A/N: Yeah, so it's been a while. And this is what I have to show for my absence in writing.

Let me just say, my other stories? They're on hiatus. I have long since lost where I was going to take them, not to mention they each have little to no plot. I will probably go back and edit "What's Left" because I didn't do so when I first uploaded it, and it's an eyesore. But that'll be it.

Concerning "Memories," this is based off of the fake!ending Sacrifice, and heavily inspired by other stories. For similar reading, I recommend AGENT Kuma-chan's "Coda." The first chapter of "Memories" is my rendition of events, and then any chapters after will be a continuation, because I can. I know, I wish it was a real ending too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ib, although I do have a copy of the game.

Ib felt like her heart would burst. She and Garry were so close to leaving, she could feel it, but she couldn't stop seeing Mary, happy and smiling, in her head. She felt a mixture of anticipation and dread as she looked at the painting, the one that instinct said would send them home. She wanted to go home, to her Mother and her Father and her life...didn't she?

"What's this big mural...Fabricated World?" Garry murmured, looking closely at the painting. Ib knew when he had figured out what it was by how large his purple eyes suddenly got, and by how tense he had become.

"Hey, isn't that...the former gallery?" he questioned, disbelief and relief and happiness layering his words. Ib had always thought Garry easy to read for an adult, yet she also thought that it was one of the traits that she liked the most about him. Ib didn't say anything though, content to let him figure it out.

"Does that mean...if we jump into this thing, we'll go back there?! But how are we meant to jump into a painting...?" Garry questioned, looking adorably confused, and rightfully so. If it weren't for the fact that this entire fiasco had started from stepping into a painting, Ib would have thought it unbelievable as well. As if their thoughts had made it possible, and accompanied by a startled outburst from Garry, the frame surrounding the painting glowed sharply twice before disappearing altogether.

"Now might be our chance!" Garry cried, his eyes wide and elation clear in his voice. Ib hesitated, thinking again of Mary, and how the bubbly girl had wanted to leave this nightmare to see the real world. As if her thoughts had summoned her, she could hear the hurried footsteps that preceded Mary right before she appeared, stopping a foot away from where Garry and Ib were standing.

"I"M NOT LETTING YOU LEAVE!" Mary screamed, and those simple words were filled with so many emotions. Fear, anger, sadness, and a creeping madness native to Guertena's works all colored her words to paint Ib a heart-breaking picture. Not even out of breath, Mary charged towards them, her Caribbean-blue eyes trained directly onto Garry, and Ib somehow just knew how this would work out. Despite Garry's plead of "Ib, don't-", Ib still stretched out her hands to stop and save Mary all at once. The blonde painting stopped dead, betrayal making its way onto the stage of her eyes as Mary looked at Ib. Still, the blonde painting tried to dissuade her nicely.

"Please get out of my way Ib. We're leaving together, and to do that...he has to stay here." Mary stated, her tone leaving no room for argument, and the words caused Ib's heart to wrench sharply at the thought.

Leave Garry here? Alone? In this nightmare forever? No! Ib couldn't accept that, wouldn't accept that she had to choose between them. When Ib didn't reply nor so much as twitch, Mary's face contorted ugly-like and she shouted angrily "MOVE!" Still, Ib would not be dissuaded, unable to make the choice thrust upon her.

All at once, the fight seemed to drain right out of Mary, startling the other two people around and leaving Mary looking much older than she appeared to be. She looked heart-broken, like Ib was ruining something important by not moving away. "Y...you..." Mary couldn't even finish her sentence, the palate knife slipping to the Gallery's floor with a dull 'clank'. She looked away for a moment, and then her shoulder's shook on a sob, and Mary turned despairing eyes onto her best friend. "You'd really choose him over me, Ib?" she asked, voice high and cracking, tears pouring like streams down her painted face. The sudden actions left Garry at a loss, and tore Ib's heart to shreds.

No, no, that's not...that's not it! That's not it at all! Ib felt hurt fill her, and then it drained out of her in an instant as she suddenly remembered a past conversation the two girls had had when they had been separated from Garry.

