Note to self; don't listen to "My Immortal" while feeling down and writing a fanfic.
This one is a slightly depressing take on the 'Promise of Reunion' ending.
Disclaimer: I don't own Ib or any of the characters
The clock.
The damned, insufferable, monotonous clock. Its relentless ticking burned in Ib's ears, echoing in the cavern of her mind as she tried to ignore it. She wanted to tear it from the wall and crush every part of it into ruined splinters. To break it down until the wretched sound was silenced permanently.
Instead she sat in silence.
"Ib!"
The sound was a reminder. No matter how much she hated it, she couldn't bring herself to block it out.
"Please! Don't!"
Each tick was a second. A heartbeat stolen from one who would never have another. It was a moment that someone else had lost. And she was the thief that took it.
Three years ago Ib had endured the single most terrifying event of her life. She had been pulled into a world of nightmares, with a single red rose representing her life. If the petals fell, she would soon follow.
Flames. Screams. Burning. Nothing left… Nothing…
In that place she had met two others who appeared to be trapped as well. The first was Garry, a young man who she found lying on the floor. He was a timid person, afraid of just about everything in the Fabricated World, but he still stood by and tried to protect her. Ib had never had someone watch over her like that before. It was oddly comforting. Even with the dangers, she felt safe with him nearby.
The second was Mary, a bright and cheerful young girl about Ib's own age. The blonde had taken to her like an excitable puppy, assuring her that the two of them would be friends forever. Despite how strange it was to have someone latch onto her so quickly, Ib found herself smiling along with the other girl. She quite enjoyed the thought of being friends with Mary.
Together, the three of them had set out in search of a way to escape their shared prison. For a while, it seemed that things would work out fine.
But nothing in life comes free.
Very soon, Ib had found out just how little she knew about her companions. Mary had a secret that would threaten to tear them apart. She was a painting.
The happy young girl was in fact one of the last works of the artist Guertena. Though neither Ib nor Garry had known at the time, she had spent well over a hundred years imprisoned in the Fabricated World desperately trying to escape.
That was when everything went to hell.
When her secret was revealed, Mary turned to more desperate measures. In order to keep her new friends from abandoning her, she orchestrated a plan to steal Ib's rose and secure her own freedom. Ib's rose in exchange for Garry's… Her life in exchange for his…
He accepted. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? He was just the kind of person to do something so infuriatingly noble and stupid.
Ib had been forced to watch as he slowly crumpled to the ground. The life leaving his body with each lost petal and ragged breath. He succumb soon after, falling into a slumber she feared he might never wake from. She couldn't afford to stay with him no matter how badly she wanted to. Mary still had his rose, and maybe, maybe, there was a way to fix it all. As she turned to go after the painted child, something caught her eye.
The lighter. If Ib lived to be a hundred she would never be able to look at another flame without seeing that lighter.
She hardly knew what she was doing at the time. Some instinct warned her that she needed protection. She didn't want to believe that Mary would hurt her, but the desperation in the other girl's actions made her worry.
She didn't find Mary. She found something much worse. In her pursuit, she located an item that took her breath away.
Mary's painting.
"What are you doing here!?"
When she saw Mary, standing in the doorway with only a single petal left on Garry's rose, she acted.
"You shouldn't be here!"
In that moment she made a choice that would haunt her for years to come. With the lighter in hand, she set Mary's image alight.
Ib had never seen someone die before. At only nine years of age, the concept of death was still somewhat alien to her. But watching Mary burn tore away any semblance of innocence she had left.
A deluge of emotions washed through the other girl's eyes. Pain. Fear. Panic. And one that stood out against all others…
Betrayal.
Despite all that had happened, despite having used Ib's rose as a bargaining chip, Mary had still trusted her. The last image on her face had cut Ib straight to the core.
Mary was gone… It was with leaden steps that she picked up Garry's rose and put it into a vase. The healing waters soon restored it to pristine condition as if it had never been plucked in the first place.
He was back. He was alive, and yet Ib still felt a hollow weight in her gut. But this was the best outcome wasn't it? Mary had tried to hurt them. It had been justified, right?
