Had to reupload this as I found some mistakes... embarrassing. Oh well!
I realise that everyone will depict Guertena differently. This is just my interpretation of his character. Hope you enjoy!

Mary blinked and rubbed tears from her eyes as she stared in wonder as the rose shone brightly, giving off white light. Quite suddenly, she found herself very tired and, as her eyelids started to flutter, she found the glowing of the rose to be brighter, until the light enveloped her and all she could see was gold. Her head drooped to the side and she closed her eyes as she drifted.

A world of silence fell about her and her mind went numb. She smiled at the warmth that surrounded her and a faint breeze wisped through her hair. A sweet scent reached her and her eyes shot open. She found she was no longer in her bedroom, but resting against a tree and staring into a garden of wild flowers. Quickly, she stood up, still clutching her rose, which had returned to its same pastel yellow. She gazed around herself in awe. It was the garden from her bedroom's painting.

Yellow roses grew in neat patches here and there in flower beds encircles with lightly coloured bricks. A gravel path lay under her feet, leading to a sweet little beam cottage with a low rood and just the one floor. The door and windowsills were painted a soft auburn, flower boxes hanging from each window, white orchids growing from them. In front of the cottage, near Mary, sitting on the path, was an easel with a blank canvas and a wooden stool.

She turned her gaze upwards and immediately had to shut her eyes because of the sun's glare. Hesitantly, she reopened them and tried to shield the bright light with her hand. She looked in another direction and watched as the clouds drifted across the pale blue sky. Turning her gaze back to the ground, she crouched down and examined a ladybird scurry across the stem of a daffodil. The sound of a fluttering of wings reached her ears and her head snapped up just in time to see a blue jay cross the sky.

A click of the front door to the cottage sounded and a lean young man in a white shirt stepped out, balancing in his arms a palette and all manners of coloured paints. The man had not yet seen Mary as she ducked quickly behind an apple tree and peeked out to watch him come down the path.

The man set his paints down on the ground and started arranging them in order, humming a light tune. Mary kept her back pressed to the tree, not daring to peek out from behind it. She heard the man let out a chuckle, 'There's no use hiding behind that tree, Mary,' he said warmly, 'I already know you're here.'

Timidly, Mary stepped out from behind her tree, clutching the rose to her chest, which by now was pounding hard. 'Who are you?' She found her voice small.

The man looked up as he finished his arrangements and Mary got a better look at him. His light brown hair was parted at the side and kept in a short but loose ponytail; his face was thin with stubble lining his chin. His nose, rather sharp, and his kind eyes a bright brown; he worse a light-coloured waistcoat and a blue tie with smart black trousers.

'Why,' he said, 'I am your painter of course. Guertena is what they call me. Guertena Weiss. It is a pleasure to finally see you in person,' he smiled. 'Now, let me get a good look at you,' he said as h took a step towards Mary and circled her once, 'Ah yes, you are just as I imagined.'

'Imagined?' Mary repeated nervously as the man stopped in front of her and placed his hands on hips.

'But of course,' Guertena smiled, 'You are, after all, a part of my imagination.'

Mary's heart sank at his words, 'Imagination?' she questioned, 'So I'm… so I'm not real then.' She found she could not meet the man's eyes as her own began to well up.

A light hand touched her shoulder and she glanced up into the eyes of the painter, seemingly yellow as they reflected the sun's light. 'My dearest Mary,' he smiled sadly, 'I hate to see you so upset.' He wiped her cheek with his thumb, 'Perhaps I should not have made you so sensitive…' he mumbled before offering a sympathetic smile. 'But of course you are real. You are a painting – or, at least, you will be. You see, I have not painted you yet,' he gestured the white canvas that sat upon his easel, 'You are just as real as I am; just as real as the earth and this very sky.'

Mary gazed up at the sky as Guertena pointed upwards, 'But I'm not a person.' Mary lowered her head once more.

There was a pause and the painter sighed. 'No,' he said quietly, lifting her chin up, 'You are not a person. But why ever would that matter?'

Mary's head tilted as she considered this, 'Because a person does not live in a gallery.'

'Does my gallery displease you, Mary?'

Mary shuffled her feet under Guertena's thoughtful gaze, 'Well… I would not mind some company,' she said.

'Do your fellow paintings not suffice?' He waited for an answer but saw her uncomfortable, 'I ask you so I may improve your life, Mary. Do not be afraid to speak up.' He put his hands on his chest, 'As your artist, I am here to serve you. Please, tell me what it is you desire.'

'I…' Mary trailed off, searching her mind. What did she want more than anything? She knew the answer almost immediately. Mary swallowed, 'I want to be human.'

Guertena seemed surprised for a moment but then he started to chuckle, 'My, I certainly did make you different from the rest, didn't I?' He seemed thought for a while before he said, 'There is a way.'

Mary's ears pricked as she stared at him in surprise, 'There's a way?' she repeated, 'For me to join their world?'

'But of course, Mary. There is always a way.' Guertena said but his smile faded slightly, 'Though, it is not something that I would usually suggest.'

'Please tell me!' Mary said eagerly.

Guertena sighed, 'Are you certain that this is what you want?' he asked, 'What you truly want? More than anything?'

'More than anything!' Mary persisted, standing on tip toes, leaning in, eager to know the secret.

Guertena nodded, 'Very well,' he said, 'I suppose I ought to tell you. Do you mind if I paint you whilst I explain? Only, I worry about the time.' He waited for no answer as he turned from Mary and sat upon the stool. He took up his paintbrush and palette, then dipped the brush into a soft green and lifted it to the canvas, 'You see, the only way you could possibly be human would be to replace someone who is already human.'