If only two could leave...what would you do? Mary had asked her, and Ib had had no idea how loaded the question truly was. She had initially thought very little of it, and had answered without really thinking.

I would sacrifice myself.

Now, her answer seemed so obvious and right and terrifying all at once. But Ib also found a measure of peace in it, in knowing she wouldn't have to choose between her two newest, most-important people. She loved Mary. She loved Garry. She wouldn't wish this nightmare on them. She wanted them to live and be happy. Her heart thudded in her chest rapidly, like a bird trying to escape a cage, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a drum. She was scared, she was sad, but she was also confident in her decision.

"Ib?" Garry questioned gently, unnerved by her stillness. He panicked for a moment that Ib would really choose Mary over him, and then dismissed that idea. After all, it had been him who had stuck by her. Ib paid him no mind as she turned her back and stepped away from the painting. She couldn't let them see just how pale and sick she looked.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked, startled by the other girl's actions. Mary had a bad feeling in her stomach, like something bad was going to happen. She'd had this feeling when Father had disappeared, and again when she'd thought Ib would leave. She had it now, and she knew something was going to happen, something she wouldn't like. Ib paid her no mind either, caught in the grip of her epiphanies. Almost like in a trance, Ib raised her right hand and cupped her rose, slowly increasing her grip until the petals showed between her fingers and the thorns on the stem poked painfully into her palm. She noted how it immediately felt like someone was squeezing her heart to death, making it hard to breathe properly.

"Stop! You'll hurt yourself!" Garry cried out, watching in horror how Ib handled her rose. He'd never seen her handle her rose so cruelly, she normally was the most cautious with her rose. It wasn't like she was squeezing his rose, yet he could still feel his chest tighten in sympathy for her.

Good. Ib thought cruelly, comparing this pain to the pain she had put Mary and Gary through. When she thought of it like that, the pain paled in comparison. She saw out of the corner of her eye how both Mary and Garry were reaching for her in distress and sealed her fate with one quick tug, the red rose separating from the green stem with a squelchy-snap, Ib automatically biting back a scream. Her companions covered it for her with a shocked-cry of her name, tones ones of disbelief and horror and despair at her actions.

She could hear the tears in their voices and didn't look at them, instead taking a sick pleasure in spreading the disconnected petals along the floor like they were drops of blood. She dropped the stem last as she felt a wave of fatigue come over her. She knew how final this sleep would be and wanted to welcome it, but there was one more thing to do. Ib turned around to look at Mary and Garry. Mary, with hair like gold and eyes a Caribbean blue, green contrasting nicely with her pale skin; with a smile as bright as the sun, and who had only known loneliness. And Garry, pale as the moon, with purple hair and purple eyes and ragged cloak and kind heart. Neither had moved from their positions due to the rising shock for her and Ib smiled sweetly at them, and then she reached out and pushed, and watched as her friends screamed her name as they disappeared to the other-side. To the Real World.

Ib felt the last of her strength leave her with the passing-on of her friends, the numbness spreading rapidly now that she no longer had to be brave and strong for anyone. Looking back down the hallway, her legs collapsed underneath her, causing her to fall harshly to her knees, bruising them with the impact. She was strangely calm as cold seemed to claw up her spine, head pounding in time with her heart. Her vision was going red as she slipped the rest of the way to the floor, the tiles cold against her cheek. Ib could feel her eyes slipping closed, and the last thing she saw was her broken life-rose, scattered along the floor of a Fabricated World.

Mary was furious, and drowning in sorrow and loss. Her best friend – no, sister - was gone, forever inside a world Mary could no longer go into. It made her sick to her stomach, made her want to go into the dark spiral rages she was used to plunging into in her world, but the real world – the outside world – is no place for them. Next to her stands Garry, but he might as well be fabricated for how he is now. She hears him say it himself - "Odd. I don't recall what I was just doing..." - and wants to scream at him for forgetting Ib.

But he calls her sister, and Mary notices her anger being pushed back, far back into her mind, behind diamond-like glass and untouchable. She can recall the feelings, can feel the anger there, but it's muted and distant, and somehow, Mary knows the separation from the feeling is part of the price paid. Despite the distance from it, the emotions still make her sick to her stomach, and she tells Garry as much, falling back onto the fake memories provided.

