Me: Hiiiiii!
Ib: *covers ears at loudness*
Garry: *glares*
me: what?
Mary: wierdo-
Me: *rubs out her mouth and replaces it with a duckbill* Silence!
Mary: -.- quack.
Me: I just wanna say, this is my first fanfction, so be gentle!-I kid, flame all you want *puts on flame proof suit* I am prepared! annnyway...
Ib, Garry, and Mary: Puddin and Cream does not own Ib!
Me: Dammit! I will someday!

~Chapter one~

* Her eyes filled with tears as she took his hand, so pale and oh so much larger than her own petite one, in her hand. His eyes, that once she knew as soft, gentle and kind, were dark and full of hate. Yet she couldn't quite say that that hate was aimed at herself.
His lips, slightly chapped, like he hadn't had anything to drink in a long time, spread into a small, but by no accounts friendly smile. It was far to dark, and in a way, that made sence. He was dark...and she regrettd that he had changed so much...her hand moved on It's own acord and she felt it reach up to stroke his cheek.
He pulled away though, and she let loose the first word she had ever said since she started to have these oh so similar dreams, three months ago. "Garry..."

*Ring! Ring!*
Ib's shockingly bright scarlet eyes snapped open and she took a deep breath as she shot up out of her bed and onto the floor. She put a hand to her heart and lay there, her vision blurry and her mind in a spin. She gave a frustrated sigh and turned of her alarm. Ib ran a hand through her hair as she shakily stood up. Why did she keep having these cruel dreams...all they did was remind her of...him.
She stumbled to her wardobe and got out a crisp white blouse, a dark black neckerchief and a black skirt. Her fashion sense had not changed much since that day nine long years ago. She sighed as she slid on some white stockings and black flats. She got out a hairbrush and started to brush her hair as her mind drifted off elsewere...

In the past her parents had done many things to try and 'help' her forget what had happned.. Her parents had truly believed her, for It seemed that when she saw their portrait in that room before the ladies in the painting's found a way in and tried to kill her and...him, her parents had witnessed It all,
trapped inside that painting until she had found her way out of that psuedo reality. It took them some time to remember, but they did. They had tried their best, sending her to many well known therapists and doctors, to try and find a way to block out the 'traumatising' memory of being lost in that trecherous world. Yet none semed to be able to do anything. At last they had murmered to her parents that she was holding back, something was refusing to let It be forgotten.
Her parents were bewildered, but Ib knew, oh she knew all right. It was Garry, who she had left in that world seemingly dead. Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered It, how he was so kind, Mary's singing as she ripped his life force away one petal at a time. He had told her he was only sleeping, and as a small and naive child, she had readily believed him. She had left him, thinking he would follow...but he never did. Only nowadays did she realise just what happened to him, and It ripped her very soul apart.

He, simply said, had died. Died for her. He hadn't had to. He could have let Mary keep her rose. He didn't have to swap It for his own. He was so kind, and for what? Her? She shook her head and wiped away a stray tear that dared to leak out of her glistening eyes. It just wasn't fair!
Why should he have had to die? She bit her lip and restrained from smashing a small fist into her stupid pretty litle dresser. It was all her fault! If only she had realised, she would have stopped him from doing It!

Her greived and angry thoughts were broken when she heard her mother call up the stairs to her. "Ib" she calld up softly, in case her beloved daughter was still asleep. "If you are up, please come down to the living room. I and your father have an idea."

Ib felt her curiousity, such a flaw back in the fabricatd world, peek up and she opened her door, closing It behind her as she walked down her stairs. She finally made It to the living room and saw her parents were both sat down, there hands In their lap, looking quite serious. She felt a little worried and hastend to sit down in her usual place on the red chair with, oh the irony, red roses embroidered on the cushion. She looked at them expectantly, wary in case something bad had happened. Her father started, and she listened with a curious expression on her usually stoic face.
"Ib, I and your mother have been thinking..." he started off, then gestured for her mother to carry on. She nodded and did so "and we think It would be...maybe best if we visit the gallery once more..." she said in a coaxing way.

Ib froze slightly and her face went in on itself slightly as she thought about it. Finally, after a while of thinking, she voiced her thoughts to them. "But..what if.." she cut herself of and ducked her head, but her mother seemed to understand.

"The gallery may do what It did before?" she questioned shrewdly, and smiled slightly when her daughter blushed lightly, realising she hit the nail on the head. She sighed and walkd over to her sweet daughter, once so vibrant, now a shy and stoic mess, and kneeled beside her. "Sweetie...It may be th only way for you to get closure." she reasoned to her with a soft sigh. Ib seemed to seriously consider It, and bit her lip as her many thoughts ran and flew acros her mind.

Eventually, though, she nodded and spoke in a quite, worried voice. "You pomise I can leave If It gets to much?" She seemed to relax when her mother and father both nodded simultanously, smiling at her apparent agreement. She hid a small smile as her mother clapped her hands. "Marvellous! We shall go tomorrow!" and walked off briskly to inform the maids that they were off out the next day and they where too wash and iron their best clothes.

Ib let loose a small sigh and stood up, bowing to her father and leaving the room so that she could go back to her sanctuary, to brood in peace. Yet, she couldn't help but feel slightly exited about all this, after all, the gallery was where she first met Garry, maybe this would be where she saw him again. Her brain instantly cut off that thought and she frowned in sorrow. Oh, what was she doing, thinking so foolishly, He was...dead, and no wishful thinking would ever bring him back...

Not as far away as you would think, watching through a seemingly broken watch, were all this was displayed on It like a scrying glass, a young man smirked lightly. He was incredibly tall, even for his age, and his hair had some odd, darker strands tumbling down from his roots. His eys, once the colour of bluebells, were now like ice, cold and calculating.

So, Ib was returning, Garry thought to himself as he let a twisted smile decorate his face. Well, what a reunion they would have...what a reunion indeed.