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Garry and Mary. Their parents certainly had a naming theme, he often thinks.
Mary was a surprise baby. Their parents had initially intended just to have Garry, but ten years later, their mother had gotten pregnant again. Garry still remembers the hushed conversations their parents had had behind closed doors, and the more awkward ones they'd had with him about potentially being a big brother. At the time, he hadn't been the biggest fan of the idea, but he's come around to it. Eventually, their parents had decided to keep Mary, and nine months later, they brought home Garry's baby sister. She'd been so small, so vulnerable... And when Garry had peered over the edge of the crib to see her, she'd smiled and reached for him.
Garry had decided right then and there that he would do everything he could to protect her.
Things have always been a little awkward between the two of them due to both the large age gap and the gender difference. Sometimes it feels less like they're siblings and more like Garry's sort of a third parent. When their parents are busy, he takes her on outings to the bakery, to the park, and to art galleries. That's one they've always been able to bond over. Art. The first time they really connected was when Mary was two or three, and she found a book of famous paintings on Garry's bookshelf. She'd sat on Garry's lap while he'd gone through the paintings, telling her about the history behind them and who the artists were. That became a routine for them. Mary would bring him books of paintings, and he would tell her about them.
Mary likes drawing. She's always saying she wants to be an artist when she grows up. Garry takes her to drawing classes sometimes, and she's getting pretty good, especially for her age. It always makes him so happy to see how excited she gets to show him and their parents what she's drawn in class. She's always been a naturally cheerful girl, but there's something different about the way she lights up when it comes to her drawings.
Lately, though, she's been... different.
He doesn't know what changed. Just that after the Guertana exhibit, Mary has been... different. She's quieter, more withdrawn, and despondent. She doesn't want to do any of the things she used to. Garry offers to take her out for macarons, and she says she's not hungry. He finds a new art book and offers to read it to her, only for her to say she's not interested. She just sits in her room and cries a lot. It's honestly pretty worrying, and neither he nor their parents really know what to do about this.
And she keeps drawing the same girl over and over.
The girl in Mary's pictures seems so familiar, although Garry can't remember where he might have seen her before. He's asked Mary about the girl, but Mary gets quiet whenever he does.
Eventually, though, he does get Mary to talk.
"It's Ib," she says quietly.
Ib... Like the girl's face, the name sounds familiar, but once again, he can't remember where he might have heard it before.
"Is she from your class?" Garry asks, hoping to fish out where he's seen the girl before.
Mary's face crumples a bit, and she holds up the drawing. "It's Ib," she repeats, staring pleadingly up at him.
"Alright." Garry smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to recognize her? Is she a friend of yours?"
Tears well up in Mary's eyes, and she looks away, letting her arms drop to her sides.
"It's Ib..." She repeats once more, as if this explains things.
Garry gets the feeling that this is someone he's supposed to remember. That he needs to remember. That Mary needs him to remember. But he doesn't.
He softens, kneeling down to draw Mary into his arms. "I'm sorry that I don't remember her," he says. And he means it. He does. He can tell how important this is to Mary.
Mary sniffles for a moment, then collapses against Garry, beginning to sob. Garry holds her as she wails into his shoulder. It makes his heart hurt to hear her so genuinely distraught. He doesn't know why she's so upset, and all he wants is to make her feel better.
"I'm sorry," he keeps murmuring as he pats her back.
It doesn't take long for her to cry herself out, and soon she's just making little hiccuping noises. He doesn't ask if she's alright. He knows she isn't.
"Do you want some warm milk?" He asks quietly.
Mary sniffles and nods.
"Okay. Let's get you some warm milk." Garry picks her up and carries her into the kitchen, setting her down at the kitchen table before going to prepare her a warm drink.
"Thank you, Garry," Mary mumbles.
He turns and gives her a gentle smile. "What are siblings for?"
He doesn't quite understand why that makes her look like she's about to cry.
.
She knows she doesn't belong here.
She doesn't deserve his kindness. She wanted to kill him. She was going to kill him. And now he's treating her like his little sister. Like someone didn't die for her to be here.
