Prologue: The Gallery

Music plays softly above your head. The settle clacking of your footwear is heard in the background. There are no crowds yet the people around you walk, quietly conversing with one another. Everything about this place is the definition of quaint. It is an art gallery after all, you're used to this feeling. Yet there is something off today, and you can't seem to put your finger in it.

It's been a few years since you have observed the works of Wiess Guertena up close. His style is quite unique, mainly because every piece is so different from the next. His collection has everything, and you mean everything. Landscape, still life, expressionism, mosaic, abstract, sculptures both big and small, there are even a few pieces of beautiful furniture. But what really catches your eye are Guertuna's realism pieces.

They are Absolutely magnificent! The way he is able to capture his subjects, it's like you could touch them and their features would be as alive as any of the guests beside you. (This is most surprising because it was thought that he didn't use models in his work.) In the same way, he brilliantly poses them in an almost surreal world, making them more intriguing.

One of them captures your attention. It is both breathtaking and….for some reason You haven't been feeling right all day. Is it the exhibit? That's weird, this isn't the first time you've personally viewed Guertena's collection, and you're not unfamiliar to the dark tones of an artist. You Just don't get it. Shaking your head, whether in frustration or to make sure that your mind is still in your noggin, you continue to observe the piece in front of you.

The piece is titled "The Sleeping man". Quite straight forward when you think about it. But upon examining it, 'straight forward' would not be a phase that could describe this. It depicts a boy, who couldn't be any older than his early twenties, sitting in slumber. His wavy hair is a soft shade of lilac, streaked with a few darker shade of violet. It covers his left eye, and reaches his earlobes. His clothing, although strangely modern for Guertena's time, fits well with the portrait's mood, and works well with the rest of the is framed with beautiful blue roses and in his propped up arm he holds an even more beautiful blue rose which covers his mouth and nose. Despite this, you can tell that he seems sad, which makes you also saddened. Perhaps he is what causes your uneasy feeling.

"He makes me feel so gloomy…" says the person standing next to you. You look at them, slightly surprised.

"You too?" They nod, not looking back at you, but continuing to stare at the portrait. "He doesn't look very relaxed for someone who is supposed to be asleep." They state.

They're right. Turning your attention back to the piece, you realise that his posture is too straight, and his shoulders don't slouch at all! And no one sleeps holding their arm up. It feels more like he's sleeping thru time, confined to his bed of roses. Perhaps that is the case of his sadness, the feeling of loneliness, of being trapped. Maybe-

"No no. You're over analyzing things. It's just Painting!" You say to yourself, smiling. Although surprised at your silent outburst, the other visitor can see thru your facade, and does not share your enthusiasm.

It's no use. You can't escape the overwhelming vibes this young man gives off. Surely there something you can say to lighten the mood. That's when the idea comes to you! You open your bag and pull something out.

"Well if I ever met him I'd try to cheer him up!"

"...how?"

You smile, genuinely this time, as you hand over the delicate object, for them to observe. They turn it their hands, only to respond with a questioning brow.

"But isn't this…"

Slowly...his eyes fluttered open.

He didn't know where he was , or what he was doing, but Garry didn't feel right. Actually he felt like his body had been torn apart, aching with both immense pain, and an unusual exhaustion that made him feel heavy. No, this was not normal. Instead of panicking though, he forced himself to breath deeply, filling his lungs with as much oxygen as he could muster.

It was slow, and heavy at first, chest burning with each mouthful of air. He just could not get enough to wake up. That was when something from inside of him seemed to burst, coursing adrenalin thru his body, and causing him to hyperventilate. He squeezed his eyes tight. It didn't last very long, but the pain Garry felt was intense. At least he was awake now.

The boy sat there for a moment, dazed. What was he doing on the ground, and why did he hurt so badly?

As the began pain subsided, he attempted to get up. For some reason he struggled to lift himself from the wall he was against. It didn't hurt too much to move, but he just couldn't. Weird, it was like he was being restrained…

He looked down at himself.

