I'm alucart and this is my first Ib/not yaoi/not quite romance fanfic omfg what. I must admit I am new to the Ib scene and am not entirely sure what I am doing, but this is an adventure for me and I hope you will enjoy it too!

This fanfic is pretty much a 'what if' continuation of the Forgotten Portrait ending in the game. I've noticed that quite a few others have written their own versions of the same ending, so I hope mine is just as interesting and can do it justice!
I'm actually insanely nervous about this like you wouldn't believe ahah.

Also, this is dedicated to Ako, who gave me the idea and has been such a wonderful bro in bouncing ideas around with ;w; Just with every other game I have ever played, I haven't actually completed Ib, so if I get any characterizations wrong, I apologize in advance. Horror is not a genre I am usually into either, so I apologize if anything in the later chapters sounds really stupid instead of the way it was meant to be portrayed orz

But enough of my rambling, please read on and enjoy!

Loves me...

Loves me not...

Step after step growing heavier, heavier. A quiet little crackle beneath his feet. Looking down to find flimsy blue petals, already fading, drying out. Withering, wilting. With every chime of the little girl's voice, with every step like a knife in his heart. One that made the air feel colder, colder.

Loves me...

Loves me not...

Breathing seemed so sharp, suddenly. It was all he could hear in his ears. The sound of his lungs laboring. The chalk corridor seemed to stretch in front of them, growing longer and longer, dimming on all sides so all he could see was the path in front of every slowing step... the one strewn with blue petals, the petals of his rose.

Loves me...

Ib was still walking before him. Her mouth set in a firm little line, her face so pale but her eyes so resolute... one arm was stretched out behind her, towards him. She was holding his hand... when had that happened? Trying to lead him along as though so determined to see him out. Well, he had said that they'd catch Mary and make her give it back... was she so determined, even though he knew there wasn't any hope left for him? Oh to have the strength of a child, the naivety... he would have smiled, had the chill not set so deeply into him.

Loves me not...

He'd known what would happen the moment he gave up his rose. But even though everything around him seemed to be dimming, he found... he had no regrets. Before him stepped a little girl who had so much more to learn, to experience, a family who would miss her... it was more than Garry could have claimed was waiting for him. Besides, she was only nine and she'd braved so much with that stoic little look on her face. How cowardly it would be to leave her here... and let her serve the fate in store for him.

His breath was deafening in his ears suddenly, a shaky, drawn in gasp that felt like it would rattle on forever. His knees gave way and he felt himself falling, he hit the ground and it seemed that every bone in his body collapsed in on itself for an instant. Jarring pain so hard and so sharp... but he couldn't cry out. He couldn't let Ib know how much it hurt, how it felt as though his heart were slowing. Eyes had squeezed shut and now slowly opened, as if in a dream, he lifted his head and looked up at the little girl who now stood before him with such wide, worried eyes. She was still holding his hand. He smiled at that.

"Ib... um..." even his voice sounded distorted to his ears. How could he tell her? How could he possibly explain to a child just what giving up his rose had meant? He couldn't do that to her, not after all they'd been through together. "S-sorry but... could you go on ahead?"

Her hand gripped his a little tighter as his eyelids dropped tiredly. "I'm... I'm sorry... I don't really know what to say..." The smile across his face seemed to resolve itself, a brave sort of thing in the midst of his clouding mind. "... I don't want to lie to you. But I... don't want to tell the truth either." there was an odd lightness to his voice. Something like a little laughter expressing itself in his words. He was babbling, clutching at straws in his last moments. And Ib was fading before his eyes, slipping away into the black.

This was really happening. This was it. This was the end for him. He was afraid. He didn't want to die. And it all sounded so silly... such foolish little words escaping his mouth as he tried, so desperately, to hide the truth. After all he'd promised her, all they agreed to do together... his lips struggled to form words.

"... if you need help... I'll come running..."

A promise he wished so deeply that he would be able to keep. His hand slipped from hers, lifting weakly. Pointing towards the trail of petals. Bidding her to follow, to find a way to freedom.

