A/N: Uhhhh, idea I got from listening to songs. AU, kinda not really necessarily the gallery. (Feel free to fill in the blanks cause I lost half the story and didn't feel like rewriting it)
One shot unless I think of more/somebody wants more. R&R?
This is it.
You have to leave.
How long has it been? You must be missed. But you can't leave her. You couldn't.
"Ib?" She calls for reassurance. You smile, and squeeze her hand. She repeats the motion and laughs through her eyes. Her, with that malignant innocence of a paradox, and you with your stubborn indecisiveness.
You hadn't given it a second thought. As soon as you had the opportunity, you would make your escape. And you had it. Well, almost. You nearly had it.
Then you heard it.
They say that ignorance is bliss, and you're too young to make the connection, but not knowing would have been easier.
She used a wall for support as she mourned; snot, tears and bloodshot eyes marred her otherwise perfect face. Underneath her wails and whimpers she whispered something that crumpled your heart. You place a hand on her shoulder and she looks straight at you. "I don't want to be alone." Her crying has already stopped. She doesn't ask you anything, because your choice had been made.
It's not so bad. There are windows that show the sky, and they can look if they so desire. Ib watches her watch the window usually. Tonight she does as well, but for another reason. She creeps away silently, leaving only a paper. Mary watches the half moon emerge from behind a cloud, and doesn't know she's talking to noone until it's too late.
There's a break in Ib's memories, where things beyond are shrouded in a fog that only grows. But the break only pertains to memories of outside, so she still remembers the way to the exit she almost used. Like a sudden lake in a desert, it seems too easy. Too fake. It wavers before her and she's ready to pronounce it false until she realizes it's Ib's own eyes, suddenly full of tears, that are making it waver.
She's going to leave, when Mary finds her. Mary, tethered to this prison, scared to be alone, gripping the crumpled note in her right hand. "Are you leaving?" As if to somebody else, she adds quietly, "That should have been blocked."
You take a step back. Then one forward. Then you make your choice.
Then you hope it was the right one.