"But mother, why do I have to go?"Ib sat in the back of the hackney cab with her parents.
"Now dear, you are almost of marrying age. It will be far easier to find you a husband if you are cultured, and a patron of the arts." Her mother sighed. "Did you remember your handkerchief?" Ib waved the small square of lace-trim cloth. It was perfectly white, and had her name and a simple rose design embroidered in the corner. It was a present from her most recent birthday, and she treasured it dearly.
The horse-drawn cab came to a halt outside of the Gallery. Ib's father got out first, to pay the driver, followed by her mother, then by lb herself. As they ascended the Gallery's steps Ib began to feel more and more nervous about the whole endeavour. The showcase was of works by Guertana who, despite being inarguably one of the greatest artists of all time, often had his works labeled as being macabre or unsettling. Ib played with her handkerchief, wrapping the fabric around each gloved finger in turn.
"Mother, father, may I please peruse the gallery alone?" she inquired innocently.
"Without a chaperone?!" her mother gasped. "You'll cause a scandal!"
"Come now, darling, be reasonable. You're talking of marrying the girl off in no time at all! At least let her have a little freedom!" Ib's father said. "Off you go, lb."
lb smiled and left her parents in the foyer. She decided to explore the downstairs first, reading the captions, looking at the paintings, and eavesdropping on the conversations of others. After another brief conversation with her parents, she ventured upstairs.
There was a man near the top of the staircase that caught her attention almost instantaneously. Wearing a somewhat ragged cloak, and with hair in the most peculiar shade of lavender, he was quite something to behold. She sidled up to him, and read the title of the painting he was observing. "The Hanging Man," 'How gruesome!' lb thought to herself, turning her attention back to the strange man. He was rather handsome, in a peculiar way. lb stared at him, but he was yet to notice her at all, far too enthralled by the painting. She thought that she might be bothering him, so turned on her heels and walked away from the strange painting and the even stranger fellow looking at it.