This is my little version of what happened after the Forgotten Portrait ending.

The snow battered at her red coat as she struggled against the frigid gale. How could such a snowstorm appear out of seemingly nowhere? She had just been walking home from her job in town when the storm appeared. It was winter, but such a blizzard was strange for this town.

Her red parka was thick, but she was freezing. She knew she had to find shelter, for she knew her house was too far away. Looking to her left, she could barely make out the shape of a large building. It had a small bit of a front porch.

Well, if the door's locked I can always stand on the porch and wait.

Ib made her way over to the building and checked the door. It was unlocked, so she warily went on inside. She was scared of trespassing, and the last thing she wanted was to have a shotgun in her face. It was very dark in the building, but it was a great respite from the frigid conditions outside.

I need to find some candles.

She didn't doubt that the power had gone out due to the storm. She walked blindly, her arm outstretched, to her left. After walking a short distance, she came upon a table about chest high, and ran her hand down the side. Just by the shape and feel, she assumed it was a desk for a lobby. After feeling around to the other side, she found some candles and matches behind the desk.

Quickly lighting one, she looked around. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. She started walking and noticed art on the walls. An abandoned art gallery. She was standing in an abandoned art gallery.

Looking closer at the paintings, she read the name under them from bronze plaques.

The Coughing Man.

Why did that seem so familiar? Ib felt she had heard that before, but couldn't remember when or where. She continued along the line of paintings. Horizon View. Glass of Antipodes. Serpent's Spirit. Twinkling of Crystals and Stars. They all were familiar to her, but where had she heard them? She kept walking until something crinkled beneath her feet. Picking it up, she saw it was a program of sorts. Reading the title, she was shocked.

Welcome to the World of Guertena.

Realization washed over her. This was the museum her parents took her to 13 years ago, when she was 8. Still in shock, she tried to remember what she did here, pulling every memory from her mind. The only memory she managed to pull was one she thought of often. A man with purple hair and a long torn up coat. Why this man was in her memory, she didn't know, but he often appeared in her dreams.

When her grandfather died 12 years ago, and Ib was driven in a state of depression, the man first appeared in her dreams. He would hug her, talk to her, and give her macaroons and lemon candy. Though Ib's depression only lasted a few months, she continued to see him in her dreams for years. Eventually, when she was 13, she fell in love with him. It got to the point where she would fall asleep in class just to see him. Of course, her grades slipped to nearly failing, and the man told her that she had to stop. Ib refused and said that she liked to see him more than school. Finally, he simply said he was going to leave. And he did.

With the man gone, she got back to her normal A+ grades, but couldn't seem to live normally. She spent her prom at home because she didn't like anybody else. Eventually, she told herself to give up and that he was just a dream. After that, she went on with her life, never telling anyone about him. Thinking back on it now, she realized something strange. That man never seemed to age. By now, he would probably be about her age.

Ib was quickly jerked from her thoughts by the feeling of hot wax running down her hand. The shock of the heat made her drop her candle, and cursing herself, she pulled out another candle. She lit it and continued down the hallway. Coming to the end of the hallway, she saw one last painting in front of her. This one caused her to drop to her knees. It was the man.

His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping and he was surrounded by blue flowers, but Ib was too busy to notice. The moment she saw the painting, everything came back to her. The strange dolls. The blonde girl. Their adventure. And his name.

"Garry." She whispered. She reached her hand out to the painting and ran her fingertips down the canvas. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered him. Sadly though, she didn't have long to see the painting. Too late she realized she dropped the candle. Too late she realized the drapes next to the painting were on fire. Too late, she smelled the smell of smoke. She jumped back and could only watch as the painting burned before her eyes.

The wall was stone and the carpet was fire resistant, so nothing else caught on fire. Not that it mattered to Ib. She looked at the small pile of ashes that used to be a beautiful painting before turning away and crying. Even if she couldn't have him, she could at least have his painting, until it burned.

If she had looked behind her, she would have realized something was rising from the ashes. But she sat there with tears running down her face, wishing she hadn't been so careless. She was plotting how she could kill herself when someone spoke.

"Ib."

She recognized that voice. The voice that helped her through that scary art gallery, that appeared in her dreams. She turned around to find Garry standing only a few feet away from her. His purple hair and tattered coat still the same as they were 13 years ago.

His face broke into a grin. "You've grown, Ib."

Ib was in utter shock as she looked at him. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? What? After a second though, she ran into his arms, washed by the smell of lemon drops. She stood there for a moment before whispering.

"Let's go home, Garry."

And that's exactly what they did.

Thanks for reading! If you're lost or have any questions, just leave them in a review and I'll answer them! Thanks!