"See you tomorrow," he said to Iris as she got out of his car, stepping toward her house.

"Sure," she replied, giggling softly before waving at him.

"Bye," he said, watching her for a moment before driving off toward his own home.

As his car disappeared down the street, Iris sighed dreamily, her heart fluttering with excitement. "I can't wait for tomorrow. I don’t even know how I'll sleep tonight," she murmured, eyes still fixed on the road where his car had been moments ago. "Just the thought of being with my favorite person makes me so giddy that I keep daydreaming."

She thought she was alone in her moment of happiness, but she wasn’t.

He saw her.

Through the side mirror, he caught sight of her standing there, lost in her thoughts, her expression glowing with anticipation.

"Cute," he whispered to himself, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips before he drove away.

........

When he reached his house, he wasted no time. The first thing he did was head straight to his girlfriend’s room.

Switching on the dim light, he walked toward the freezer in the corner. With slow, deliberate movements, he opened it.

"Hey, girl," he greeted, his voice low and almost affectionate.

"Missed me?" he asked, tilting his head as if expecting an answer.

Then he chuckled, shaking his head. "But I didn’t. Not anymore."

Lowering himself to sit beside her, he stared at her frozen, lifeless face. Her skin was pale, her lips tinged blue from the cold. She hadn’t changed, yet everything felt different.

"I used to, you know?" he mused, slipping on a pair of gloves. "But not anymore. Not since Iris came. She makes me forget everything."

He reached for a tissue, carefully wiping away the thin layer of frost from her cheek, his touch eerily gentle.

"You wouldn’t understand, but I like having her around. She’s nothing like you."

His voice took on a dangerous edge as his lips curled into a dark smile.

"She’s bubbly, beautiful, cute… and above all, innocent."

He leaned closer, his breath fogging against the icy surface of her skin.

"She saw me today, you know?" he whispered. "Saw me working on my art. You remember which one I’m talking about, right?"

His eyes gleamed as he continued.

"The ones I create  in reality before putting them on canvas. The ones I made of you, too, before I put you in this freezer."

He let out a small laugh, his fingers tracing over her frozen hand.

"I even showed it to you before, remember? Of course, you do."

His gaze darkened as his mind drifted to something else.

"That guy … he provoked me. Just like you did."

His jaw clenched.

"People think I’m silent, so they assume I’ll tolerate anything. But you knew, didn’t you?"

...

the faint sound of the TV reached his ears from the other room.

"The victim was found covered in a veil of roses…" the news anchor reported.

His lips twisted into a satisfied smirk.

"See? My art is being shown to the world."

.......

She had just changed into her nightclothes, ready to wind down for the night. Since there was still some time left before she went to sleep, she decided to watch something on TV.

Sitting in the hall, remote in hand, she flipped through channels, searching for something worth watching.

"These days, nothing interesting ever comes on television," she muttered, sighing in disappointment.

After a few more attempts, she gave up. "Nah, leave it. I better go to sleep."

She was about to turn off the television when something familiar flashed across the screen.

Her hand froze midair.

"Isn’t that…?" she whispered, eyes narrowing as she leaned forward.

Then, as realization struck, her breath hitched.

Her eyes widened in shock.

"What the—" she gasped, jolting up from her seat.

It was a news channel, broadcasting a report about a murder that had taken place two days ago. The crime scene photo on the screen sent chills down her spine.

Her hand instinctively flew to her mouth as she listened.

"The victim suffered a slow and agonizing death due to excessive blood loss caused by the thorns on the rose veil," the news anchor reported grimly.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

A strange sense of familiarity crept over her.

She had seen something like this before.

No—she had seen this before.

Not on the news.

Somewhere else.

The realization sent a shiver down her spine. Without another thought, she bolted out of the house.

.......

Meanwhile,he sat comfortably in his dimly lit room, watching the same news broadcast. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I could explain it better," he muttered, unimpressed by the anchor’s dull narration. "Their explanations lack creativity."

He shook his head

"You know, I’ve never craved this before."

He turned to the freezer, speaking as if it were listening.

"I’ve never wanted anyone to truly understand my art… because they never could."

His fingers traced invisible patterns on the surface of the cold metal.

"But today… today, I felt something different."

His smirk faded as he recalled the moment.

"When I was making today’s art, Iris came by. She admired it, thought it was beautiful."

A soft chuckle escaped him.

"Of course, it is. I made it."

But then his expression darkened.

"Still, I craved something more. I wanted her to see beyond the surface. To understand the real meaning behind it."

His fingers clenched into a fist.

"But she didn’t."

His voice grew quieter.

"She only saw the outline—the pretty strokes, the colors, the illusion of beauty. She didn’t see the darkness lurking beneath."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I couldn’t stop myself. I explained everything to her. Every inch of it. The cruelty behind it, the pain hidden within the art."

His jaw clenched.

"But do you know what she did?"

His laughter was bitter now.

"She laughed. Said I was joking."

