, and the family moved off. Mary took Ib's hand and pulled her away from their parents, promising to meet later. The pieces were labeled by artist, some merely reading 'Guertena,' while others added another letter: S. Guertena.

"That must be the son..." Mary whispered, and Ib agreed, for those pieces were always the technological and computerised ones. Then, they passed one portrait that made her pull free of her sister's hand to stop and stare at it.

The man was young, about their age, with lavender and indigo hair. He appeared to be asleep, surrounded by blue roses and a single, yellow candy wrapper.

Blue. Roses.

Ib's chest clenched, and she felt the sadness overwhelming her again, this time even greater than before. Something about this painting, and it's label 'The Forgotten Portrait, Guertena,' made tears spring to her eyes, and guilt an loss wash over her. Why? Why did this painting move her so when none of the others did? Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt Mary tugging at her arm.

"Ib! C'mon, that one's too blue. You'll only depress yourself! You know how you are!" Finally, unwillingly, she tore her eyes away from the young man's face, trying to wipe the tears away, and followed her sister into another room. This one was entirely by 'S. Guertena,' filled with robotics and mechanics. A falcon flew around the chandelier in circles, and the wall plaque identified it as 'The Hunter, S. Guertena.' Mary wandered off to go look at the mechanical, singing mermaid, leaving Ib temporarily alone. She looked around blankly, until the piece at the centre of the room caught her eye, and she approached it slowly. It was smaller than all the others, a holographic video of a life-sized rose, through then entirety of it's life. It grew, and began to blossom, producing a bud of pure red - as it got bigger, whoever, blue seemed to be painted over the petals, until the realistic, full-fledged flower was a glorious purple, the same colour as the envelope that had brought them here. Then, as gracefully as it had been born, the rose wilted, fading away; as she watched, though, a sprout appeared from the rotting remains of the old one, restarting the cycle. Ib stood mesmerised by the delicate, detailed display, holding her breath, and watching the circle go again and again.

"It's called 'The Phoenix Rose.'" She jumped and gasped at the voice, turning. He was tall, and thin, perhaps too thin, and pale. He was dressed in a slightly rumpled dress shirt and pants, shiny black shoes, with a leather jacket pulled over his shoulders. Slowly, her eyes moved to his face, and she jerked back in shock.

The man from 'The Forgotten Portrait' gazed back at her in bewilderment.

"Problem?" She blinked. No, it wasn't the man from the painting, though the thin, fine-boned face was a trifle similar. This man had odd, violet eyes, and a floppy, visored black hat that fell into his face quite a bit. His hair was pale blonde, in a slightly rumpled ponytail that fell to his shoulders. When she shook her head, he walked forward to stand beside her.

"You... You were saying?" He looked sideways at her from under his hat.

"It's called 'The Phoenix Rose.' It's by S. Guertena. I heard rumours that the kid put his life into it, his very soul." Ib frowned, disliking this without knowing why, when a voice came from behind them.

"There you are, Sven!" Both Ib and the man turned. Helena was walking quickly over to them, Ib and Mary's parents in tow. Mary quickly joined her sister, though Ib didn't miss the brief, suspicious glance she threw at the man who was apparently named Sven. "Where have you been?" Sven shrugged.

"Eh, lounging about the Gallery. I feel I should be allowed to look at some oft he art I show." Helena groaned loudly, but stayed professional.

"This is Sven. He's the owner of the Gallery now, and the one who sent the passes." Sven smiled tiredly at them.

"Yes, yes, hello, hello." Kara frowned.

"Um, Mister..."

"Sven is fine."

"Mr. Sven, if you don't mind... How old are you?" Ib blinked at her mother's question, looking the man over herself, and realising that he was no taller than she. Sven shrugged.

"Just turned eighteen this year." Both Kara and Karl reacted with shock, but quickly recovered.

"W-wow! And you own a gallery already! That's impressive!" Sven looked away, gripping the brim of his hat and pulling it down further in front of his face.

"Well, I was an emancipated minor." He muttered dismissively. "Got started early." There was an awkward silence, and Helena quickly rushed in to fill it.

