Coldness overcame him. Garry had no choice but to lay down as Ib moved forward, a fragment of the very essence of his life was snatched away with each time an eerily kind voice would sing. Loves me, Loves me not. Loves me, Loves me not.
Of course he heard the voice. Garry listened to each petal of his magic blue rose fall, floating to the ground as his life wilted with the flower. He had once hoped that Ib might have been able to rescue him, but soon he became aware of how fragile his consciousness was becoming and how soon he would slip into darkness.
Garry wanted only the best for Ib, the cute, fun little girl he had only met that afternoon. In his last moments – when the last shining blue petal fell and Mary sounded off a final, blissful Loves me as a cheer of victory – Garry had only wished that Ib had made it home safely after all they had been through at this horror show of an art museum and that Mary would stay as far away from the sweet girl as possible. Blissfully unaware of the events that unfolded after his drifting to sleep, Ib did indeed make it home.
Unfortunately, only one of the young man's final, silent requests came to light. Ib and Mary would be sharing each other's company for all time.