• "Alejandro, please! I really want to go with you. Is that too much to ask?" - You whimpered pitifully, blocking his path as you stood in the corridors of the base. - "All right, all right. Just let me work in peace, querida," he replied with a snicker, raising his hand and gently touching the top of your head with his rough palm, ruffling your hair.

Walking with him, looking through the crowded streets filled with people whose faces were painted with skulls and whose horses were painted from hooves to muzzle with the skeletal structure you asked, "So many orange colors here. It's some kind of symbol, right?" - The air was saturated with mariachi melody, their songs full of sadness and joy, telling stories of life and death, of love and memory.

• "Oh, you mean the velvets? They have a practical function in Day of the Dead rituals. Prized for their bright coloring and strong scent, they attract the souls of the dead to the ofrendas prepared for them," his voice was slightly muffled by the muttering of celebrating ladies and boys wailing to the guitar of street musicians, "Ofrendas are ritual offerings to deities. Anything else, Caro?"

Patting his forearm indicating the bench, you sat down, already with a new question, "Why don't you bring anything to your folks? It's your holiday." - the worry, the anxiety in your voice was seeping out. It was so hard to contain the wave of emotions you were feeling. – "They are not here. They're in another part of the country. I'm working here, I'm not going back and forth. There used to be for a while, of course, but not now," he finished hoarsely, running his hand along your spine, stroking your back. As night fell and the moon illuminated the city with its soft light, the spirits fluttered between worlds like butterflies, visiting loved ones. Their quiet whispers, windswept into every corner, giving warmth and love. His lips touched her forehead almost imperceptibly, lingering there for a moment to whisper, "Do you like it?"