Ib was reluctant to move from his side. But he smiled. "Go on... ahead..." As if to emphasize he would be true to his word, he shuffled forward, a weak little gesture on hands and knees, accentuated with a nod that felt like it took all his remaining effort.

She took a step back and he found that he couldn't lift his head, look at her. She'd know it was all a lie, she was clever despite her age... She didn't want to leave him, but she still turned away, heeding his orders. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, he could hear her running. Perhaps she'd catch up to Mary and he'd be alright... she could heal him again... just like she had when the Blue Lady had struck him down.

But even as he dragged himself to the wall, he knew it was an idle wish. His smile dissolved into a grimace of pain, his head fell back, pressed to the wall. She hadn't seen it... beneath his clothes, the slowly spreading stains of red. With each petal plucked, his body tearing.

Wounding.

Dying.

Breath slowed until it felt like his lungs were crumbling. He could no longer hear the beat of his heart. Once again his eyelids drifted shut.

In his mind was one last idle wish as his consciousness fled him. To find the strength to make true to those promises. Each and every one he'd made on this doomed journey.

I'm sorry, Ib...

I'm sorry...

His eyes fell closed, a man as though sleeping.

He wouldn't flinch when her footfalls echoed down the corridor again, hear her gasp at the sight of him. He would never know how she approached him with such worry in her eyes, the stem of his rose clenched tight in her hand. It was beyond salvation, Mary had made sure of that.

He wouldn't see her drop it in her concern, wouldn't hear her running to him. Wouldn't hear his name called so softly, so hesitantly, wouldn't hear it echo eerily down the expanse. She was only a child, she wasn't sure what she had come upon, for he breathed still, though he was as pale as death. She thought to wake him, reaching a hand out to his shoulder, wanting to shake him gently before remembering that people... never enjoyed being woken from such deep sleeps. She recalled bothering her parents in the dark of night, afraid in her own room of some sound, some noise outside, going to them in her fear to hear their angry mutterings escape before warm croons of safety and acceptance, comforting arms enfolded her. Entering the gallery though, she had seen far more terrifying things than any imagined noise or creature. But somehow, seeing him resting here was the most terrifying of all.

Garry's name left her lips again, louder this time, though still quiet and tremulous. The faintest sigh of breath escaped him in reply. He must have been sleeping so deeply...

Her hands drew back to clench at her sides. Thinking, thinking... what to do. How to go about it. Perhaps if she let him sleep, he would recover. He had said he would catch up, right? There wasn't any reason for her to doubt him, even if the stem of his rose lay discarded so nearby. A denial in rapidly sinking hope... a refusal to believe what was slipping away right before her. She had begun the journey alone and now it seemed... she would end it the same way.

Though he breathed, he wouldn't see her tremble. Wouldn't feel it as she touched his cheek, whispered his name as though in a last, futile attempt to wake him. He wouldn't see her tears, nor hear her sniffling. He'd never know how it hurt her, scared her... the thought of continuing all on her own.

His lighter was lifted from limp fingers. Her footsteps faded resolutely away.

He'd never see her struggle to strike it as she kicked up the drying petals of his rose on her way to that barrier of thorns. He wouldn't see her run towards Mary's painting, despite her tears and her fear. He wasn't with her to hear the furious canting of her heart, hear her strained breath as flames leapt high and a pallet knife was pointed at her chest.

He wouldn't know he was avenged as Mary crumbled to the floor in a pile of ash. Dust kicked up and kicked away, scattered, just as she'd so carelessly scattered the petals of his rose.

She returned to him, one last time, in hopes that he would rise and follow her, in hopes that they could still escape together. But a chill had crept into his slumbers, wormed softly, deeply into him. She stood before him, gazing at him, watching him as the slow rise and fall of his chest slowed and grew shallow, called his name one last time, sat beside him for as long as she could bear.

But to no avail. The sleeper did not stir. Her shoulders shook as she rose, her sniveling loud as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Her footsteps sounded loud down the chalk corridor as she turned away and refused to look back.

The faintest sound of his breath lingered as they faded away.

Softer and softer in a darkening world.

Fading and fading.

Silence.