Ten Cuidado Con Lo Que Deseas →

“I wish I had never found you.”

He woke to the smell of wet clay and something else—sulfur, or maybe ozone.

He called the town. Word spread. Art critics from the capital took the winding mountain road to Valverde. They called it “The Caged Scream.” They called it “a visceral masterpiece of existential dread.” They paid him sums he’d never dreamed of. Ten cuidado con lo que deseas

“I wish something exciting would happen,” he’d sigh, chipping away at a block of local limestone. “I wish my work mattered.”

That night, Mateo stood before the living statue. Her stone fingers had almost reached his throat now. The obsidian sphere pulsed like a black heart. “I wish I had never found you

Mateo would roll his eyes and return to his sculptures—twisted figures of saints and monsters, dreams carved in stone that no one in Valverde wanted. The village preferred practical art: functional water fountains, plain crosses for the cemetery. Mateo’s feverish, emotional pieces gathered dust in his tiny studio.

Mateo woke in his studio. Morning light streamed through the dusty window. The obsidian sphere was gone. So was the sculpture. His hands were clean, his chisels untouched. For a moment, he dared to hope. Art critics from the capital took the winding

Mateo felt the floor tilt beneath him. “How do I undo it?”

“You wished for a masterpiece,” a voice whispered. It came from everywhere and nowhere, from the obsidian sphere still pulsing on his shelf. “But a masterpiece requires a soul. Hers is the first. Yours will be the last if you do not understand.”