Long time, no see! :D I've been away working on a few personal stories, but after playing Ib...I just couldn't resist. So, hope you enjoy!
The breeze…I am nothing but the soft wind, flying away with you.
Wrinkling the wool of my favorite fall jacket, inside the palm of my fist, I broke into a run—so close. Alongside the road, the speckled walkway carved a winding path to the infamous Gallery of Guertena's works; a weekly visit that had morphed into habit for the past seven years. Just thinking of the familiar sanctum brought an eager blush against my cheeks.
The air rushed with matching anticipation when I finally halted at the light marble steps. An impish smile wrapped across my lips: pure, unadulterated happiness.
"Ib," A gruff voice hollered from behind, "you passed that AP exam, correct?"
"I received a four out of five, sir." I saluted, turning to face the old receptionist. Rolling his eyes at my over-imposed formality, he nodded his head in agreement.
"I'm glad. Your mother would not be happy to hear of another unearned outing." I cringed remembering last year's Algebra two final. "Go on," friendly grey eyes, crinkled with age, smiled upon me, "they're waiting for you." I returned a grateful grin, heading down the hall once again.
"Hello everyone," I murmured, brushing my fingers against Eternal Blessing. My eyes drooped closed as cupped relief dipped into my fingertips. The hall lights flickered as I took step after step, feeling each painting. Bitter Fruit puckered my lips while the Lady Bug's wings buzzed past my ears. Heartbeat, my chest clenched and my throat ached. The hallway stretched on. I passed The Coughing Man.
I don't remember how I fell in love with Guertena's works. My parent's confidently pegged it to my ninth birthday present: a trip to the new art gallery. To this day, they bolster on to any willing ear of my premature obsession with the paintings. "For days and days, she'd cry and beg for us to take her back! It was adorable! Her inexplicable obsession with the arts...she's gifted!" They'd say but the way they described me…was similar to the habits of a mental patient. "…for hours and hours she'd just bang at the door and cry for us to take her back." Then again, Mom was never one shy of exaggeration.
Enlightenment blended to Worry and eventually The Depths. I paused. Never did I walk past this point, for there was one more painting left alone in this hall. The Forgotten Portrait's embroidered edges reached forward, threatening my presence. Once filled with the warmth of my faded friends, the air now chilled with the cold regret of the sleeping man. Breaths turned to gasps, I willed my eyes to rip away. Why? How could one stranger cause so much…pain? Whipping around, I staggered away, desperately beating each tile to pulse the icy fear from my strangled veins.
Thrusting myself against the door, I searched for the metal handle only to be met with a gentle click. I froze. The lights lit a last weak goodbye before settling into darkness. Itchy tears sprung to my eyes as I banged against the steel door.
"HELP!" I cried into the empty darkness while fierce pops and cracks surrounded the room. Digging through the worn pockets of my checkered skirt, I grasped my pen light, clicking the tip and shaking at the sight in-front of me; in-cased in the bulb of white light laid the words: "C. O. M. E. I. B."
Please leave a review!