Fudge buckets, I'm sorry for the following. It's kinda difficult to think of ideas when I'm too excited for Anime Expo. I'll try and update as soon as AX's over, I swear. Until then, enjoy reading ^^;

Night has fallen and there was still no update about Garry's condition. She could see the doctors and nurses coming in and out of his room taking his vitals and attaching him to fluids, drawing blood from his arm and prying his eyes open to look at his pupils. For hours, she's been praying and praying for him to be okay. She's been praying for him to open his eyes. She's been praying for him to wake up and let her hear his voice again. Ib was left all alone to painfully wait for Garry to wake up and be his normal self. She glanced down at her bag, tears forming in her eyes. The palette knife that Garry had clenched in his hand was in there, hiding among books and pencils. Ib was scared that it might happen again so she stole it from his apartment. This all seemed too surreal. Garry was always a happy person and strong too. Sure, people had given him a hard time before because he spoke like with a effeminate manner, but usually that never bothered him. It doesn't matter now. She just wants him to wake up and be himself again. She didn't want to lose someone so precious to her.

The door slid open, catching her attention and breaking her free from her silent pain. Hope lit up in her ruby irises. "Doctor, how is he? Is he okay?"

He smiled down at her and gave her a firm pat on the head. "He'll be fine. He's asleep right now, but you can come in if you like."

Never before has she felt so relieved and never before has she wanted to hug a stranger before. "Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!"

The doctor cleared his throat and looked through his clipboard. "A few things you should know though. It seems that he's hit his head on something, and he might be suffering from stress. We'll keep him in for a bit to keep a close watch on his condition."

"R-Right, understood."

With that, the doctor walked away and Ib quickly ran inside. Her heart sank as soon as she saw the fluids he was hooked to and the bandage wrapped around his head. His face was finally peaceful as he slept, almost as if he was never having a nightmare. She pulled the chair closer to his bedside, patiently waiting for him to wake up.

"Garry, I'm so sorry I didn't make it in time. Please wake up soon…" She whispered, holding tightly to his slender fingers. "You're my best friend… I don't want to lose you…" Ib's eyes felt heavy with drowsiness. As she let herself drift off to sleep, she smiled at Garry. "We'll have fun again soon, I promise."

Nightshifts in the gallery was always a pain and always a quick scare in the corner. The man walked down the halls, waving his flashlight over the paintings. The works were certainly amazing in daylight, but when one looks at them at night, one could sense a morbid bitterness behind every stroke and within every sculpture.

So far the patrons have reported being tapped in the shoulders as they stare at the works, hearing whispers, footsteps running down the corridors and sometimes eerie whispers that remained incoherent in their heads. The security guard shuddered at the thought, but there's no way that could be real. It's just the power of the arts as he always believed. He's always understood the power art had and how powerful an impact it can have on one's vision.

As he continued to patrol in the dark, the skin on his face felt a cold rush of air rush by, stinging his nerves. He quickly turned into one of the halls, flashing his light over the white walls.

"Who's there? Come out!"

No response of any kind.

He began to turn on his soles back to his original route, until he saw something twirl and dance down to the floor on his right. His eyes followed the little fluttering object as it twisted in the air and landed carefully on the clean tiles. Slow, he shined some light on the object, his eyes catching the color of rotting red. The light crawled up the floor, revealing another red piece. He knelt down and carefully picked it up in his fingers. The red was soft, but the brown was rough and dry as if it had no life. He held it close to his face to find that it had a sweet and very delicate scent to it. A rose petal?

He followed the red trail down the hall, all the way towards the end. The number of petals slowly increased as he followed their guidance. As he walked down the hall, chills ran up his spine as the temperature dropped.

Loves me… loves me not…

The number of petals have increased again as he followed them. They began to pile up more and more as they guided him to where they came from. Then suddenly, the trail ended. The guard was baffled and began to wave the white light around.

The lens shattered and the light flickered before it finally died away. The guard trembled violently in his uniform. Never before has his legs been so weak at something he's only seen. What was supposed to represent something beautiful was something that was now a dark foreboding. The sculpture of thorns and delicate red petals had been withered away, leaving nothing, but a dead bud. Dying vermillion lied scattered throughout the room , almost completely swallowing the white floors. Then there was a message before the Embodiment of Spirit. In bright red letters, words were violently splattered across the clean, blank partition.

SHE'S MINE