![]() ![]() 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. 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. 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. Stabbing pain like thorns prick at her heart- he died for her, slowly, the least she could do was remember him, right? So close yet so far from who had given their life for her all those years ago. 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. 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. ![]()
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