The man in the torn jacket kneels down and looks at her, with great concern. "Wake up! Please! We have to go!" His pleas were all in vain. He takes a couple of steps backwards. He cannot tell if she passed out, or passed away.
He starts looking around; if something were to happen to them while she was on the floor... The man vigorously shakes his head at the thought. He can't let anything happen. Not to him, and definitely not to her. He picks her up, and begins walking around, desperately looking for a safe place, or if they were lucky, a way out of this nightmare.
He looks inside her pocket. It was empty; she didn't have the rose. Suddenly, there was no point in leaving. Without the red rose, she's dead. The man checks his rose, and fortunately, his rose seems to be perfectly fine. "These roses... They're is intertwined with our lives... If the roses wilt, we'll die... I can't leave without it!" He places his rose back in his pockets, and begins wandering around.
The air in this place was dense; he could barely breathe. He shuddered at the thought of how the girl in his arms was doing. The scribbles on the walls, floor, and even the ceiling didn't help their situation. It's too much to take in. And yet, the entire area was littered with everything that tried to kill them previously: headless mannequins, blue dolls, moving heads, black shadowy hands, demonic faces that hunger for their roses... Nothing in there was safe. And yet, the man misses the most dangerous threat of all: the painting child, brandishing a palette knife right behind him.
At once, the knife enters his lower back. Blood begins staining his jacket and spills on the floor. "Gah!" The man bellows. A second strike aimed for his leg connects, and his pants soon become covered with blood. He falls on the floor, making sure the little girl in his hands is uninjured. He rolls the girl away, knowing that she would be in imminent danger if he continues to cling on to her. Petals begin falling out from his pocket. The flower inside his pocket falls out as well, and onto the pool of his blood that was formed on the floor.
The painting jumped on top of him, and wildly stabs at him. He attempts to block the attacks, but after getting injured, he can't maintain a solid grasp on the situation, and can't place his focus over the pain. His arms were easily slashed and bashed out of the way. The blue rose continues to wilt and brown, and more petals lifelessly falls. With the last of of his strength, he looks at the girl one last time. Her beautiful eyes remained closed. Her soft face was emotionless.
A strong jab hit through his head. The last thought he had was how he would be just like her.
The painting girl adorned in a green dress, drenched with blood from head to toe, finally gets off of the corpse. Breathing heavily, she drops her knife. She wipes her eyes, but it only made her vision redder. "You... you killed her... my sister... I'll never forgive you for that..." She runs off, crying without a care or purpose left in the world.
She never even noticed, but among the red she was seeing, was a red rose, mostly wilted, but very much alive. One of her tears, though slightly bloody, landed on the rose. New petals grew, and the rose almost restored to normal health.
The girl next to the corpse opens her eyes.