Chapter Text
The spacious No.6 Art Gallery was a welcome change from the stuffy car that Shion had been in for the past hour. It felt like he’d stepped out of the real world and into some sort of liminal space, defined by tall ceilings, vast halls, and the tranquil quiet, broken only by the occasional murmurs and staccato footsteps. In wonder, Shion stood in the foyer for a moment, breathing deeply, eyes wide.
It had been a long time since he'd been here. He was sixteen now, and the exhibits had all changed. Last time, when he’d been twelve, the gallery halls had been populated with intricate sculptures that spoke of feats of engineering, but this time, the walls were filled with surreal paintings and uncanny structures. He felt like if he stared too long, he’d become so utterly immersed in the artistry that he’d float straight into it.
He felt afloat already, but for the weight of his backpack weighing him down, keeping him corporeal. Shion shifted it on his shoulders, shrugging to resettle the contents in it so that what was in there wouldn’t dig so sharply into his back. He had a peculiar collection of items in his backpack: a thin spiral notebook, a small first aid kit, and various travel essentials.
Someone behind him cleared their throat, and Shion jumped, quickly apologizing before hurrying up toward the reception desk to rejoin his mother, who was now the second person in the line to be checked in to the gallery. He’d been spurred into action, and now all he wanted to do was explore.
“Earth to Shion?” Karan asked, a twinkle in her eye. She was more than familiar with her son’s tendency to lose himself not in thought, but in his surroundings.
“Mmhm! Hey, mom? I’m going to go look around the gallery for a bit, is that okay?”
"Okay, dear! Try not to get lost, this gallery is pretty big, and I wouldn’t want you to get so fascinated by something that you forget this place closes!” she teased. She didn’t really mind him wandering off, and she knew he was old enough to take care of himself -- he was smart, albeit easily distracted.
"I won't, don’t worry!" Shion said, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring grin before heading off. With how excited he was, he could barely restrain his steps to a museum-appropriate speed pace -- he wanted to run.
The gallery was filled with heaps of different works of art: paintings, sculptures, and some mannequins that seemed to belong more in a department store than in a museum. Everything passed in a blur; an indescribable drive had welled up inside of him, making Shion want to loop through the museum to see everything before settling down and properly examining anything.
He skidded to a stop in front of a painting of an expressionless woman in a red dress. It was...familiar? No, that wasn’t the word. Shion felt like it should mean something to him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Perhaps that was part of the charm of art galleries -- they seemed to have the ability to evoke nebulous emotions in their visitors.
The painting calmed the frenzy in his mind, and he continued through the gallery more slowly. Eyes still alight with wonder, he wandered into a long hallway that was sparsely decorated. It was a pristine white, but on one side hung a massive painting that spanned the entire hallway like a psychedelic tapestry.
“Fabricated World…” Shion whispered. He barely glanced at the informational plaque with how magnetised his eyes were to the painting itself.
In the painting, colours swirled and shadows blended to create an incomprehensible, yet captivating work of art. Entranced, Shion drew closer. As if of its own volition, his hand rose, fingers stretched toward the canvas, which seemed to ripple like liquid.
But his finger touched solid, rough canvas. With a gasp, Shion yanked his hand back and clasped it to his chest. He could feel his heart pounding and he glanced around furtively, hoping that no one had saw his blunder. Shion didn’t know what had come over him and possessed him to touch a priceless work of art in the city’s largest art gallery.
The lights flickered, and in that moment of darkness, Shion could swear he saw the painting glow.
Then the reality of the situation his him. If the lights were unstable in a national gallery, he should probably do his duty as a dedicated citizen and report it, right? He walked quickly, wanting to get back to examining the Fabricated World again as soon as possible. Perhaps the gallery staff had just missed a damaged light bulb in this area, he thought as he made his way through the gallery and down the stairs to the front desk.
It was empty. There was no one else in the lobby either, and, come to think of it, Shion hadn’t encountered on the way either. The lights flickered again, and this time, they stayed dark. It felt cold, all of a sudden, and Shion drew his tan coat more tightly around himself with a shiver.
Something was wrong; if the gallery was closing, why hadn’t there been an announcement, and why hadn’t his mother texted him or anything? A quick check of his phone showed that it was just before two in the afternoon..and that he had no service.
He ran to the door and yanked on it, but it didn’t open. He yanked on it again, throwing his weight backwards, but still, nothing. He was locked in, alone.
"Mom?" Shion shouted. No response.
“Anyone?!” He shouted again, but still received no response, not even a harried shush at his blatant misconduct in a museum.
He ran out into the gallery, passing by a floor painting with what appeared to have a fish on it, and out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the fish twitch.
He ignored it -- not like he could escape through a painting -- and continued on his way. The aster sculpture, which had been flourishing when he’d passed it earlier, was now partially wilted. Shion wondered if he’d just somehow missed a detail on his first pass through the museum, but he doubted it. Something else was afoot, and he was sure it was connected in some way to the Fabricated World.
He wandered around some more in circles, trying to figure out what had happened, calling out every so often in hopes of receiving any sort of response. Another flicker of movement shot across the edge of his peripheral vision, and this time, Shion knew he wasn’t imagining it.
A fruit shot out of the painting next to him and splattered on the ground, and, suppressing a shout, he dashed in the other direction. And then without quite meaning to, he was back in front of the Fabricated World again.
But this time, the painting had changed. Now, in the dim light of the gallery, the swirls of colour seemed sinister, and the shadows, menacing. Rather than the painting seeming like it was trying to draw Shion into it, it now appeared to be expanding past its frame.
With a sound that reminded him of soup boiling over, something blue dripped from the bottom of the painting and trailed down the wall, leaving behind a series of clumpy streaks.
He heard several wet splatters behind him, and he froze. Holding his phone in front of him like a shield, he whirled around.
His vision locked onto the letters stamped across the floor,
‘C O M E S H I O N'
He gasped, taking an involuntary step back. How did…whatever this was know his name? Terror was starting to freeze him in place, but then his curiosity overtook him and he leaned down to inspect it.
In the dim lighting, Shion couldn’t see much of anything. He pulled out his phone – still no service – and shined the screen toward the fluid. It wasn’t as shiny as blood, nor it didn’t smell metallic, so…acrylic? Oil paint?
Something splattered behind him, and Shion jerked upright, spinning around again to see words painted on the wall, still wet, just inches away from his back. Did things start to…move whenever he didn’t look directly at them?
'come down below shion i want to show you someplace secret'
He knew it wasn’t a sane idea to follow the instructions, but…with the way he was going, he was getting nowhere. Shion decided that he’d go down to the first floor and check the exit one more time before complying, and with that decision, Shion bolted out of the hall.
Down the stairs, around the corner, and then his foot slipped on something and he fell and skidded toward the floor painting. He tried to catch himself on the rope enclosure, but it seemed to actively sway away from his grip. The ground gave way beneath him, and he saw a flash of blue (footprints?) before he was completely engulfed by gel.