Mateo couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move. He could only watch, trapped in his own masterpiece, as the world outside forgot his name and remembered only the sculpture—and the warning carved into its frozen face.
One stormy October night, lightning split the ancient oak at the edge of town. The next morning, the villagers found something strange embedded in the splintered roots: a flawless sphere of obsidian, cool to the touch despite the lingering heat of the strike. Inside it swirled faint lights, like trapped fireflies. Ten cuidado con lo que deseas
Then he looked at his reflection in the window glass. Mateo couldn’t answer