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"How could she say that?"

His gaze flickered back to the TV screen.

The chilling crime scene photo remained there, hauntingly similar to the piece of art he had completed just hours ago.

"Do you think she would still say the same thing… if she saw this now?"

Just then, the doorbell rang.

He stilled.

His eyes flickered toward the clock.

Who would come this late?

"Looks like we’ll have to continue this conversation later," he murmured, standing up.

With careful precision, he shut the freezer, locking it securely before making his way toward the door.

The doorbell kept ringing.

"Coming," he called out, irritated.

But it rang again.

He sighed, his jaw tightening. "I said-" He Swung the door open mid-sentence, but the sight in front of him made him pause.

"Iris?" His voice softened in surprise. "What are you doing here this late?"

She just stood there, staring at him. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

His brows furrowed. "What happened?"

he noticed it-the fear in her eyes.

She wasn't just standing there. She was

frozen.

Following her gaze, he turned slightly.

His television was still on, the news playing in the background. The crime scene flashed across the screen-a man found dead, covered in a veil of roses.

The same image.

The same details.

The same art he had created earlier.

Iris stepped inside without asking, her body moving on instinct. Her eyes darted between him and the television.

"What is this?" she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shut the door behind her, tilting his head "What?"

She swallowed hard. "You were painting this. This exact image. The man covered in a rose veil-just like they found him today. How"

His lips curled into a slow smile. "Because it was me who made him like this."

Iris's breath hitched. Her eyes widened as she took a step back. "What?"

He started moving toward her, each step slow and deliberate. "It was me." His voice was calm, almost amused. "I killed him. I gave him the perfect, painful death he deserved!"

Iris instinctively backed away, her heart

hammering against her ribs. "What are you saying?"

He chuckled. "I tried to warn him. I told him not to get in my way. I even gave him a chance to back off, but he didn't listen" His eyes darkened. "So, I had to teach him a lesson."

Her foot hit the edge of the sofa, making

her lose balance. She fell back onto the

cushions, gasping.

Before she could get up, he was already

leaning over her, his shadow engulfing her completely.

"I taught him a lesson,' he murmured, voice laced with eerie satisfaction. "And I made sure it wasn't boring. I used the creativity I always do."

His face was inches from hers now. "Do you like my way of killing, Iris?" he asked, his piercing gaze locked onto hers.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry.

He smiled. "He mocked my art, you know?Said it wasn't creative enough. Saying That there was nothing special about them"

His fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her face up.

"So I turned him into art."

She stiffened under his touch.

"Do you know how?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

He continued as if he didn't need a

response. "At first, I let it slide. Told myself it was fine. But he wouldn't stop.

He kept going, kept mocking" His grip on her chin tightened slightly. "Tell me, Iris. Do you think my paintings lack creativity?"

She quickly shook her head. "No" Her voice barely came out.

His smirk deepened. "Exactly. Then how

dare he?"

He straightened up slightly, running a hand through his hair. "So, I decided to show him my creativity firsthand!"

He exhaled slowly, as if recalling a fond

memory. "I called him. Told him I was

working on a new piece and needed a fresh perspective. I made him feel important, as if his opinion mattered.!"

A low chuckle escaped him. "He took the bait. Showed up without a clue."

His eyes glowed with satisfaction as he

looked down at Iris.

"But he never knew... what kind of

masterpiece I had planned for him."

The moment he arrived, he looked around and asked, "Where’s the painting?"

Alaric smiled, tilting his head slightly. " But I said I’ll start later. First, I need you to become my model."

....

Flahsback

The guy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean?" the guy asked, confusion clear on his face.

Alaric’s gaze darkened, a slow smile creeping onto his lips. "I mean, I’m planning to paint a boy in pain." His voice was calm, almost thoughtful. "But I’m struggling with the details. I was hoping you could help me."

He hesitated. "Help with what, exactly?"

"Just stand here for me." Alaric gestured to a spot near the center of the room.

He stepped away and returned with something in his hands—a long veil of roses.

The boy's brows furrowed. "What’s this?"

Alaric smirked. "An element to enhance the beauty of my art."

"A veil of roses?" the guy scoffed. "That’s ridiculous."

"I’ll wrap it around you," Alaric continued as if he hadn’t heard the protest.

The guy took a step back. "Those roses have thorns. They’ll hurt."

Alaric’s smile widened. "That’s the point."

A shiver ran down the guy’s spine. "What do you mean?"

Alaric stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You said I lack creativity. That my paintings have no depth. So, I came up with the perfect depth."

The guy tensed. "I—I'm not doing this."

Alaric tilted his head. "Before I create my masterpiece, I need to see the pain firsthand. You understand, don’t you?"

The guy's eyes widened in realization. "Are you insane? You’re not wrapping that around me. I won’t let you!"

Alaric sighed. "Then how will you experience my creativity?"

The guy spun around to leave. "Forget it. I don’t want to see any of this."