'Already human?' Mary asked.

'Why yes,' Guertena replied, 'You cannot become anything without first giving something away – it is the fundamental rule of an exchange of equivalence. For example, I make my paintings with these,' he gestured the paints, 'Without ingredients and a soul, you cannot have a body.'

Mary nodded thoughtfully as she waited for him to continue.

'Now unfortunately,' Guertena explained as he continued to paint, 'The colours of my palette are not enough to render you fully living, which is why you are confined to my gallery. What you carry in your hands now,' he pointed to her yellow rose, 'That is your soul. It is by touching it that you were able to return to the origin of where it was born – that is, now. You have traveled through time, my dear, as I knew you would.' He beamed at her proudly but then his brow furrowed, 'But your soul is weak, and it will wilt away in the human world after a short while. In order for it to live, it would require the life of someone already living.'

'But how would I ever convince someone to swap places with me?' Mary looked to him pleadingly.

'Well,' the painted continued, 'The funny thing about exchanges in equivalence is that it is not required for both parties to be aware of their participation or the details of the transaction.'

Mary watched as Guertena kept his eyes focused on his canvas as he bit the end of his brush, 'So you're saying I can trick someone into trading places with me?'

Guertena offered a slight smile, 'That is one way of putting it, I suppose,' he said, 'And then they would take your place – as a painting.'

Mary brought a hand to her chin as she stared at her shoes for a moment. She lifted her head, 'And this person I replace, they would live in the gallery?' she asked.

'Yes,' Guertena replied, wetting his brush in a small glass pot of water. He watched her carefully, 'I see you are really considering this.'

Mary was surprised by his words but unable to understand his tone. 'Shouldn't I?' she asked.

'Well you must take into account the other party's well-being, life and happiness,' he reasoned, 'They may be very settled in their world.' He stopped painting for a moment, but his hands on his knees, eyes slightly narrowed as he watched her.

'Oh,' sounded Mary as she shifted her feet a little. She cocked her head to one side, 'So you don't want me to do this?'

'What you do, Mary, is entirely up to you. I will not attempt to convince you to do either one or the other. I may have created you, but in no way to I mean to ensnare you. I am not your guardian – I am your creator.'

Mary thought for a moment before deciding, 'If I can't be happy, why should anyone else?'

Guertena paused and chuckled slightly, 'Why indeed?' he asked her sadly, 'Very well. If you really want this, then I shall send two people your way. It will be up to you to choose who to replace, if you choose either at all. I will create a painting that will serve as a portal to the human world – you will know which one it is; you will feel it. Seek the help of your fellow paintings – they will help you.'

Mary nodded as she took this all in, 'Thank you!' she exclaimed, bounding slightly on the balls of her feet, 'But why two people?' she asked.

Guertena smiled, 'Just a precaution. You may end up befriending one of them. I will be sure to send you two near opposites so that your decision should not be too problematic. Someone born of the red, and one of the blue, I think.'

He noticed the confusion on Mary's face and he explained, 'The colours are the sources of our personality,' he said, 'You have a yellow rose, symbolized by the colour of your soul – it is what you identify with. A red soul is courageous and adventurous, but a blue soul is reliable and sensitive. You have a book in your room that can inform you more on the basics of colours.'

'What does yellow mean?' asked Mary as she brought her rose close to her face, staring interestedly as the sun's rays reflected off of its petals.

'Yellow?' Guertena smiled, 'For me, it is the most interesting of all the colours. A truly fascinating soul – rare and precious. A yellow soul means many things. It is joyful and spontaneous, yet analytical and clever.'

Mary grinned at this, although unsure whether she really was any of these things. She wondered especially about the "joyful" side. But Guertena has said she was, and so she gazed down at her rose fondly.

'Ah! That!' Guertena suddenly exclaimed and Mary jumped a little in surprise, 'That right there!' Guertena continued, his features lighting up, 'That was a lovely expression. You should wear it more often. That right there was the essence I want to capture in your painting.'

Mary flushed at the compliment and she let out a laugh. Guertena rose from his stool as he put his palette down, 'Now Mary, it saddens me to say this, but unfortunately our time is running short and I will have to finish your painting alone. Your rose will start to wilt if it remains in this world much longer, due to its incompletion.' He took one of Mary's hands and bowed, 'To meet my masterpiece was a real honour.' Mary giggled at his words. 'Is there anything you wish to ask me before you go?' he asked.

Mary thought for a moment, before nodding, 'When you make me and the other paintings come alive, what do you give in exchange?'

Guertena smiled, 'With every painting, I give a piece of myself away. In order to bring these people into your world, to morph their human souls into paint… it will require a great deal of strength. But if it is for you, then it is possible.'

'I don't really understand,' said Mary as her brows furrowed, 'Why is it hard?'

'My dear Mary,' said Guertena, 'As all the colours, yellow does have a negative side. Try not to be too impulsive and stubborn, don't give into greed and don't hide what you feel. Let your radiance shine.' He clasped Mary's hands together, the rose held between them as he placed his hands on hers, 'And now,' he said, 'It is time to say goodbye.'

A flash of white erupted from the stem and it travelled up towards the petals. The light grew stronger as it enveloped Mary, causing her to shut her eyes, and she had the strangest sensation that she was falling. She felt herself hanging in limbo for a few moments and she clutched on to her rose tightly, pulling at against her chest. She woke with a jolt, back in her room, on the floor where she had been crouching earlier. She looked around, at first in confusion, before her eyes fell on the flower in her hands. She gazed towards her painting, where she stood in Guertena's field of flowers, grinning happily. She smiled. She would get out of the gallery at last.

Thanks for reading!