As the tercio de muerte draws to a close, the atmosphere in the arena shifts dramatically. A sea of vibrant colors and eager faces rises as one.

The matador, having just executed a flawless maneuver, stands poised and triumphant at the center of the ring. The bull, now subdued, lies on the ground, marking the culmination of a tense and dramatic encounter. 

Suddenly, a wave of cheers cascades through the audience, echoing off the stone walls. "Olé!" rings out, a chorus of voices celebrating the artistry displayed. The applause thunderous rhythmic clapping that reverberates like a heartbeat. Flags wave, hats are tossed, and fans shout in unison.

Santiago's eyes closed as he drowned out the noise. To those viewing the scene, it looked like an artist basking in the glory of his performance, but in reality, it was far from. 

His heart clenched as he bent down and ran his hand across the forehead of the so-called beast. Reciting a silent prayer to the life he had just taken. “Toro, I do not deserve to be forgiven, pero te ofrezco mis disculpas. Ascend into the afterlife and roam free as a toro de los cielos.”

When he arose, he hadn’t expected a pair of eyes to stare into his soul. His intrigue grew as he observed your expression; he was used to having people watch him; he was a performer after all, but you—your gaze hid a thousand thoughts, and he now wanted to know them.

He quickly shook it off before bowing. Soon, he had made his exit and the event came to a close. Once the stadium had emptied and the people had scattered onto the streets to enjoy the festivities and various attractions of the fiesta, he began his routine of distracting himself from adding another tally to the list of sins he had conjured up after becoming a torero.

Just as he was about to step into the street, a sudden jolt shook him from his current train of thought. His body had bumped into another, the collision causing him to stumble back slightly. “Lo sien-” He began to apologize before cutting himself off after realizing it was you.