Disclaimer: This story contains violent and descriptive gore. Please do not read if you have trouble with graphic writing.
Author Note: WARNING. WARNING WARNING WARNING. Here is where I really start to tear into the feels, keep in mind that this is a tragedy. Also, please do not give me any hate for my ideas, I know they're kind of rough, but I didn't spend very long coming up with a real plotline until recently so I couldn't foreshadow very well earlier. ON TO CH. 19! Have fun with it :P I think I might start writing 20 right after I finish this one, I'm really into the story right now!
Love chu all~ Keep Reading :)
~Scar
Chapter 19:
Mary was getting close now, ever so close. She could practically taste Ib's presence in the room she had just entered into, but the girl was nowhere in sight. She hissed, tasting the air with her tongue, much like a cat. The room had an acidic, sharp taste, she assumed that it came from the dark black paint that was trickling down the walls. But then... There! There it was! The soft, sweet scent of rose petals touched her tongue, and set her into attack mode. She crawled forwards warily, careful not to alert her target of her presence. This is it, the final battle. For her flesh and bones. Mary smiled, and increased her pace slightly. This is it.
This was the end.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
Garry stumbled forwards mindlessly. His memories were returning, all of them. His mind was beginning to fall apart, and he was inching closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, soon he would lose it all. Isamina. The name echoed throughout each of his memories. Whispered, like it was some kind of secret. Who was she? He couldn't place a face to the name. Isamina. He shook his head, continuing forwards. The memories were persistent though, nagging him from every corner of his brain.
Garry nodded to the girl with the yellow hair as he fell. She nodded back, her fingers wrapping tighter around the small object clasped tightly in her fingers. It looked like a rose, a red one, that matched the color of Ib's eyes. "Are you sure?" She mouthed to him, not daring to ruin the plan with spoken words.
"Would I have taken her rose if I wasn't sure?" Mary shook her head.
"I think you're crazy," she grumbled as she began to pluck off the petals of the delicate flower. The Garry in the memory ignored her actions. "This better work." That was when they hit the floor. Ib was still slightly above them, still falling, which gave Mary enough time to hide, and Garry enough time to appear affected by the fall. He laid down on the floor, and closed his eyes...
"Why?!" He screamed, smashing his fist into a wall. Black paint dripped onto his hand, but he ignored the pain. "WHY NOW?!" He continued forwards, his hands running along the walls, he was past ignoring it by now; he welcomed the pain.
It took her a while to find him, once she did, the plan began. Mary and Margret handled their side of the deal, while he took care of his. It worked perfectly. She believed them.
"NO!" He punched the wall again. Garry. Calm down, find Ib and leave. You will be able to leave. He took a few deep breaths, and closed his eyes; trying to calm down, and not think about his memories.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
She had finally reached the top, Ib sighed as she saw the three doors in front of her. All white, and all seemingly identical. Choices, oh how she hated them. She looked over her shoulder, back the way she had come; she was beginning to get more and more worried. Surely he should've caught up by now? She took a deep breath, and turned her attention back to the three doors. The upper level of the library was open and airy, thought he balcony itself was rather small, the only furniture up here was a small ornate vase that rested atop a dark wooden side table, and a desk. Atop the desk was a small, leather-bound diary that looked rather fancy. She sat in the desk chair, and opened the small clasp with her fingers, running them along the supple surface. The script was long and flowing, hard to read in some places, and impossible to read in others. Ib squinted, trying to make out the words.
Day 1.
I'm alone. How long have I been alone? Ever since her death, it's as though my own gallery is trapping me, the paintings seem to loom closer every day. Every MINUTE. They're getting closer, faster and faster. What do I do? How to escape if not through writing? The gallery has swallowed me whole. I am consumed by a raging fear of my own creations as I fall further and further into the depths of my own twisted mind.
-G
It seemed to be some kind of diary, logging Guertana's travels through his own gallery. Maybe there's something on which door to choose...
Day 2.
I'm starting to like this place more, the decorations are falling into place. I hope my visitor arrives soon.
-G
The eerie message chilled her to the bone. Visitor? She skipped ahead a few pages, one grabbing her attention quickly.
Day 47.
The girl has arrived, the young one with the bright red eyes. She loves to explore. I like the color red. It complements blue.
Her name is Ib; and she's here to stay.
Maybe her and Mary will become friends, I know my daughter could do with a playmate. Those dolls never really seemed to fit her tastes.
-G
In the bottom right corner of the page, a dark reddish liquid stained the thick parchment. It was sticky.
Day 64.
I've met up with her, she doesn't seem to suspect a thing. I'm glad, it's better this way. The future me will actually believe his own story, and this character she has grown to love will live on.
I guess I just was never enough for her.
My lovely Isamina Bourgie.
-G
The script changed from that entry on, taking a quicker, more short-handed style on.
Day 83.
I saw a monster today. A horrible monster with a deformed face all purple and black; even the dolls were scared of him, I think he ate them. There was a room, one that was so beautiful I almost got fatally distracted, with stars on all of the walls and various heavenly bodies dangling from strings from above. The colors blended perfectly. Guertana really likes the color blue or so I have noticed, he also tends to use a lot of purple. I lost an arm, the monster ate it; ripped the flesh from the bone like it was a chicken leg. When I placed my rose in the water, the arm re-grew, it seems fully functioning. I'm lost. Hopelessly lost. I almost wish I had brought Margret with me, she would be almost welcome company. I don't like being alone. I miss Ib, I don't know where she's run off to. Hopelessly lost, and alone. It's terrible really-
It cut off there. Ib? Guertena was talking about me? This style of writing seems almost... familiar somehow... Ib shook it off, turning to the last entry in the small book.
Day 100.
I'm G.
I figured it out.
And now, I'm going to die.
Ib studied the writing, there was something strange about this page. Scratch, scratch. She stared down at the paper, and gasped a little as she saw the new writing that had appeared.
I'm sorry Ib.
She heard a door unlock behind her.
-G There was a small picture of a rose drawn next to the letter.
It almost looked blue.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
Garry closed the diary, wiping away a tear. This was it. The end had come. He actually smiled at himself. His stupidity was overwhelming. It had taken him so long to figure it out, but now it made so much sense. I'm Guertena. I have always loved the color blue, and purple too, so it made me happy to see so much use of the two colors. But that wasn't all of the evidence. I couldn't remember how I got here. I told her I could, but I never really knew. And the paintings, I could always understand their messages, their unspoken conversations.
And the final, most devastating clue of all.
'Garry' was actually a nickname. Garry, Guertena...
It had all crashed down on him like a tsunami. But now the relief and tranquility of the truth filled him with happiness. He actually laughed out loud. It all makes sense!
He stood, laughing insanely. These past 100 days... how many of them were a lie? Am I even alive right now? Is Ib real? Am I real? He shook his head. He didn't care.
This was the end.
He walked to the large white door and opened it without hesitation, breathing in the surroundings of the beautiful room he had just stepped into. His eyes flickered to the large mural-like painting on the wall.
Heaven's Gates.