"..I can't believe this..." Garry and Guertena stared at the easel as Ib rose, the second sonata in her hands. Guertena's eyes were wide and disbelieving. "She...I mean, I had high expectations for her, but...to peacefully subdue Mary...I didn't see that coming."
Garry remained silent, his eyes tracing Ib's features.

So much pain...it had taken all his strength to crawl away from that wretched blue woman, but his rose-
Dimly, he thought he sensed a presence. Gentle, small fingers pried the key away from his hand, and footsteps retreated. A few moments later, his vision cleared.
Standing in front of him was a little girl. Out of fear that she was an enemy, he leaped backwards; but then he calmed down and peered at the petite figure standing in front of him with a bewildered
expression.
Whether it was the fact that she was the first friendly face he had seen since entering the gallery, or the fact that she looked tiny and vulnerable, his heart instinctively reached out to her.
She was a tiny, quiet child, but in a reassuring way, with large eyes, long dark eyelashes and hair, her slight limbs doll-like and graceful. It made him happy when she curled her miniature hand around his and looked up at him as if she was seeking comfort, although they both knew that she was the stronger one, the one who was less startled.

"What's your name?"
"I'm Ib."

Ib...

"Garry, snap out of it!" He blinked, and then glanced at Guertena. "What were you doing?"
"Oh...uh, reminiscing-"
"This isn't the time for that." Guertena sounded agitated. "I don't know what's going to happen next; she's going somewhere; a place where we can't see her."
"Another dimension? Like the one with the black painting?"
"I think...I don't know, I have a feeling it's connected with that other side of me. The mad, hate-filled side that was born after Ivonne's death."
"...I don't like the sound of that."
"I suppose it's inevitable, if we're to get out of here. I think you've already realized it by now; all of the strong, individual physical manifestations have sonatas inside of them."
"It's because Ivonne's music-"
"Had the ability to 'give life'."

Ib didn't really know where she was going...her leaden feet were dragging, legs of stone slowly crumbling with fatigue. However, there was something that was pushing her on; Ivonne? Aimlessly, she wandered past corridors, rooms, and leering paintings before stopping at a large, mirrored wall.
G-Garry?
Instead of her own reflection, a pale-haired man sat at an easel, busily working. His slim figure and gentle fingers were constantly moving, in the same peaceful, mild manner as Garry's.
Crying out, she ran into the nonexistent glass and disappeared.

Vienna, 1918.
Everything is crashing. The world is crashing, falling to pieces as soldiers smash their way past border lines, people, towns...
He is ignored. A grieving artist with little time to live is barely a threat to the glorious country. Every day, his fingers weaken and wither, and her lovely face lingers like the pain of torture in his mind. Every night, he begs God to take him away, dammit.

So when he is removed from this world, his anger ricochets off the glassy walls of his prison with a magnificent force. Anger at himself, anger at his artwork, anger at Ivonne.
He is only dimly aware of the fact that his logical, gentle side has split away from him, living a monochrome life of its own in some other jail. As the years melt by, his anger only intensifies.
Why did you leave me? If by any chance I see you again, I'll make sure you stay. I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you for making me love you.
I hate you for every smile you gave me; you were taunting me.
I hate you because I loved you and you left me.

"Garry?" That voice. The dark-eyed Guertena whipped around in shock, his lips parting.

"Ivonne?" So beautiful, the slender, graceful curves of her body, and the rippling of chestnut hair. The same rich, garnet eyes-

"Ivonne? I'm Ib..." She blinked. Was he Guertena, then? They looked similar, after all. The man frowned in confusion.

What?

Ib?

"No, you're Ivonne...I know it..." WIth a desperate look, the demented Guertena rose from his seat, walking towards her. "You look exactly like her; no, you are Ivonne!" Much to his surprise, she flinched and stumbled backwards.

"No, I'm not Ivonne!" Wild-eyed, he stopped and stared at her pleadingly.
"Why are you doing this to me? Come back, Ivonne. Don't you remember anything?"
"I'm telling you, I'm not Ivonne!"
"...Liar...I knew it...you left me.." Shaking in barely suppressed rage, he pulled out a glinting palette knife from his pocket. In a quiet, unnervingly gentle voice, he spoke; "My love..you'll stay with me forever-"

"Ib!" Ib's eyes widened as Ivonne's voice rung in her ears. "There's a wedding ring in your pocket; throw that at him!"

"W-what?"
"Hurry!" Her fumbling hand closed around the reassuring solid form of a simple, silver ring. At the sight of it, the frenzied Guertena froze.

"Wait..is that.." The palette knife dropped with a loud clatter. "Don't do it! Please, no, I don't want to go out of existence-" The silver ring made a gleaming trail in the air as it hurtled at the wide, black eyes of a man driven to insanity by years of pain and mourning.
In a matter of seconds, he evaporated into a thick, black fog that dissipated. Ib sighed in relief, and whispered a soft "Thank you" to Ivonne, whose presence still lingered.

That was his wedding ring...he refused to wear it, because it reminded him...but Weiss..in order for this place to be destroyed, he must realize that he needs to gather himself and move on... Slowly, Ib felt Ivonne's aura ebb away. With a sigh, Ib took one last glance at the easel before she left the room.

Painted on it was a picture of Ivonne's room, the dark mist covering it now a light, filmy gray.