"I-Ib."
It was horrifying to Garry; staring down into the large, empty eyes of the girl he'd worked so hard to aid and protect. The precious girl who fought many a nightmarish creature to protect him in return.
God only knew how long they'd been wandering the terrible gallery and frantically solving puzzles that just seemed to lead to more puzzles.
Why, though? To get out? To escape the abominations that hunted them? To find some form of end?
Ib found an end.
Oh, Ib found an end, but not the end they were searching for. If this was what they wanted they would have given in long ago. They would have stood still as the red lady creeped toward them, one arm dragging her closer, the other not a moment behind.
No. This was not the escape they were searching for. Death was not an ending to their terrible story; it was a trap. They were both so young; so full of life. It wasn't time for them to part ways, if it were to ever happen.
Garry had so hoped that that would never happen.
He blinked away tears and his hands shook as he shifted her body in his arms. This place was full of implausible things - things that were better left as childish terrors and superstitions, only whispered in the name of parables and campfire stories.
One would think that bringing the dead back to life was impossible, but Garry was adamant to believe that in an altered reality like this one - where their lives were tied to vividly colored roses and paintings could rip themselves from their canvases, driven by their mindless bloodlust - he could find a way to bring her back to him. Ib, a small, strange, and brilliant young girl; his friend.