"Huh?"

Guertena's gallery was often busy with the sound of feet waltzing through the halls as people admired his dark yet beautiful pieces. People would ask questions, admire them with speechless awe and even take pictures with bright and obnoxious flashes. So why does it feel like she's just woken up? The brunette looked around and saw that no one was nearby. She turned and faced the white wall behind her, staring at the strange, twisted world that was deemed as fabricated by the gold plague underneath it. Strange, where has she heard that word? It rung in her ears like little faint bells. She shrugged off the thought and continued her way through the gallery.

As she disappeared from the painting's sight, she felt her chest loosen with relief. Why is that? The little girl looked back to where she once stood before as if someone was beckoning to her.

"Oh…" Where'd it go? She rubbed her eyes and stifled a small yawn. Clearly she was tired. Getting up early on a Saturday just wasn't something she could get used to.

Ib stood before the rose sculpture that called for her attention. She smiled at its beauty, but it was only for a short moment. Staring at the bright red petals made her heart ache. The way the petals were scattered about and the way the rose was blooming towards the roof as if it was looking for the blue sky were all too sorrowful. Ib stepped closer, her fingers wrapping themselves around the velvet rope. Looking at the 'spirit' she felt a genuine sadness expand in her heart. Ib started to grow detached from the world around her as she stared at the twisted bloom. "Why are you sad?"

She continued to stare blankly at the rose as if she expected something to happen. What is she thinking? It's just a sculpture. Nothing will happen. Nothing will change. She broke her gaze away from the Embodiment of Spirit, away from the sorrow and yet she didn't feel any better. Her little feet guided her aimlessly through the gallery, not even stopping to glance at the other interesting pieces the place had to offer. She walked by the window and saw only gray skies. Suddenly she missed the sun's warmth… Strange day today.

Finally, she stopped, her path ending at an unfamiliar painting. Her maroon eyes lit up with interest, scanning the painting's details ever-so carefully. The man's clothes looked like something she's seen people wear on TV. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted for he was slumped over against the wall. His lavender hair popped yet almost blended with the dark blue backdrop. This man was in a deep slumber, his face forever at peace.

Are you okay, mister?

Those words sparked something familiar in her mind. She remembered saying them before, but to whom? What was the reason?

Her eyes were still fixated on the painting as she stood very still in the middle of the hall. Like bells in her ear, she felt as if something was calling her. She felt as if she was forgetting something important. No way, right? She had her handkerchief, her student ID for in case she ended up lost and…

Her fingers felt something foreign in her pocket. It was wrinkled and rather noisy in a dead silent room. What she pulled out from her pocket was a small yellow wrapper, marked by the scent of lemon. As soon as she saw it, she could distinctly taste the sweet treat on her tongue. Ib looked at the man in the painting again.

Plip

"Eh?" She looked at her hands which were clenched tightly in front of her chest. Tears trailed down her fingers and down her wrists.

Am I crying?

The tears wouldn't stop flowing from her crimson eyes. No matter what, they wouldn't stop coming. She started wiping her tears away, staining the quality fabric.

Why am I sad? Nothing happened, so why am I crying?

Her heart began to break as she shed more sorrowful tears, breaking to stifled sobs and hiccups. It was that man. That man was someone important. It was unfair. He was someone important and this was something unfair. That's all she knew.

Ib… Don't cry…

The child felt a warm pat on her head.

You're safe and sound. Thank goodness.

She started to cry even more, her sobs growing uncontrollable. The sting of her tears on her skin began to her burn as her cheeks grew bright red.

Don't cry… You're back in our world.

As she cried, she felt a warm embrace wrap around her frail body. She opened her eyes and looked up at the man again.

Even if you don't remember me, I'll remember you. So don't cry. I'll always be here.

She was intrigued yet again, but not by the painting. She was intrigued by the nostalgia it gave her. More… She wanted to understand more… Who was this man? What does he remind her of?

Please, Ib. Smile?

"Ib!"

The child turned around as the call of her name. "Mommy."

"There you are! We looked everywhere for you." Her mother scooped her up in her arms. "Daddy's waiting outside for us." She smiled at Ib. "Did you like the gallery?"

Ib thought for a moment. She can't even remember what she was doing before she came across the portrait. The child looked back at the painting again and saw a small change. The man's peaceful face had turned into a sleeping smile. Was he having a nice dream? Whatever it was, it brought up her spirits.

"Yup, I really like it!"