Right…?
Ib couldn't believe that. Not after having been around her. Not after reading about her plight.
Mary had been trapped in almost total isolation all her life. The only way she could escape was to replace someone else on the outside. In her diary she outlined the root of her problem, making it clear just how much she needed to get out.
She had wanted to leave Garry behind, and escape with Ib. Who knows… maybe if she hadn't found Mary's room it might have worked.
Ib wondered if that would have hurt the way this did. Probably. She doubted it would have been any more bearable.
A noise from downstairs brought her out of her memories. The front door was opening, and her parents seemed to be talking to someone. Distantly, Ib was aware that it would be more polite for her to come down and greet the person, but she could hardly bring herself to care.
Besides, she would probably be poor company anyway. She didn't feel like talking.
"I'm so glad you could come. We didn't know who else to turn to."
Her mother's voice reached her as the group approached her room. They were talking about her; there was no doubt about it.
"How long has she been like this?"
That voice was familiar. Normally she would have loved to hear it, but right now it was just another reminder of her crime. Of how badly she had failed.
"A day and a half at least. She won't talk to us, and she won't eat anything. Please! If there's anything you can do…"
"I'll see if I can help."
The footsteps were getting closer now. With every fiber of her being, Ib willed him to go away. She didn't want someone to try and comfort her; she just wanted to be alone. Regardless, a knock soon came at her door.
"Ib…?" Came the soft call. "Can I come in?"
"…"
"I'm opening the door, ok?"
"…"
The wood groaned slightly as it was pushed open. Stepping through the doorway was the one survivor of the gallery. Sometimes Ib wished she could call herself a survivor.
Garry crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to her. She didn't move, or even react to his presence. She simply sat staring at nothing, with her knees pulled up beneath her chin.
For a while he observed her in silence. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and he knew just how bad it could get.
"Your parents are getting worried you know. They tell me you haven't eaten anything all day."
"…"
With a sigh, he placed his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to offer some reassurance. "It's not your fault you know."
She had heard those words from him so many times now. Maybe someday she would be able to believe them. After all, if it wasn't her fault whose fault was it?
"Ib, listen to me." He said, his voice taking on a slightly stronger tone. "You didn't have a choice. If you hadn't done it, who knows what she would have done to you? It was you or her, and she wasn't real."
Wasn't real…
Ib's head turned to face him, her eyes burning into his own. She saw many things in Garry ranging from heartfelt concern for her well-being, to frustration.
But she didn't see understanding.
No matter how much he tried to see things from her perspective, he simply couldn't. To him, Mary had simply been another painting. This was where the two of them couldn't agree.
She hadn't been human, but did that make her any less alive? Was it suddenly ok to kill her if she didn't bleed? Or eat? Or grow? What made Ib's life worth so much more than hers had been? Who got to decide such a thing?
She turned away from him to stare at the wall again. As much as Garry tried to help, he simply didn't have the answers she needed. Though she was surrounded by family, and those who cared about her, Ib had never felt so alone.
"Please say something." Garry's voice was softer now, almost begging her to break her self-inflicted exile. "I want to help, but I can't do that if you don't let me."
She could, couldn't she? Reach out. Accept his comfort. In time the wounds wouldn't hurt so much anymore. The urge to do so was so strong that she felt bitter tears stinging in her eyes. She would have loved to if it were not for one fact.
She would forget.
With time, the images in her memory would drift away. Mary wouldn't be the girl she remembered anymore. Her image might turn into something darker; a monster that Ib had naively tried to justify. Or worse, she might disappear entirely.
Ib had taken everything away from the painted girl. Her freedom. Her future. Her life…
She wouldn't let her memory vanish as well.
Garry's shoulders sagged as she remained silent. She knew this hurt him, but it wasn't something she could let go of.
The two of them sat in mutual suffering. Though they were only a foot away, the distance between them seemed insurmountable.
Ib was coming to realize something. With each nightmare plagued by flames and ashes, with each moment that the color yellow brought tears to her eyes, with each laughing child she saw it became clearer.
She might have gotten out of the Fabricated World…
But she could never leave it.