"Sven is an absolutely genius with machines!" She exclaimed, but Ib detected a note of false cheer in her voice. "It's thanks to him that we were able to get S. Guertena's works up and running!"

"Really?" Mary quipped, drawing Sven's attention to her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the young man's face visibly twisted with dislike. Then, he recovered.

"I did a bit."

"Only because your grandmother told you to. I mean, honestly! You could try listening to other people once in a while!" Sven looked away from Mary, and flashed his small smile at Helena.

"Nah. Work's hard. I'd rather sleep." Helena laughed slightly, sounding only a little irritated.

"Alright, now that we're-"

"Sven!" A woman's voice echoed through the Gallery, making the other patrons turn, confused and surprised. A tall, regal woman was making her way deliberately toward their group, her mouth set. Her hair was completely white, as was her dress, that Ib thought she had seen in one of those high-end fashion magazines earlier that year. She had clearly once been very beautiful, but age had added a sense of majesty and authority. She came to a stop in front of them, setting her hands on her hips. "Sven! What do you think you're doing? The Giant in room six is having malfunctions, go fix it!" Sven swallowed, gripped his hat tighter,a and bowed his head.

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, and scooted off. Helena looked after him, then turned back to the woman.

"How do you do it?" The woman in white moved closer.

"It's simple." She said. "If you want Sven to do something, you just have to make it worth his while." She looked around at the group until her gaze lighted on the girls. For a moment, Ib gazed into her silver eyes, clear as crystal and strong as it, too. Then, they suddenly clouded, and the woman's face changed, losing the confidence and assurance it had possessed before. "It's you!" She cried in trilling tones, grabbing Ib's hands. "You came back! I always knew you would! You'll help us, won't you? Help us save them? No, don't answer, I'm sure you will. That's why you came, right?" She was shaking Ib by this time, her expression almost desperate. "Right?"

"Adolfa!" Helena put a hand on her arm. "It's alright!" Mary put her arms around Ib and pulled her away.

"Stop it!" This was a mistake. The instant she saw Mary, the woman, Adolfa, began to shriek, pointing at the blonde girl.

"You! You! Get away! Get away from us! You... You murderer! You vile murderer! You killed him, yes you did! We know! We saw everything! You killed him, Mistress Mary, you murderer! You'll pay!" She made a violent go at Mary, but was stopped by Helena's arms. The other guests cleared out of the room, while Sven, hearing the shouting, burst back in.

"Grandmother! Grandmother, calm down!" He ran over to help Helena, and the three sank to the floor, the curator and owner holding the old woman up as she shivered, clinging to Sven. Helena disentangled herself, turning to them.

"I'm sorry. Dame Adolfa has some... Mental instabilities, most likely due to the abrupt and early death of her son, Sven's father, sixteen years ago. Trust me, she's harmless." Ib nodded uncomfortably, but kept a hold on Mary's hand. Sven talked his grandmother back onto her feet, putting an arm around her. Helena looked at him. "Perhaps touring teh gallery will make us all calm down?" He nodded.

"Sounds better than working." Helena rolled her eyes, but led the way out of the room.

It was Sven who stopped them in front of the giant painting at the top of the stairs.

"I always liked this one."

"Why?" Helena asked jokingly. "Because it looks like he put in about as much effort as you do in your everyday life?" He chuckled a bit, tugging at his hat, then looked over at Ib.

"Say, Ib? You want to read that plaque for me?" Mary jolted.

"Can't you-" She started, but Ib nodded and moved closer to it.

"'Fabricated World, Guertena. Once you step through it, there is no going back.'" As soon as she finished, the lights flickered. For a moment, all was quiet, and the Ib noticed something dripping from the picture frame.

Blue.

"What just happened?" Kara wondered aloud.

"It may have been the breaker, but its seems fine now" Helena assured them. "Please don't panic." Karl put an arm around his wife.

"Not to worry. Happens all the time at our house."

Blue.

