"...He loves me not..."
"Mary?"
"...He loves me..."
"Please stop, Mary..."
"...He loves me not..."
"MARY! Stop! Please... stop it..."
"...HE LOVES ME!"
Forgotten Portrait
The little girl was jolted out of her reverie in front of a large, abstract painting. She saw dolls and a little girl in green within it's odd mixture of shapes and colors. Although she felt weak kneed, for who knew why, she bent down to look at the small copper plaque.
"Fab-ri-cated World." She had a bit of trouble pronouncing it, but she knew it meant "fake, or unreal."
"But... but I don't know those kanji..." A wave of confusion enveloped her, soon subsiding as "作製しました" turned back into "?."
She rose, walking left, the turned right, before ducking and cowering in fear...
From mannequins. They were just mannequins. They would never come to life. Or tear apart roses. Or hurt her brother.
"I... I don't have a brother..." Ib gulped air as she caught her breath. The same feeling overtook the young girl as she looked at the crying, headless figures.
She got back up as the metal people stopped crying and stood still again. She walked closer to the lobby.
She paused right before traveling the corridor back to the desk. She saw a new painting. One she never saw before. She walked up to it, involuntarily tearing up as she did so.
A young man with purple hair and a big black spider on his head lay slumped against a wall of thorns that sprouted from a knocked down painting on floor. He wore a sleeveless green shirt with a dark blue jacket with a torn up collar.
His eyes were closed, yet he was smiling.
A last smile for his sister. Ib blinked, wondering where she got that thought, and a chill creeped up on her as she resumed examining the painting with puffy red eyes.
She saw he had a thin build and was wearing jeans. On his chest there was a long, thick stretch of dark red and several more red lines were scattered on his arms and face. She saw that by his left pocket, he had a loose grip on a blue, wilted rose whose petals had fallen off.
She heard footsteps and the mention of a Forgotten Portrait, but didn't quite care, being lost in the story Guertena had seemed to paint just for her.
The man's free, outstretched hand reached for a girl whose body was off-canvas, save for a pair of pale legs and red shoes, as if offering a hug.
She stood in silence, hearing nothing but her own sobs.
"She.." In sniffled between words. "She looks... Looks like me, mommy." She knew the two figures behind her were her parents.
"Yes, yes, she does, honey. Are you crying?" The brunette nodded her head.
"W-why am I crying, mommy?" Her mother had a confused look. She didn't know.
"Do you want to leave now, Ib?" She nodded again. Then her dad spoke up.
"Well, Ib, it's lunchtime, and we were thinking of going to a café. Anyplace you'd like?"
"J-just a place with real sunlight." She knew that sounded odd, but couldn't quite stop herself from saying it.
"And lemon candies... And macaroons... And roses. Bl-blue ones." She felt herself subconsciously playing with a lighter in her pocket in place of her missing lace handkerchief. Ib looked down at her feet.
"Sure, anything you'd like, bunny." Her father smiled, and they walked out the art gallery.