The Forgotten Portrait:
Chapter 11: On a Bed of Blue Roses
Something in their current predicament told her that if she did not stay with him, they would be separated for eternity. And, she could just as well tell that she, for one, did not want it, even though she knew he was a painting, someone not from the outside world where she lived in except… she couldn't also help but think as if there was something more to it than that. Or was it that she just wanted to believe they had a chance?
How funny. She suddenly thought bitterly, a hint of spite on the note. Never mind the fact that he was supposedly only alive in this world. Never mind the absurdity of the fact that it had become more and more obvious that she was attached to him in a way that could have perhaps been laughed at by others—her recalling the incident that she could say had led to this all… In love with a painting. But… another problem was… He treated her like a child. Something to protect. Something not to be taken too seriously when voicing things out with regards to feelings in that sense—at an arms length distance perhaps, more accurately.
Within her reach. So close. And yet so far at the same time. How many times must that be emphasized as of now?
She sighed inaudibly, her eyes, looking slightly forlorn, gazing towards the painting that separated the two of them, maybe to a point glaring, wishing it to literally and metaphorically disappear, all the things that hindered them from walking the same path so that she would not lose him agai—
She blinked, about to try to recall why it seemed most her thoughts hinted at nostalgia though the sounds of crashing in the room Garry had come in to explore, made her eyes widen with surprise, soon desperately trying to find a way to physically pry it apart though unfortunately, perhaps it was obvious that she couldn't. "Garry!" She called desperately, a few strange and unsettling images of him laying down near the wall, eyes closed, blue petals strewn on the ground as the voice of a small girl was happily saying in an almost sing-songy manner, 'He loves me. He loves me not,' the sound of petals being plucked.
No, no, no! That wasn't happening. That wasn't going to happen. She won't let it! Not this ti—
She stood up, resolving herself as she rushed into the door of the other room despite the fact that she promised to stay here. Because… well, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she did nothing. And, with that in mind, she opened the door, entering the room and searching amongst the boxes for something she could use, the whole situation triggering those images more and more, the longer she took.
Nothing. There was nothing. And perhaps, to a point, she could only despair, standing up as the lights flickered on and off, Eve rushing to the door to find it was oddly locked, more images coming to he mind, triggering an onslaught of another headache.
Blonde girl. Blue eyes. 'Come on Eve. Look's like we have no choice but to find another way out.'
She, unfortunately, didn't want to part, though perhaps knew that in order to see him again, she would have to go another route.
Eve looked around for another exit, finding two paths, one leading to the left, clear like what had been indicated in the painting, making her blink. Wasn't it pertaining to the forked road before this? It was odd it seemed to denote the fact that if she wished, she could turn back to the safe road… towards Garry's direction. However, the right held a certain pull as well for how it was presented.
Old thorned vines, seeming like it's been withered for a time… and… crisp petals, losing their blue hue, turning to brown, unlike the flowers she'd seen along the ways once she met Garry, a rising curiosity within her, making her walk slowly, perhaps hesitantly towards it, despite the fact that something screamed at her, telling her she wouldn't really want to see this.
The path was dark and gloomy. And needless to say, it seemed figuratively and literally sketchy, the wallpapers hinting at crayon colors as she walked inside quietly, a few moments passing until she finally happened across a painting, though what filled her with a feeling of coldness, sending shivers down her spine was the fact that it too was labeled, 'The Forgotten Portrait.' And, aside from that, just beneath the portrait, lay a purple haired man, looking as if he were sleeping although the wilted roses and the vines that entangled him seemed to indicate that he'd been here for a rather long while.
He even wore the same clothes, though the dust seemed to have settled slightly on them, and beside him, a withered stem of a plucked rose, the sight being followed by several more images, soon making her piece the puzzle together, understanding shining in her crimson eyes though part of her refused to believe it, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The blonde girl—Mary—suddenly acting weirdly after a while, Garry coming to her rescue and running from the person they thought was their friend.
A weird sketchbook world next. Then, falling into a toy box and losing her rose only to find it with the blonde…
Garry trading in his rose for hers and then…
'He loves me. He loves me not.' The girl's voce echoed as they climbed up the stairs after her
'I don't want to lie… But I don't want to tell the truth either. You go on ahead. I'll just… rest here for a bit.'
'If you need me, I'll come running.'
There were muffled sounds of crashes from the left, louder, coming nearer before silence came soon after, making her look back, eyes wide, wondering just what in the world it all meant. The sound of the door that was previously locked softly clicked then creaked open, followed by rhythmically slow foot steps that seemed a little more dreadful as opposed to comforting at this point for how confused she was at the current situation. Why? What was happening?
The purple haired male soon came into view, one hand in his coat pocket, the other gingerly holding a vibrant blue rose as he called out, "Eve? I asked you to stay, didn't I? I was so worried." He said in the same tone that was perhaps warm and comforting, however much it didn't seem to have effect now, only heightened by the fact that a bit of red paint that hinted something else was smeared on part of his clothing as well though he didn't seem injured at all as of the moment.
"Ah." He said softly soon after, eyes trailing to the man laying beside the portrait on the wall. "So you remember now?" He asked, though perhaps rhetorically at this point, smiling though there was a sad note in his eyes, closed briefly in that smile though as they opened, it was replaced rather cold, darkened gaze before he smiled cheerfully, however much it seemed rather sadistic right now.
"That's quite… unfortunate…" He continued as he did, lifting the blue rose to his lips, "We both could have happily lived in this sweet fantasy ❤"
A/N: I probably won't be able to update chapters for the rest of the day. I hope these set of chapters and this last longer one makes up for it, though it left at a cliffhanger, though I thought it appropriate. I sort of wonder if this twist was predictable...or if I appropriately gave context clues and at the same time made it vague enough to be a bit surprising, though I think the last bit in the previous chapter was pushing it to the obvious. Tell me your opinions?... And how to improve on my writing... I can't help but feel that compared to many other writers, I type up very short chapters.