Mary was on the verge of panicking, despite Helena's words, wringing her hands and shifting from foot to foot. Adolfa was gazing curiously at her grandson.

Blue. Blue paint. Ib had seen this before, This ooze. This colour. But where? Where?

"Sven? You alright?" Helena's voice nearby her brought her back to reality. She looked over at where Sven had been standing. He had moved over some, and was pressing his forehead against the wall, his eyes closed tight. After a moment, he looked up.

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, little bit of a headache there." He smiled. "Don't worry about me." He stepped back from the wall, sighing. "Shall we continue?" He turned to go, then stopped. There was a distant, thudding sound, and then sloppy, red letters were stamped across the floor without any obvious cause.

welcome home mary

welcome back ib

join us downstairs?

They all stood frozen, staring at the words.

"Ib? Mary?" Kara asked quietly, her voice shaking. "What is this?" Ib shook her head.

"I... I don't know." But she could not shake the same feeling of familiarity that she had felt with the dribbling blue paint. They all heard Helena swallow.

"It's probably a prank. Let's go downstairs and put a stop to it, shall we? This really is not funny. You're our guests!" She marched off toward the door, and was quickly followed by Kara and Karl, mumbling their agreement. Sven smiled, and bowed lazily to Mary to go first. She glowered at him, but humphed and went all the same. He followed her calmly, but paused at the door, looking back.

"Grandmother?" Adolfa was hovering by the painting.

"Oh, yes, brilliant. Quite brilliant. You are deserving of your title, my dear. This will do it." She continued mumbling as she turned and wandered past Ib to the door, stepping out. Sven continued holding the door until Ib joined him, then closed it.

"You seemed a bit distressed there." She looked at him.

"Hm? Oh, it's nothing."

"You sure? I know you came to this Gallery nine years ago. It's not got any painful memories, has it?" The question jolted her, and suddenly her mind was providing images she didn't recognise.

'? World, Guertena. Once you step ?, there is no ? back.' The lights flickered, and she flinched.

"Mom? Dad?" She called, testing. No answer. She glanced at the picture. There was something blue oozing over the frame.

Something blue...

"Ib!" She came back to herself when Sven caught her before she fell down the stairs. She nodded a thanks to him, and descended quickly. The memory was there now, clear as day. She had been nine, and the light flicker had caught her by surprise, and then...

And then she had nothing.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, panting slightly, and saw the others clustered together in front of 'The Abyss Of The Deep, Guertena,' moving to join them.

"I don't like this." Helena was saying. "Where is everyone?" She folded her arms tightly, biting her lip. She turned at the sound of Ib and Sven approaching. "Alright, now that we're back together-" She stopped suddenly. "Did you guys hear that?" They all frowned, but then the sound came again, a heavy, grating noise, like something large being dragged. Kara's eyes widened.

"I... I think it came from room six!" Sven whirled to face the offending room.

"D-don't tell me...!" With a crash, the Iron Giant burst through the wall, thudding and dragging itself towards them. "It is! Everyone get out of - HYEEEEEK!" The Giant took a swing at them, and Sven ducked away from it's fist with a yelp.

A familiar yelp.

That... That just startled me. Anyway. Let's go!

Ib clutched her head. Who had said that? Who?

"Ib! Mary!" That was her mother's voice, making her turn. Their parents and Helena were backed up against the 'Abyss' by the robot, and Sven was being shoved over to join them. With a yell, Ib started toward them, but Mary grabbed her wrist and tried to hold her back.

"No, Ib! Don't! If you go, then you'll re-" Whatever Mary was trying to say wa slost when, with a great sweep of its arm, the Iron Giant pushed all of them into the Abyss.

Wait.

In?

I like that ending. I just like it. 'Wait. In?' Reminds me of the 'Ten eye blink in the sudden darkness of Moria' thing from Lord Of The Peeps. I realise Ib says virtually nothing here, but she WAS mostly silent in the game - she'll talk more later.

It occurs to me, even a nine-year-old should know words like 'through' and 'going,' but whatEVER.

Shipper? Whose a shipper?