A New Game

My name is Ib. I know I've been through a nightmare and came back alive. I just don't know what it was. There's something crucial I've forgotten, and I'm sure it's important to me.

Every time I'm sad or lonely, I find my way to the Guertena gallery. I always wander the halls, and eventually I end up gathering some sort of sense to wonder why I was there, and what I was looking for. My body moved on it's own, like it was searching for something. It was like it knew a fact of life that I didn't. What did I forget?

Shaking my head, I tried in vain to tell myself to forget about it. There really was nothing to make me act like this, it was all a psychological game I played with myself. To make it seem like my life was the least bit interesting. I sighed and stood up from my spot in the shade of a tree to the blinding sun.

My feet began to walk, I knew it would be another trip to the museum. Well, I deserved it this time. It had been a bad day. College wasn't all that it was cracked up to be; so many assignments and projects, not to mention the teachers and other students one has to contend with. Today, an art project I had been working on for days was ruined by a girl who spilled her coffee on it. She didn't even apologize. I didn't bother to make a deal out of it, I would just start over. But I had really liked that piece. It was of a young, pretty girl with long blond curls that fell over her antique green dress. There was now a coffee stain over the left side of her hair, darkening her features like a scar. I took a moment to pull it out of my bag and grimace at it, but shoved it right back in. There was no point griping about what was lost.

I shook my head and walked in the double doors into the familiar front room. The lady at the desk waved at me, she knew this gallery was practically my second home. A few old couples wandered the many rooms, one small group of children from a school trip.

All looked typical that day, though it did not take long for me to realize that something was different. The energy in the place, the very air had been changed. It wasn't my familiar gallery anymore. Out of the corner of my eye, shadows seemed to move on their own accord and morphed into entirely new beings all on their own.

Chills ran up my spine. This eerie feeling almost seemed like a whole different world.

I pulled out my sketchbook, trying to get my mind off of it. Surely it was only my imagination causing this sensation. It was just a bad day was all.

Equipped with my pencil, my hand flew across the page, detailing the infamous "Forgotten Portrait" I had sat in front of. The man's face was peaceful and comforting, like a long lost friend's. Peace was something I desperately needed at that moment.

Whispers abounded around me and I attributed them to the intrigued murmurs of guests. It wasn't until much later that I peered around me to find that the lights had dimmed substantially and no one was around. I assumed most of the people had gone home now that it must have almost been time for the gallery to close.

That was, until the lights went out. I swore I could hear a small laugh from a child. Then the lights flickered back on. Nothing seemed out of place, not until my eyes set on the single child in the room.

A young version of myself smiled, cinnamon eyes glistening.

"Welcome home Ib."

The lights flickered once more, and she was gone. By this time I had stood, now shaking slightly from shock. There was a flash of recollection, a jumble of mixed up sequences in my mind that made no sense but at the same time made all the sense in the world to me. I remembered that the path of my life had been shaped by an event that happened in this gallery.

Then I ran. I ran through the gallery in urgency. I had to find it, I just had to find it.

Then I stopped. What was I looking for?

What was it?

There was a tiny object that caught my attention on the floor. I knelt down and picked it up as if I was holding a feather.

A single blue rose petal.

For some reason, I could not tear my eyes from it. I stood there, cradling it in my hands. My entire focus was directed onto this lone petal. It almost felt like my entire existence could be described onto this one fragment of a rose.

Then a voice broke through my nostalgic silence.

"It's been such a long time! Wanna play?"

So, it's my first time writing a fanfiction. Usually, I don't write such short chapters for anything, but for this story I think I will. Personal preference for the short and sweet I guess. But hey, that means frequent chapters so yay for that! I would be so happy if you would favorite and review it. I really love Ib and the story, so this is my sequel to the first game. Or how I think it should go anyway. If you haven't realized, it's based on the "Forgotten Portrait" ending, though I'm pretty sure it was obvious. Well, I that's all for now! Thanks for reading! :D