Author Note:

This chapter might have been a little rushed and/or boring sorry XD I wrote this kind of late (late for me anyways) but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Wow Chapter 14 already? I'm getting pretty close to being done, aren't I?!

Love chu all~ Keep Reading :)

~Scar

Chapter 14:

Garry fell to his knees, looking at the ripped, demented corpse of his alleged 'friend'. "Ib... I've seen this doll before." Ib wasn't paying him any attention though, her eyes were still fixed on the blood-red letters that decorated the wall. Ib. Her own name screamed back at her. Blood. The word that was so appropriately colored seemed to never leave her mind. "Ib..." She fell next to him, hugging him tightly. "Wha-" She was silent, Garry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that, please," Ib looked up at him, tears running down her face.

"I'm-" He caught himself, "okay." Ib smiled at him, her eyes still full of tears.

"You're ridiculous at times, you know that?" She kissed him, softly, lovingly, her feet arching off of the floor to accommodate for his height. He smiled into the kiss, his hands delicately holding her to him. It was he who pulled away this time.

"I love you." Ib smiled sadly as he said the words, and slid her hand into his. Each suppressing a shiver at the recurring sight of the horror scene that rested before them, they walked off. This part of the gallery was dark and unsettling. They both were expecting an attack at some point, and suspected it would be soon. The lights were dim, and the corridor narrow, claustrophobic almost. Ib and Garry could barely walk next to each other without brushing against the walls. They were blue, darker than Garry's rose, but of the same basic pigment. Ib unconsciously gripped his fingers tighter. Garry gripped right back. There was something off-putting about this area of the gallery. Maybe it was the pure absence of art. There was nothing, the walls completely bare. It was a strange kind of different. Even the paintings are uneasy around this part of the gallery. I wonder why... Garry's eyes scanned the floors, walls, even the ceiling. But nothing was out-of-place. They rounded a corner, quickly taking in the room before them with a frenzied sort of fear.

But it was as empty as the room they had come from.

/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\

Mary was walking. Walking, walking, and more walking. Did she ever do anything else? The walls around her occasionally changed color, allowing her to semi-enjoy the difference in surroundings; but it was all still the same, at the bottom of it, all she was doing was walking. And walking. And walking. She was EVER so tired of walking. That was when she heard the footsteps. They were soft at first, coming from a hallway hear the one which she now resided in. As the noise increased, she could distinguish between the two pairs; there was a lighter, softer step that presumably belonged to Garry, accompanied by the more clumsy, but still graceful sort-of waltz of Ib's shoes across the dark floor. Then the scent hit her. The delicious, mouth-watering scent. She could hear it calling to her, the hot, sweet, savory, sticky blood that coursed through their veins. Thump. Thump. Thump. Their hearts beat to a sweet sort of music, Mary's mouth began to water. Flesh. I can smell it now. Flesh that was fresh with blood, real blood. Delicious blood. Red like the rose in her hand. Mary tensed up, enjoying the sensory overload their presence had created. I must find them. She lifted the palette knife in her hand to her mouth, and flicked her tongue out through the stitching, licking the silvery blade that was still coated with Margret's blood, which was now beginning to dry. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste accompanied with the smell. Delicious. Red.

Blood.

Her eyes flashed open, and if Ib or Garry had seen them, they might have commented on their dark black color.

Blood is all that matters anymore.

I'll make you BLEED, And I'll paint the canvas of my mouth with the redness that pulses through your veins.

/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\

Yellow stood before Mary's renewed painting. It wasn't necessarily the best job they could've done, but it was fixed nonetheless. Yellow brushed her fingers along the smooth canvas that was coated with now clotting dark paint. It stung her fingertips, the ones that had already tasted the familiar bite of acid before. Yellow shivered, withdrawing her hand and wiping it on the floor. The other Ladies were gone, probably back to whatever part of the Gallery they came from. But Yellow had no place, she had lost it, Yellow was dying. Mary had been her closest friend, her comfort, her daughter even. But now, with her 'death' Yellow was slowly fading away, almost like the yellow of Mary's hair, slowly changing, and turning to gray. Yellow welcomed the change, she didn't mind at all. Mary was back, so Yellow didn't mind death. At least Mary was back.

That small piece of comfort was more than enough for her.

She smiled, and let a tear fall to the floor as she touched the canvas once more.

The liquid that spilled down her face burned, and as it splashed to the floor, Yellow nodded sadly.

Acknowledging the black.

/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\

Garry heard her before he saw her. The click of one shoe, and the drag of another, injured leg. Mary. "Hide." He hissed at Ib, quickly dragging her out-of-the-way. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. That had chased themselves into a perfectly inconvenient dead-end.

"What do we do now?" Ib asked, the fear creeping into her voice as she heard the approaching footsteps. Garry calmly stepped in front of her, placing his body subtly between her and the door.

"We wait, for our visitor, and pray for our safety."

Ib wasn't very religious, she had always preferred to skip out on church, but she allowed her eyes to raise to the heavens in that instant.

They had to live.

Not just her, but Garry also. The footsteps slowly, consistently were increasing in volume and decreasing in distance. She was nearby. Garry tensed slightly as his eyes took in the monster that stepped through the door. Ib couldn't see the door around his broad shoulders. "Ib?" He called for her, his voice tense and emotional.

"Yes?"

"I love you." The tone of his voice scared her; so final, and formal, almost like he were actually saying 'goodbye'. She nodded, swallowing the lump of fear that had lodged itself in her throat.

"I love you too."

That was when she saw the monster that was crossing the room towards them.

And Ib screamed.