And finally, the stupid last chapter that I never bothered to put up, less than writing it anyway!
Enjoy.
Mary played make-believe. Smile, laugh - hate the man who looks remotely like the one who abandoned them.
Just as all the ladies speak, one cannot be truly indifferent for what they feel in their hearts, false or real or none. The blonde loved her creator as a child to their father - and even when he suddenly passed away with the scent of spring dew in the air and tiny may flowers springing up in the pathetic front garden that Guertena was always so neglectant of, she did not hate the fact that he had never told her good bye, even though she behaved so.
The girl liked to end things with a proper sense of finality - if she did something, she would finish it to the very end.
And thus, she decided, she would head to the other world. Find the man's grave, and finish the job for him. Unless he came forth to answer her, but that was not possible - or so she thought.
Garry was, in all honestly, the most weak-minded man that she had ever seen. He was physically strong, and his polite personality was hard to hate at all, but nonetheless, it made her eye twitch a little when she noted how he could get frightened at the most simplistic of things in the gallery - though she did have to agree, the dolls' cracked red irises were creepy when they stared for more time than what was necessary.
-but none of that was as important a fact as his age. He was in his twenties, she identified. So many years - the thought made her annoyed. Her dearest father had so much time to come to her, to say good bye, and to maybe end this malicious paradise before anyone else got hurt by her little wish. And yet, the purple-haired man never came before this particular visit, and neither was he giving any signs that he even knew her.
Why don't you remember us? Why don't you remember me!
Mary silently called forth the jealous flower - trapped on the other side of the thorns, for a little while, she delayed from moving on with the brunette girl. Just to see if the older man could break those stone thorns with an instance of thought. This was his world, after all.
He didn't do anything, but wait patiently. He was human - and he was not Guertena.
Maybe that was the final straw for her. Maybe she did hate the artist after all, and that facade of hers was some unknowing truth that escaped her childish mentality. She knew for sure that a feeling had stirred up in her, and she never knew why.
Remember...!
But now, it did not matter. After the wave of shock had passed, Mary smiled pitifully and closed her eyes, momentarily dreaming of something her father had spoken of in plain murmurs and through far-away looks as he watched the dawn shine through his bedroom window - how miracles are magic, and how magic may create miracles. It seemed like a monotonous speech back then, so quietly, Mary had fallen asleep. Just like now.
All of her thoughts vanished forever.
I am one horrible writer if I took this long to just finish one chaptered little ficlet thing.
In any case, this is the end of this Mary drabble-ish series. God knows if anyone really enjoyed this. If you did, thank you very much! If you didn't... well, I don't really mind it, I guess...
Review if you'd like to. Flames will be used to burn paintings.
~Shiroi
