The wailing lasted about half a minute, maybe even lesser. Sayaka breathed in as she tried her best to regulate her heartbeat. Leaning against the wall behind her for support, she picked herself up. Her snow white cheeks flushed a deep red, not just from the crying, but also from embarrassment.

She thought that she had became stronger than this by now, that she was used to the fact that she had unwillingly committed sins beyond her control. She had to learned to live with those nightmarish memories everyday, after all. Well, almost everyday. Perhaps after Homura had wiped her mind clean, she became out of practice. The way that picture suddenly came flashing before her had taken her aback. It was like an old enemy rending her heart with its scythe, reminding her that it will always be by her side, haunting her.

"Ahem, sorry about that," Sayaka whimpered under a cracked voice, her throat sore from the screaming session she just had.

She did her best to put up a cheerful smile, but her attempt to dart her eyes away from the picture was conspicuous. Even now, subtle trembles were still visible across her arms. She used to be so good at hiding her true feelings from even Madoka, her closest friend, always putting on a mask to protect herself from the friends she should had trusted.

Seconds passed. Her heart rate had returned to normal. She regulated her breathing just to make sure. Her sweaty palms ran across the wall she was leaning against, a small action she used to reassure herself of her safety. And with her mind clear, she rolled her eyes back in the direction of the picture that had scarred her. It was no hallucination, and she was not having a flashback of guilt. That solved one problem, but it begged the obvious question regarding the reason the worst part of her life was put up for display in an art gallery.

It had to be a joke, she told herself, perhaps a prank by the mischievous Homura. That would explain the presence she felt, a magical trail left by her actions. Being a prank, she would probably not care much for covering her trail. At least that was the rational explanation she was feeding herself to keep her from panicking. But something else was off; it was not just her who entered a state of shock after looking at the paintings.

[color=red]"This place is not good for our sanity. We need to leave."[/color] said the little girl named Ib, before she headed down the hall.

The girl was right, despite being a lot younger than Sayaka. There had been a sick presence unlike anything she had encountered before ever since she entered this room, and it was getting on her nerves fast. She began to pace around the room again, shifting her gaze from side to side as she tried to put her finger on that one other thing that bothered her about this gallery. More paintings of historically popular characters throughout the ages adorned the unblemished white walls; Napoleon, Spider-Man, Rocky, Han Solo. In her mind, she pressed the question, [i]"What exactly does Octavia have in common with them?"[/i]

She frowned. It did not seem like much could be done with the situation at the moment, let alone done by herself. She was always a fighter, not a thinker. Though her heart told her not to trust anyone in the room, for her mind knew not whom was ally or foe, she had learned that no man is an island, and her self-isolation had caused her more harm than good in the past.

"My name is Sayaka," she softly announced, her voice echoing through the room regardless of the volume she spoke with. With that, she began to follow the little girl down the hall; the least she should do was find out if this was a normal museum.

That was, until pistol-boy decided to become trigger happy.

"Everyone get behind me. I think I know how to make an exit. I can shield you from the blast if you're behind me, but if you're anywhere else there's no guarantees."

Sayaka came to a sharp halt. As she glanced at the boy's actions without fully turning her head, she puffed out a heavy sigh. She felt like making a comparison between the boy and the stereotype of gun-totting males, but it seemed like it would be an insult to those gun-totting males.