Before he could take another step, Alaric grabbed him.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

"Let go of me!" the guy struggled, but Alaric was stronger.

With practiced ease, Alaric forced him against a nearby pillar, swiftly binding his wrists with thick rope. The guy thrashed, but Alaric worked quickly, securing his arms, then his torso, until he was completely trapped.

Panting, the guy looked at him in horror. "What are you doing?"

Alaric stepped back, admiring his work. "One way or another, I will show you my creativity."

He reached for the veil of roses.

The guy’s breath hitched. "No. Don’t."

Alaric chuckled. "Don’t move. Don’t disturb my focus."

He started from the guy’s feet, slowly wrapping the thorn-covered veil around his legs. The man jerked, trying to shake it off.

"I said, don’t move," Alaric snapped, tightening his grip.

The sharp thorns dug into the fabric of the guy’s jeans.

Alaric smirked. "You’re wearing the perfect color to match my art."

The guy gritted his teeth. "Stop! It hurts!"

Alaric hummed, pulling the veil even tighter. "Your jeans are thick, but not thicker than my plans." He pressed the thorns harder against the guy’s legs, twisting them slightly. Blood began to seep through the fabric.

The guy let out a choked cry. "Stop!"

But Alaric didn’t stop. He kept wrapping, pushing the thorns deeper, savoring every reaction, every sharp breath of pain.

"That’s it. Exactly this." Alaric’s voice was laced with satisfaction as he stepped back to admire the sight.

The guy’s body was tightly bound in the rose veil, the thorns embedded deep in his skin, blood dripping down in delicate patterns over his clothes.

Alaric smiled. "Why are you crying? That doesn’t go well with the art."

The guy panted, his eyes desperate. "What?"

Alaric grinned. "I said… smile."

The guy flinched as Alaric yanked the veil, forcing the thorns to scrape against his flesh. A scream tore from his throat.

Alaric’s expression darkened. "I told you to smile."

The guy whimpered. "I—I’m doing it!" He forced his lips into a trembling, painful grin.

Alaric leaned back, admiring the grotesque image. "Perfect. See how good you look now?"

He pulled out his phone.

"Let me take a picture."

He adjusted the angle, making sure to capture every detail—the pain, the forced smile, the blood-stained petals.

"Smile."

Click.

A shiver of excitement ran through him as he admired the photo. "You were right. I wasn’t being creative enough before. But look at this. Look at what I came up with now."

The guy's breathing was ragged. "Release me."

Alaric raised a brow. "For what?"

The guy gasped. "You got your inspiration. You took your picture. Now let me go!"

Alaric smirked. "Why would I?"

The guy’s eyes filled with terror. "I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to feel your creativity anymore!"

Alaric let out a soft chuckle. "But I meant exactly what I said. You shouldn’t say things you can’t handle."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You wanted to feel the depth of my art. Now, feel it to the fullest—until your last breath. My creativity will let you experience everything. Beauty, pain, regret, anger... everything."

End of Flashback

.......

Alaric exhaled, as if reliving every moment, then turned his gaze back to Iris. They were still in the same position—her pressed against the sofa, his body looming over her.

His voice was eerily calm. "I made him feel everything. And that’s how he died."

Iris trembled, her breath uneven. Tears welled in her eyes, her body frozen in disbelief.

Then—

Alaric suddenly burst out laughing.

Iris flinched.

He threw his head back, laughing like he had just told the best joke in the world. Then, he stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes.

"Oh, Iris…" he grinned. "Your face… it’s so funny."

Iris blinked, struggling to process. "W-What?"

Alaric wiped a tear from his eye. "I was joking."

Her body tensed. "You…" She shot up from the sofa and smacked his back. "Alaric! I thought you were serious!"

He smirked, dodging another weak punch. "Come on, Iris. Do you really think I did that?"

She crossed her arms, still shaken. "I came to ask how you painted the exact crime scene before it even happened!"

Alaric’s smirk didn’t fade. "It’s not true. He was found before, the news just showed it today."

Iris frowned. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

She hesitated. "Then why did you paint him?"

Alaric shrugged. "You know how I am with my paintings. One of my friend’s dads is a cop. He found this guy. My friend sent me the picture as inspiration. That's how I made it "

Iris exhaled. "Oh… thank God. You scared me."

Alaric grinned. "Sorry about that."

She eyed him warily. "  how you come up with all the details ?"

His eyes gleamed. "I’m a painter, Iris. I see things others don’t."

A chill ran down her spine.

Alaric chuckled. "Relax, Iris."

She scowled. "Don’t ever joke like that again!"

He grinned. "I’ll try."

Still laughing, he walked to the kitchen. "Sit down. I’ll get you some water. Look at you—so scared."

She sat, glaring at him.

He handed her the glass, watching as she drank, still glaring.

He just laughed and shook his head.  if you are like this now , what will happen to you when you find the truth  he thought .

Author note: next update on Monday ❤.