Handkerchief :: A promise of Reunion
The white lace handkerchief he kept in the pocket of his tattered coat.
He'd wished –
He'd thought,
Of all the memories, he saw her.
Unwavering burgundy eyes and her small frame, chocolate brown hair, at that time – such courage in a hellish nightmare world, her hand was his sole warmth as they braved the gallery together.
Ib.
A child of nine years.
And he, perhaps a newfound adult of eighteen.
Together at that time, he had told the little soul that no matter what, they would make it out.
No matter what, he'd protect the life of this girl as if it were more precious than his own.
The clutches of prying hands, corpse like dolls and vivid paintings of majestic women…..cruelly devised puzzles and "games," eerie surreal mannequin heads – and
…Mary.
His memories were fragments puzzled together by small hands, clumsily pieced together with overlapping edges, indistinct scenes flashing before him like a poorly made cinematic film before closed lids.
Night enveloped in a clothed world of vintage glass shards and memories of what seemed like another lifetime.
Changing prisms of harsh colors of terrifying caliber.
The sound of his frantic panting, wild pulse racing –
The maze of burgundy walls seemed endless, spider-like wallpaper reaching to extend their unfriendly webs and venomous traps.
M-mary.
It couldn't be.
Cream colored yellow and paper rose, straw like hair and curious blue eyes boring into his soul like pointed ice slivers.
False pretense and her existence as a beloved painting of Guertena's…..the thought of unimaginable evil lurking beneath her petite frame petrified him.
Terror flooded his body down to the delicate petals of his own rose, nerves frayed like a live wire.
The realization itself revealed its severe implications, and there was no need for clutching fingers clawing at his throat to induce asphyxia.
IB!
IB!
i-….ib…
Run away, run from her, run from Mary!
His throat was hoarse from his raw yells as he pounded the walls with is fist.
She's not real she's just a painting, she's after us and she'll kill you and she'll kill me please please save her,
She doesn't deserve this,
Someone, save Ib…. S-save her, I'm powerless, just….please.
Let Ib be safe.
That was his sole wish.
Separate walls separated a separate fate.
He'd never felt such a strong desire for someone else yet – he knew at that moment as Ib clutched his waist and held each other in silence in that reunion that –
He needed her.
He….loved her, and with all his heart.
Whether platonically or romantically, none of that mattered. As a big brother, as a parent figure, a kindred spirit, amorous love, passionate love –
Such a thing needn't be so complicated.
To Garry, the pounding in his heart and the rush of crimson blood coursing through his veins only confirmed one singular thing –
Ib was something irreplaceably precious in this nightmare.
He snapped back to reality, back to the macaron shop and the bustling French café.
A table for two, crème colored pastel seats with three roses of varying shades in the glass vase as a centerpiece.
He checked his watch – exactly sixteen minutes before she would come.
Clasping his hands together and taking a shuddering breath, he tried to dispel his harrowed thoughts, toying with the piece of cloth in his hands.
The handkerchief was just a poor excuse.
He shifted to studying the square of linen. The blood had mostly washed off and faded, leaving only unnoticeable yellow stains in its wake. After all, it had been…such a long time already.
Elegant monogrammed cursive stitched onto it with meticulous care.
Two crimson letters –
Ib.
The girl he longed to see.
"Ib," he whispered in a single breath.
He heard something rustle behind him, and a soft hand at his shoulder.
"Garry."
His eyes widened as he rushed to stand up in surprise and excitement.
They stood there for an endless moment, staring at each other.
She was….beautiful. A flower in full bloom. A white dress, red rose pinned in her hair, fair blush on her cheeks –
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" She looked down and smiled quietly. "Since our first meeting."
Garry cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure.
"Nine years…I believe."
He extended a hand towards her as she hesitated and tentatively took his in her own –
Just like old times.
...
"Would you like some macarons?"
With a gentle smile, Ib nodded and the café continued to resume its bustle as Ib and Garry sat down together for afternoon tea.
A/N: I haven't written anything in so long so this is shit and idk even how or what I wrote
I'm serious….like what the fuck is this I just have a lot of feelings since I just finished playing
Don't even ask me wtf the ending is like? If you want to critique I mean feel free to slam this thing bc I wrote half dazed from lack of sleep
NO I'm serious though…..I know it's a piece of shit u_u