Slowly, he exhaled. Surrounding him were tiny vines, that seemed to grow out of the floors and walls. They wrapped around his limbs and tattered blue coat, with little thorns that clawed at him. There were a lot of them, making their way from his shoulders and attempting to reach his green sleevless shirt. They were also covered in tiny little blue rose buds. These must have been rose stems, or rose vines, or something. But how and why were they growing on him…

...and why did he feel nostalgic looking at them? At this, his mind began to explode with memories, memories of a terrible journey. They were fuzzy, but they were there.

That was when Garry realized, that he had to find someone. Yeah he was travelling with someone else. Someone he promised to leave with.

Adrenaline kicked it's way back into his body, allowing him to escape from the 'weeds'. He broke free from his vegetative binds, and sprinted down the halls. Garry had promised himself to keep his friend safe. Not only did they help him, but they couldn't survive this place alone. Not to mention, they had reminded Garry of someone he cared about, and he wasn't going to let those same things happen to anyone again. Forgetting his companion sure didn't make him feel so hopeful of that goal. Dammit!

He ran and ran until the pain returned, his body screaming out at him. The young man gasped and landed on his knees, wrapping his arms around his torso. He swallowed downs any other noises he was compelled to make, not wishing to hear his own pain. He was tired of pain. Pain, fear and anger were all he felt since he was pulled down here. He shook his head; his body was already messed up, he didn't need his muddled emotions in the way at the moment.

As he forced himself to breath, Garry looked up and attempted to remeber to which hallway he was in. The wallpaper and carpet was a lighter shade of the doll room, a little darker than his own strands of purple hair. There were three single paintings on the wall, and after deciding that none of them were a lady, or something else than wanted to kill him, he didn't give them much thought. He was in too much pain to really focus on details anyways.

A loud crash was heard, and he stiffened. His mind was screaming at him to run, but he was frozen unable to do much except stare at the floor. A scraping noise echoed down the hallway, getting louder and louder. He needed to move now! When Garry finally snapped out of it, he sprinted down the hallway again.

"Hey mister, where are you going!?" Asked a panicked voice. He almost tripped after hearing another human sound. Who was that...It definitely wasn't his friend. Were they okay? They sounded upset.

"I mean, we were having so much fun!" the voice sang now sweet and sugar-coated.

Nope! Garry once again trekked forward. Or at least he tried to, until two small hands wrapped around him, pulling him back to the ground. He'd been doing a lot of falling here too, and he was getting sick of it!

"Uh uh! We're not finished this game yet, and I'm not done playing!" declared the voice. Before he could get a good look at his captor, two more hands came up from behind and covered his eyes. "Not yet."

What the heck was going on!? More pairs of hands began to grasp him holding him down, and he was helpless. He hated being helpless. A strange smoke filled his lungs and he felt his body go limp. The hands moved him lower, but he didn't hit the floor. What was left of his nerves could feel the shape of someones legs under his head and shoulders. When the hands around his eyes lifted, he could not see who was holding him down. There was nothing but some blurry black figure, surrounded with dust particles.

"You should have stayed where you were." The voice stated, emotionless. A red blur, fluttered past the figure. It was like time had stopped, the little red piece moving past his eyes, it reminded him of that person, the person he had broken his promise to. The feeling of loneliness washed over him. The figure threw one more hand down, and a loud crack was heard thru the hallway. But no sound came out of the young man. He was motionless, no breathing could be heard. His eyes looked glossy, lifeless and grey. Yet there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

The Figure smiled "Why are you so sad?" It asked as it wiped the tears away. The other limbs disappeared, as the figure stroked Garry's hair. "You need not worry. I'll make sure that neither of us will be alone anymore…" It took out something, rolling it between it's fingers. As it's smile widened, it lifted the paintbrush up to Garry's face.

"...I promise."

A/n: Well hey there! Can't believe I actually uploaded something! I had planned on posting a portal story but I guess that didn't happen, did it? Anyways, thanks for reading, I know it seems a little out there or even uninteresting, epically since I'm using the Forgotten Portrait ending, which is very popular for fanfictioners. But I really wanted to do something different with that ending. Anyways, I hope it was smooth reading, and I'd really love Some critiques. If you notice any mistakes, go ahead and point them out.

Anyways thank you! Expect more...eventually. Sorry, I'm really slow at writing, which is partially why I'm staring to write fanfiction. So I can practice a bit. Once again thank you guys!

~Ether