Her footsteps muffled, she walked through the hallway of the museum, wandering on the aged designs woven into the rug. The shuffle of shoes could be heard as she reached the door. 

Halting, she backed up against the adjacent wall. The corners of her mouth, her lips a brick red, tilted up slightly as she peeked into the room.

A lean and lanky man stood alone, enthralled by a painting. Her smile grew as she tread into the room, heading towards him. Tapping the man’s shoulder with her vacant hand, she felt the crescendo of her heartbeat. Surprised, the man turned around quickly before taking a breath of relief.

“Ah! Are you my Tinder date...Maria, was it?”

Giving a curt nod, she stared at the painting that the man was looking at. The man, following her gaze, returned his focus to the painting.

“It’s stunning isn’t it?”

She hummed in response, her eyes roaming the painting.

“Van Gogh painted it when he first entered the asylum...every one of the petals is a different shape and shade.”

The man, his posture stiff, nervously cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“I apologize, it must be a bore listening to me talk about paintings,” the man mumbled, avoiding her piercing gaze.

“Not at all.”

“Perhaps, are you a lover of the arts as well?” asked the man as his shoulders relaxed.

“I’m an art connoisseur”

His eyes glistening, the man stared at her.

“I envy you. How wonderful it must be to work with these masterpieces everyday.”

“It drives one insane.”

“Insane! Insane indeed! I’d be insanely ecstatic if I ever got that chance.”

Growing silent, she inspected the painting of the irises. 

“Out of all the paintings in the world, this has to be my favorite…”

Pausing slightly to admire the individual petals, the man continued.

“I don’t think there’s anything in the world quite as marvelous.”

Peering into his eyes, she placed her hand on his chest, finally speaking.

“You are.”

Opening his mouth to let out an awkward laugh, the man choked out a gag as her fingers traveled up to his neck, wrapping around his throat, pinning him against the wall. The painting, a tour de force of dainty blue irises, swayed slightly from the vibrations of the impact. Her grip tightened, her knuckles turning white, as the man writhed and squirmed, trying to escape.

“I despise you. I do. The way your eyes gleam at the paintings. Disgusting” 

Slamming his palms against the grainy walls of the gallery, strangled coughs emerged from his mouth, droplets of saliva flying in different directions.

“You’re full of inspiration. Filled with passion for these meaningless works of art.”

Swirls and blotches of blue ornate the man’s face, even more vibrant than the irises. The man’s slim body heaved up and down, even more dainty and delicate than the strokes of oil paint. Veins arose from the man’s forehead, even more realistic than the texture of the dried paint.

Releasing a final wrangled wheeze, the body fell limp in her clasp. A loud thud could be heard as the body dropped to the floor. 

Allowing herself to admire her masterpiece, she gazed at the man’s empty eyes, the now dried blood trails that covered his throat, and finally, the blue petals on his cheeks. 

Brushing herself off, she stepped over the body, sprawled on the smooth floorboards. She stared at the painting, her mind racing with all the possibilities, as she placed her hand on the canvas. She pushed the tips of her fingers further, feeling the tension.

With a rip, her hand grazed the wall behind the painting, breaking through it. Threads of cotton poked out, distorting the flowers. Using both hands, she grabbed the torn edges, pulling them to the bottom of the frame. Pieces of the canvas drifted to the floor, some dangling, still attached to the frame.

Breathing heavily, she stepped back to the lifeless body. Puddles of bodily fluid smudged across the floor, soaking the fabric that covered the body as she grabbed both arms, dragging them to the wall where the destroyed masterpiece hung.

She hoisted her arms under the armpits of the corpse, struggling as she stood up. She pushed the body against the wall, keeping it upright. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she kneeled down.

She wrapped her arms around the legs tightly, the torso and arms drooping over her shoulders. She lifted the body up, releasing it on top of the ripped canvas. The remaining pieces of canvas supported the limbs and the head. The torso slowly slipped inside the painting, engulfed by the rigged hole.

The painted irises could barely be seen, hidden by the real tour de force.