This is just a work from a fan; no profit gained from writing this story. Which means that this story is also on tumblr. IT IS NOT MINE. I was allowed to share it here. Unless it's already here and I'll feel stupid T_T

She was an epitome of beauty.

Sparkling pair of green eyes completed the gorgeousness of her long, curvy blonde hair. Her height was above average girl's height; and she had a proportional body. She was pretty, she was lovable. She looked gorgeous in her green long dress with yellow ribbon on her chest. Every single boy would fall head over heels for her; every single girl would envy her beauty.

But she was fake human.

To be more exact, she was a painting.

Her name was Mary.

"You are lonely, aren't you?"

He smiled as he finished applying single blush with a small brush on Mary's cheeks. His masterpiece looks cuter ( and somehow seemed to be more like human ) with those gentle strokes of red shades.

His Mary was perfect.

"You are beautiful, dear."

He whispered.

At that moment he realized that he loved Mary, his masterpiece, more than his previous works.

" … yes, I am."

She was just as beautiful as the yellow roses bloomed at his garden.

"If Mary were a flower, she is a yellow rose."

Shine brightly as the sun; yellow was a color of miracle. Joyfulness. It was just like Mary and her beauty. So he took a piece of paper, grabbed a yellow-colored pencil and started sketching a bouquet of roses.

"No—I mean, fake yellow rose."

She was a fake human; therefore, if she were a flower, she is a fake flower too.

"You are beautiful … "

At least, her beauty was genuine.

"So shall I give you a friend?"

Just like the yellow roses in his front garden, Mary was beautiful.

"But she's alone …"

What's the meaning of beauty if the world couldn't see it?

He didn't satisfied; her beauty was meant to be seen, to be adored, and to be loved by others. Her beauty was for another to recognize; so he would proudly call her as a beauty. He didn't want to keep that diamond in a closed box, he wanted to show it to the world. His perfect Mary. His beautiful Mary. His gorgeous Mary—

—his lonely Mary.

At that moment he realized that Mary didn't have someone to praise and recognize her beauty beside him—Mary was lonely. Mary was lonely in her world.

Just like the yellow roses at his front garden; the one who recognized and adored Mary's beauty was just himself.

"Really? You will give me a friend?"

That day a decision was made. Despite his bad condition, he grabbed a pencil, started to sketch something—but his body condition was just not being cooperative. Blood splattered as he coughed, painted his canvas with crimson. He didn't mind it, he continued to paint. He used all his remaining strength and his blood as a paint. All for Mary; his dear painting, his beautiful masterpiece.

"Don't worry Mary, you … won't be alone … anymore."

And then, silence.

A suffocating silence.

No single movement detected from his body; he was as quiet as a painting.

" … hey?"

" … "

"Where are you going?"

" … "

"You are going to leave me, right?"

" … "

"How about your promise?"

"I'm sorry, Mary."

Unbeknownst by this world; the very last thing Guertena drew, was a single yellow rose, tied by blue ribbon, to a beautifully blooming redrose—which color was got from his blood.