Without another thought, or any thought for that matter, Ib found herself in a room. It was dim, and lacked color, except for the never ending mass of blue roses that seemed to cover almost everything except a small pathway on the floor, and the occasional painting. Slowly, the young girl walked, observing the odd area with great caution as she knew nothing of where she was, nor what was going on. Recalling the past events, she remembered the odd sensation of being pushed….but the only thing that had been in front of her was the Forgotten Portrait. This all seemed odd, and alarmingly familiar to Ib. Quickly trying to shake the collection of emotions that came with it all, she continued on ahead, hoping desperately to find an exit to the nightmare that this trip was coming to be.
After what seemed like an endless amount of time, the young girl collapsed, taking a seat on the thin pathway. Looking to a painting that hung on the wall in front of her, Ib noticed she knew which painting it was. The Lady In Red. Gazing at the beautiful painted woman, she felt her skin prickle, and every part of her thin body seemed to tell her 'Run' but she was too exhausted to do so. Moments passed, and the pain in Ib's legs had subsided. Standing, she took one last look at The Lady In Red, and continued to walk on ahead.
Not even 5 steps in, she heard a large crash. Quickly turning, Ib saw it and nearly screamed. The Lady In Red was sticking half out of her frame, now partially real, and was drawing towards Ib at an alarming pace. Turning around again, Ib bolted down the hallway, her legs screaming in protest. Hearing the frame dragging across the floor, and the ladies odd calls, Ib struggled to keep running. Finally, she saw a door, and with renewed hope, she ran towards it, putting every last ounce of her strength into her stride.
Grabbing the handle on the door, she heard it click, and it's hinges swung open with a raspy creak. Dashing into the room, the young girl slammed the door on the nearing painting, sitting down. Relief filled her as she looked around the room, seeing there were no other paintings. The room merely contained a bookshelf and a small mirror, nothing more, nothing less, and that was more than good enough for Ib.