She asks him if they can go home, and some twisted part of her laughs wickedly when he misunderstands just what that means. To this Garry, home is someplace in the outside world, but she knows home will always reside with Ib. They walk away, and then Garry asks after the candy he had given Ib, and Mary finds the despair easy to call upon again. The tears are warm for the first time, and they burn paths down her cheeks in silent retribution. Garry panics, tells her "It's okay," and "Try to cheer up~" and Mary wants to hurt him like she'd wanted to do before Ib made the decision.

They meet Ib's parents on their way out, and Mary feels like puking, it hurts so bad. But Garry, forgotten, fabricated-like Garry, smiles and charms them, and takes no notice that there should've been a little 9 year old girl with them (one who isn't Mary, anyways). They part ways, and he's offering to take her to a cafe for macaroons, the same ones he'd promised Ib, and Mary's stomach rolls. She starts crying just to relieve the pressure, and Garry walks a little quicker for the exit.

He stops before they can leave, his eyes catching sight of a new-yet-familiar painting on the wall. Garry's never seen it before, yet he gets a sick, familiar feeling when he looks at it. It's of a little girl, about 9-10 years old, with long brunette hair, and she's wearing a white, long-sleeved top and a red cravat. Her hands are bound by thorned vines and clasped to her chest, and where her hands would've met in prayer, there is a beautiful red rose. There are tears in her red eyes, but the viewer of the painting can see a small smile hidden just slightly behind the rose. There are more red roses along the bottom and sides of the painting, and it's titled "Goodbye."

"Mary, come look at this," Garry calls, wanting her to see the beautiful picture despite her not feeling well. Mary turns and looks at it, and Garry is confused when he sees shocked recognition in her eyes, despite knowing there's no way Mary's ever seen it. She practically runs to the painting, getting as close as is allowed to it to view it, and Garry half expects it when she starts all-out sobbing, because he feels like doing-so himself and he doesn't know why. But he's unsure what to make of it when Mary repeats a single name over and over again, one that somehow manages to hurt him every time it's spoken.

"Ib!"

Ib's in hell. She's sure she is, though she feels a bit disconnected from it all. She watches from the other side of the painting blankly as Mary falls to her knees and cries in anguish, and how Gary stands just behind her, confused and worried for Mary, and how behind those emotions she can see the part of him that remembers her is in anguish too. She watches all of this with sad eyes, but the disconnection from it all is there, like she's watching from a faraway place.

Ib's seen her painting. She thinks she looks quite good, portrayed as she is. But the dolls – not bunnies, never bunnies again – have long since moved it to where she suspects Mary's portrait hung, in the pink room she and Gary had never gone into. The mannequins and paintings don't chase her, they don't even spare her a glance. The only thing she interacts with anymore is a single doll, dressed in pink and with long black hair. It's the same doll who led Gary into the doll room, and Ib rips all the limbs off of the doll in revenge, then leaves the doll in the doll room as a warning.

Eventually, Ib puts the doll back together, if only to have someone to speak with, and the doll is kind about the whole thing. Her thoughts drift as she watches Mary and Gary leave and the exhibit close, and Ib knows from her knowledge of the other side that the exhibits paintings will go into storage for another ten years. The concept is strange, because she's already discovered that time flows differently in Guertena's world.

The rest of the Fabricated World knows it too, because the paintings hang themselves back on their walls, the mannequins go stand in their original positions, and Ib can feel her eyes get heavier with hibernating sleep. It's a lot like how they were when she died, and she smiles at the feeling, but as her doll companion goes to its room to sleep with the others there, she knows she'll wake up again. So Ib travels through the gallery, disconnected and unharmed, and makes it to the room where her painting hangs. She looks for a long moment, fighting the siren's call as she observes herself, her painting, and then sits underneath the painting to sleep, head resting against the wall, hands clasped in her lap.

And if in her dreams, Gary doesn't remember her and Mary cries out for her in her sleep and neither can see her, Ib chalks it up as a dream.

Alright. Thank you for reading. Comments are lovely!