He doesn't remember anything about the gallery. He'd probably hate her if he did. She thinks that would be easier. It would make it hurt less. Even if he hated her, at least he'd still remember Ib. But he doesn't. She's tried to get him to remember, but nothing works. He just smiles with polite confusion and asks where she'd met Ib.
She knows he's worried about her, and that makes it even worse. She was going to kill him. She doesn't deserve his gentle concern, the offers to go to the cafe or the art museum, the warm milk he makes her when he knows she's feeling bad. She wouldn't mind if it were just their parents. She's always wanted parents, after all. Always wanted someone to take care of her and be gentle with her in the way no one else did.
It's just because it's Garry that it's a problem for her.
Garry, the man she'd hated. The man she'd been prepared to discard to secure her and Ib's escape.
She misses Ib. Although, the longer she's here, the more she realizes that she never really knew Ib in the first place. She'd been enamored with the idea of what Ib could give her. A family. A place to belong. In the end... Ib had given her that. Just not in the way she'd expected. Now, it's Garry who calls her "sis", and his parents who call her their daughter.
She still has the handkerchief Ib's mother gave her. She keeps it in a box under her bed, along with all the pictures of Ib and the gallery that she's drawn. Sometimes she takes it out and looks at it, thinking about the family she ruined. They don't even remember she took anything from them. But she did. Granted, Ib had made her own decision, but... it had been because of Mary. Because Ib had cared enough to want both Mary and Garry to escape.
Maybe things would have been better if Mary had been the one to die. Then Ib and Garry could have gotten out together and everything... Everything would have been fine. Mary likes to think that maybe Ib would have missed and remembered her, but... no one else probably would have. Mary had no one. It would have been better if she'd died, she thinks to herself as she lies in the dark, haunted by the image of Ib's portrait, covered in vines. No one would have missed her.
But... things are different now. She does have people who will miss her, even if they were technically manipulated into feeling that way. She doesn't want them to be sad. Not when they've been so kind to her. She doesn't want them to be so worried.
Ib gave her this chance. She needs to make the most of it.
.
It takes a long time before Mary can pull herself from the darkness. The process is slow, but she does it. She takes Garry's invitations to go out to the cafe, although it's a while before she can set foot in an art gallery without crying. Her family (it still feels strange to think of them that way) seem delighted that she's "getting back to her old self". A small, vindictive part of her thinks about the fact that there is no old self for them to know. But she pushes this aside.
She focuses on school (how exciting to be able to go to school!!!), her art, and her relationship with her family. Ib sacrificed herself so that Mary could have this chance. So, she needs to appreciate it. There are children at the school who greet her as a friend. She doesn't remember them, but she tries to play along. They tease her for being so "forgetful" for a while. She laughs along and teases back, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that still arises as a small voice reminds her that she doesn't belong here.
Life goes on.
She becomes accustomed to the new world she's found herself in. And, most exciting, she begins to grow up. After spending so long in a static existence, it's hard to understate just how happy she is that she gets to grow up. She spends the entire day practically dancing around the house after her first yearly checkup, where the doctor says she's grown an inch.
"Maybe you'll end up being even taller than me," Garry jokes more than once.
Mary doesn't think that's going to happen, but she can certainly hope.
Years pass, and eventually, she finds herself at that same art gallery again. She's in her final year of college, pursuing a degree in fine arts. For her thesis, she knows exactly what she wants to do. So, here she is, standing before the portrait of Ib.
"Hello, Ib," she whispers, clutching her sketchbook to her chest.
The portrait looks exactly the same as it did when she was 10 years old. It makes Mary's heart ache. She's changed so much, and Ib is exactly the same... Suddenly, she feels the same way she did when she first escaped the gallery. Ib should have been here, not her. Ib should have gotten to grow up.
She shakes her head quickly. No, she has to keep going. Otherwise, Ib's sacrifice was for nothing. She has to make sure what Ib did was worth it. She's going to make sure Ib is remembered. Even if it's just by her.
It's the least she can do.