Author Note:
Well I still have viewers, so I guess that's good, right? Is there anything I can improve on? I know the previous chapter was a little rushed, but I need to get to the point where Garry and Ib are back together again to really start off on the plot.
Brace yourself for a NASTY plot twist at the end, ooh you'll hate it!
Keep Reading :) Love chu all~
~Scar
Chapter 5:
"We're never going to get ANYTHING done at the rate we're going," Red declared in an exclamation of bitter purple.
"Well maybe if you would SHUT YOUR TRAP for five SECONDS Yellow could remember where we were going!" Blue yelled in vivid red.
"AT LEAST MY ARGUING IS ACTUALLY VALID!"
"How immature ARE you? Don't you realize the-"
"Both go you, be quiet please." Yellow murmured in a soft stream of blue. "I need to concentrate." Yellow pressed her fingertips to her temples, and massaged them absentmindedly. The other two fell silent, accepting the somber tone to her voice with a silent agreement. There were more important tasks than arguing at the moment. White would be there soon, they had to get back. Yellow lead them down a narrow corridor, towards a door that was completely white. "What is this?" She asked Blue and Red, brushing her fingers against the black paint that ran down the pure white surface. It burned like acid. She screamed in agony, rubbing the paint off of her fingers and onto the door.
"YELLOW! Red quickly, get her some Yellow paint! Hurry we don't have much time!" Blue's harsh words cut through the screams like a maroon colored knife.
Yellow looked down at her fingers, watching them dull and start to crack, the black had seeped down into them.
Black. The one color of paint Yellow had never seen in the actual gallery.
It was beautiful in a strange sort of way, whispering to her like the it was the advocate of death. Beautiful...
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
Garry stood, transfixed, as he stared up at the beautiful sculpture. It was so lifelike, with different bits of material swirling around others like some kind of cosmic dance. He wondered how it was even possible, Guertana had shaped and molded a personal milky way. He sighed, pulling himself out of his reverie and stepping towards the desk in the center of the room; it was only then that he looked down at the floor. There was a swirling, dark blue paint trail on the tile, mixing with a red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. He heard it then. The snapping. It sounded like a tree being broken apart, branch by branch, Garry could hear something else, but it wasn't as loud. He tried to ignore it, instead choosing to sit at the desk and write.
The Ladies are gone, I don't know where to venture from here. It's dark, I can barely see. If only I had my lighter... But I don't know where it went. I don't know who has it now.
The crunching was getting progressively louder.
There is a crunching noise here, something that reminds me of trees being knocked down. I don't know what it is, I don't know where I am. This room is unfamiliar. I don't even recognize this portion of the gallery, it's all dark, the absence of color is startling. White and black, that's all there-
Garry stopped writing, and turned to look towards the source of the loud noise. The pen clattered to the floor as he stood with surprise. It was a doll, one that reminded Garry of the one he had kicked earlier. He shivered slightly. "Umm...hello there, doll." A splash of paint smeared near his feet. My name is Margret. "Hello Margret, are you er- looking for something?" I like my name. Do you like my name? "Yes, it's very er- nice." That's good. The doll's small features morphed into a sickening sort of smile. Yes, that makes me happy. You like making me happy don't you? Because that's what friends do. And you're my friend. The doll took a step towards him, he took a step back. I have something for you, Garry. You'll need it to unlock the door. But just giving it to you wouldn't be any fun would it? Garry heard the crunching sound intensify more, it assaulted his eardrums, and he stumbled backwards a few more steps, clutching his rose tightly to his chest. His back pressed against the door, and he gasped as the realized it had locked. Hide and seek. You played it earlier didn't you? Play again. Play with me. The bluish paint splattered onto his shoes.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
Orange, Green, and Purple had finished collecting Mary's ashes, and were now tidying the rest of the room for White's arrival. White was the most elusive of the Ladies, she was only seen once in a while. White was the wisest of the Ladies, she was the oldest painting in the entire Gallery, and knew Guertana personally. Earlier that day, Greem had gotten a message from her, one that had simply said: "Gather the ashes, and the supplies. I'll be there at quarter to midnight." None of them had been exactly sure what she was planning, but they knew it had to do with Mary, and bringing her back. So they had done exactly as asked, they would do anything for their princess. Mary was a blessing to the Ladies, like their flesh and blood child. When they had found her painting in tatters like this... It had driven them off the edge. Mary. Poor Mary.
"How much longer until White gets here?" Orange asked with a clear, soft exhalation of yellow.
"Not long, we just need the others to hurry up and get back already," Purple said calmly. Green nodded, smoothing down her dress.
"Let's finish cleaning up, she is the equivalent of royal company." They all set off back to work, straightening up the place.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
The hand that grasped her rose was dark black, it tore into the petals maliciously, and Ib watched a few fall. "NO!" She could feel bits of her strength ebbing away with each fallen lifeline of the flower. She squirmed out of it's reach, watching it reach, it's fingertips extended towards the rose. Ib clenched it tighter, ignoring the pinpricks of pain and the blood that bubbled out of the narrow cuts from the thorns. She was breathing heavily, the rise and fall of her chest very noticeable. What-What was that? She backed up, her shoulders bumped against the far wall, as she stepped around the hand. If she could just stay out of reach... Something clawed her back, and she gasped as she felt fingers reach for the rose. "Get AWAY from me!" More petals littered the floor, the crimson color matching the blood that trickled down her hands. She felt weak, tired. Her rose's petals were half gone, and as she stumbled down the hallway, another one or two tricked away softly. She stumbled, falling to her knees; her breathing was ragged, and as she crawled forwards with bloody fingers outstretched she felt a bone or two crack. The hot taste of blood filled her mouth. She looked up, her eyelids fluttered tiredly. There was a desk near her, one that hadn't been there before, she could just make out an acrylic vase atop of it, one that was hopefully full of water. She extended her hand towards it, the rose slipping from her bloody fingers and slipping into the vase...