Work Text:
Ib stared at the canvas before her, red eyes searching for what could possibly be out of place, what was wrong with the picture she’d created. A few more strokes of lavender paint come to form more curls in the hair of the man she had painted, but still, somehow she doesn’t recognize him. So close yet so far from who had given their life for her all those years ago. Stabbing pain like thorns prick at her heart- he died for her, slowly, the least she could do was remember him, right?
Sometimes she wants to believe what her therapist told her, if only to avoid the guilt; believe it was all some strange figment of her imagination, some kind of delusion based on the art she saw that day. It would be so much easier that way, wouldn’t it? So much easier to understand, a scientific explanation for what she’d been through. But she knew what happened that day was real, she knew Garry and Mary were real… At least, they had been until Garry died there and Mary was destroyed. Reality had been altered as soon as she left the Fabricated World and now they truly did only exist in her mind… It’s hard to wrap her head around, even as an adult- impossible, even.
After a long moment of staring, trying desperately to recognize the face she’d created, Ib let out a growl of frustration and tossed the canvas aside, still-wet paint smearing onto the other discarded paintings in the pile, all so similar, with their blue roses and serene, lavender haired subject. She had no idea where she had gone wrong with that one- had the cheekbones been too high? Was his nose thinner? What was that missing detail? Would she ever be able to get there, or was his memory too faded in her mind, impossible to recreate accurately?
Memories were so malleable, so easy to change, she was afraid that perhaps after all these years her memory had twisted his image beyond recognition…
She couldn’t give up now, though. Years of art school wouldn’t be in vain. With how worked up she had gotten, it might be best to take a break and try again later… She wiped the blue paint on her hands on her already dirty apron, strands of dark brown hair falling in her face as she let her hair down. She hadn’t changed her looks much from when she was younger, though her once bright ruby eyes were sullen, dark with the memories of death and surreal horror. Her bangs remained neatly trimmed, and when she changed she dressed as properly as she always did, neat red skirt with lace trim around her waist and a matching cravat, and as always she kept her handkerchief with her, the same one used all that time ago.
The café near her university was somewhere she always liked to go to calm down. She would sit at the outdoor tables and sketch the scenery when it was nice out, a plate of macarons there for her to snack on. She remembered Garry saying they should have some together, once they got out of that awful place… She tried to keep that promise as best she could, even without him here. She always wondered what kind of person he was, outside of the Fabricated World. He seemed to be somewhat interested in fashion and, of course, art… He was about the same age as she was now when they’d met- was he going to art school as well? Or maybe that was just a hobby and not his career path… She supposed she would never know, but she liked to think that maybe he wanted to be an artist of some kind, too. It was comforting, in a weird way. He was easily frightened but protective despite it, a kind man who was willing to give his life for someone he barely knew… What else she knew of him was vague guessing. A former smoker, judging from the lighter and lemon candy. Maybe someone who had few friends, coming to an art gallery all alone…
She thought about Mary sometimes too, despite the resentment she’d held for her in her heart for so long for taking Garry’s life. It must have been a nightmare, to be alone for so long, so it was no wonder she wanted to escape so badly… She was only a young girl herself, she might not have known better, with only headless mannequins and crawling paintings there for her. She couldn’t blame her. Ib had been able to bring herself to forgive Mary over the years, though it was still just a bittersweet sentiment. Sometimes she couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t burned the painting, then at least one of them could have made it out of there, but what else was she to do, when she had chased her with a pallet knife? It seemed maybe Ib was meant to end up alone, no matter how much she wished she could change that.
She could only linger at the café for so long before she found herself back at her studio, paintbrush in hand and ready to get back to work, a blank canvas in front of her. Her wrist was starting to hurt, as it did at the end of many fruitless days of painting, but what else was she going to do? She had to keep trying. It wouldn’t bring him back, but at least it might give her some closure, just to see him again. She wanted to believe that this time, she would finally see Garry looking back at her. Maybe this time, she would finally get the reunion she’d been longing for all this time. Maybe this time her grief would at last be relieved.
She would never know until she started painting though, and with a deep breath, she mixed the paints on her pallet, and began anew.