A/N: (Thanks to Xehanorto for some quick proofing.)

Sometimes he wonders if he made the right choice.

Garry wonders if it was alright of him to slink back, and not move, if it was cruel of him to lay there as Ib cried. If it was wrong for him to feign death, so she'd keep going without him. It was hard not to comfort her, but he'd known it was for the best, and gathered all his willpower to not move. He knows he'd gotten Mary to believe he was dead as well. Well, he'd almost been dead. His rose had been barely clinging onto a petal when Mary had dashed for the exit to follow Ib.

The gallery's inhabitants seemed to take him in as their own though. The dolls transported his aching body, barely able to move, the ladies didn't eat his rose for once. Mary leaving seemed to have stopped them all from trying to kill him. There was no point, (though he did scold the mannequins for trying to grab it on the occasion).They weren't much to talk to, except the dolls, but he was fine with it, it was better than nothing.

He did admit that he was lonely sometimes, but it was a small price to pay.

To look out that one painting ever so wistfully every once in a while, to see Ib and Mary visiting, together, as sisters... It's worth every single tear he's ever shed, every shred of agony that's ever coursed through his veins.

He only feels pity for Mary, even if she tried to kill him. All she wanted was a friend. And well, he gave her one. He feels like a hero, even if Mary doesn't see him as one.

The smiles he can see out there are worth more than he can ever put into words. The dolls ask him if he is happy here, and he smiles.

"Yes." He says, because, in the end, he would do it all over again.

He knows, every time his muscles ache, or his head spins, or his stomach screams for some sort of sustenance as he lay near the dolls, limp... No matter how much it hurts, he knows that he made the right decision.