Disclaimer: I don't own Ib. Simple as that.
A Twisted Fabrication
Chapter One
Mary wouldn't let go of her hand. Ever since Ib had found the wounded girl on the floor and retrieved her yellow rose, Mary stuck to her side like glue. Ib didn't really mind the company, preferring to have someone else who could make the whole event less scary than it was. And Mary did just that, rambling on about her father and fascination with art.
"He sometimes paints, you know," the blonde chatted happily, beaming at Ib with a spark in her eyes. "Of course, his works don't sell as well as Guertena's, but I think they're beautiful. When we make it out of here, I'll have to show them to you!"
Ib flinched, frowning. Mary noticed her discomfort and instantly deflated, the spark leaving her. The phrase remained unsaid: If we make it out of here.
Both of the girls had found themselves in a rather distorted version of the art gallery they had previously been at. Paintings and sculptures of all kinds by the famous Guertena were alive here, and seemed to do nothing but chase the two of them, harassing them and setting up challenging puzzles. So far, Ib and Mary had been able to solve them, and they weren't exactly excited on finding out what would happen if they failed one of the puzzles.
Ib was glad Mary was with her. It made things a lot easier. Ib felt like she had a real friend.
The brunette did not have many friends at school, but it was not for lack of trying. Ib tried very hard in fact. The other kids just didn't get her, and she didn't get the other kids. They thought she was weird because she didn't say much. Ib thought they were stupid and flat. She had nothing to say to them. Her classmates never stood out; they never gave off that air of mystery.
Mary was different. She seemed like a very happy girl, but there was one little detail that Ib didn't understand. Something twisted and dark raged under Mary's surface. It hissed and spit, showing itself only when the blonde became enraged, a spectacle that had only occurred twice upon entering the 'Fabricated World'. Ib didn't know why a thing as ugly as that lived in Mary. Maybe it was the lack of a mother in Mary's ramblings, or perhaps a result of an event far worse. What Ib did know was that Mary wasn't aware of the nasty shadow inside of her.
After the Juggler had stolen her rose, the blonde flew into a rage, chasing the thin paper man all the way to his portrait, and proceeded to tear him apart with her bare hands. She made sure not to harm the wilting yellow flower, her life source, in the process. When Mary was done with what remained of the painting, her storming blue eyes cleared, and she was rather confused as to why there was so much paint everywhere.
It frightened Ib, that she was in the company of someone so unpredictable. On the other hand, a part of her was pleased.
Finally. Someone...different. Someplace...different.
"Hey, Ib?" Mary began to speak again, and Ib's train of thought wavered. "How old did you say you were again?"
Her bubbly tone had returned, followed by a tightening grip on Ib. "Hmm? Ah, yes. My age," Ib said quietly. She gave Mary a soft smile. "Fifteen. I'm fifteen years old."
Mary shrieked, throwing her arms around Ib to give the girl a hug. "That's just one year younger than me! We're so close we could be sisters!"
For some reason the word 'sister' filled Ib with a strange feeling; one which consisted of warmth, yet anger.
She shook away her doubt, though, and returned the hug, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment.
It didn't last long, unfortunately. The reason behind going up all those stairs entered Ib's mind and she gasped. "Mary," she jumped back and looked at the blonde with wide eyes. "The key! Please tell me you grabbed the key back there!"
Mary's eyebrows furrowed, and she shot Ib a look of confusion.
"The one in the room with the Fisherman, or the one with all of the books?" she asked.
"There were two keys?" Ib's stomach dropped.
"Yep," Mary smiled. She winked at her friend. "I got them both."
Reaching into her green dress's pocket, she pulled out the keys. One blue, one purple. Ib let out a sigh of relief at the sight of them. She lowered her hand from its position on her chest, and flashed Mary a grin.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Mary," Ib told her, and the other girl's eyes watered slightly at her words.
"Thanks, Ib," Mary wiped her eyes furiously, and laughed. "Come on, then! I have to show you my dad's paintings, right? We're getting nowhere standing around."
Mary took her hand again, and the two leisurely walked down the deserted hallway, hoping that the peace would last just a while longer.
Ha. It would end soon. Because behind the blue door down the way, everything was going to come apart, ripped from its seams. Those two little girls didn't know what real Hell was like yet. They'd find out soon enough, though, because soon the both of them would live it.
A/N: A lot of things are going to be different, especially considering that the 'Fabricated World' in this case is much more gory than the canon one, since Garry is the 'painting' here. I have no idea when I'll update the next chapter. :( On the bright side, I'm sure I'll have a lot of fun with this story, since I haven't written fanfiction in forever and am currently obsessed with Ib and The Witch's House.
Go easy on the critique, please. This has been sitting on my computer for a while, and I doubted whether I should even upload it or not. I have a bunch of other stories, too, from different fandoms, and might eventually upload them as well. For now, though, I'm going to test the waters.