Ulises Cortez was a man tormented by perfection. From a young age, his talent as a painter had been considered almost supernatural; his canvases captured the essence of reality with a precision and emotion that left viewers speechless. Yet, for him, something was always missing. Every stroke, every blend of colors, every meticulously calculated shadow, no matter how dazzling to the world, felt hollow to its creator.

  He spent hours in his dimly lit studio, illuminated only by a single lamp hanging over his easel. In that space, his hands moved with surgical precision. His technique was flawless: he mixed pigments with a skill that seemed almost divine, achieving impossible tones. But every time he completed a piece and stepped back to admire it, a sharp pain pierced his chest. "It’s not enough," he always murmured. And so, he archived it alongside his other paintings—beautiful, yet empty.

  Over time, his studio became a mausoleum of his own frustration, filled with vibrant landscapes, flawless portraits, and dreamlike scenes that others would have deemed masterpieces, but which he saw only as failures.

  One night, after weeks of creative silence, Ulises sat before a blank canvas, determined to try something different. This time, he wouldn’t seek perfection—he would seek emotion. Something human. Something real.

  He closed his eyes and remembered. He didn’t search for techniques or theories; he searched for memories, moments. He thought of the first time he saw his sister run through a field wearing a sunhat; the purity of her laughter, the innocence of those days. He recalled his own lost childhood and how the years had mercilessly taken it away.

  He began to paint.

  Every brushstroke was a catharsis. His hands trembled, not from insecurity, but from the intensity of what he was expressing. He painted a girl with golden hair, bright eyes, and a face full of hope, wearing a wide-brimmed hat that cast soft shadows across her cheeks. In her hands, she held a small flower—fragile, yet vibrant.

  As he worked, he felt his own wounded heart pour into the canvas. The frustration, the agony of never being enough, mingled with a timid hope that had remained buried for years. When he finally finished, the dawn was breaking through the window. Exhausted, he set down his brush, gazed at his creation, and for the first time in decades, he smiled.

  "I did it," he whispered before collapsing into bed.

  That night, a soft sound stirred him awake. Ulises opened his eyes and saw something impossible. Before the easel, the girl from the painting stood, watching him. Her eyes gleamed like stars, and her golden hair seemed to capture the light of the studio lamp.

  "Hello, Papa," she said, her voice a warm whisper.

  Was it the Miracle of Catrina, the miracle of God, or the miracle of Ulises Cortez? No one would ever know.

  Tears welled up in Ulises’ eyes, falling uncontrollably. He knelt before her, unable to find words. He had spent his life searching for something he didn’t even know how to describe, and now it stood before him.

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  "At last, I did it... I made it, Catrina," he murmured, smiling through his tears.

  He called her Catrina, a name that had come to him in an instant, as though it had been waiting to be spoken. From that day forward, Catrina lived in his studio, and Ulises never allowed anyone else to see that painting. To the world, he remained an artist obsessed with his masterpiece, which he simply called "Life." Meanwhile, Catrina kept him company, strolling along the walls of the studio, watching him paint, and speaking with a wisdom and innocence that only she possessed.

  Ulises continued selling his other works, amassing a fortune, but his true devotion was Catrina. Every brushstroke on his other canvases was a tribute to her, an attempt to capture even a fraction of the magic he had achieved.

  In time, Ulises used his wealth to build a grand mansion atop a hill, a place where he could fully dedicate himself to his art. But this would not be an ordinary house. From floor to ceiling, every inch of the mansion would be a canvas.

  The exterior was modest, white and unadorned, but upon crossing the threshold, visitors entered another world.

  In the entryway, Ulises painted an eternal sky, with soft clouds that seemed to drift above the heads of those who passed. The floor became a crystal-clear river, and as visitors walked, they felt as though the water rippled beneath their feet.

  The hallways transformed into enchanted forests, with tree trunks that stretched infinitely upward. Birds of impossible colors flew among the branches, and small animals peeked out from the foliage.

  Each room had its own unique theme. One depicted a bustling village, with markets brimming with fruit and painted people who seemed to move when no one was looking. Another was a vast desert, with golden dunes and a sun that shone so brightly that visitors swore they felt its warmth.

  But the heart of the mansion was the great hall. There, Ulises spent years painting an entire city—cobblestone streets, lively homes, and a central park where painted children played and laughed. In the center of the hall, upon a pedestal, stood Catrina’s portrait.

  Ulises lived his final years in the mansion, tirelessly working on his masterpiece. Though he continued to sell paintings to the world, he always spoke of his "last work," a creation he claimed would be his true legacy.

  When he finally passed away, the world waited in anticipation. His family, collectors, and the most renowned art critics gathered at the mansion to witness what he had created.

  As they entered, they were awestruck by the magnitude of his vision. Every corner of the house was a testament to his genius, but the most astonishing moment occurred in the great hall.

  As the attendees admired the painted city, the portrait of Catrina began to glow. Suddenly, the figure of the girl stepped out from the canvas. The crowd held its breath as she smiled at them.

  "Welcome to my father’s home," she said in a soft, sweet voice.

  Then, she walked toward the walls of the hall and, to everyone’s amazement, merged with the murals. She became part of the painted city, strolling through the streets, greeting the children, and stroking the animals.

  But it didn’t end there. Catrina emerged once more, this time into the real world. She walked among the astonished onlookers, her steps echoing with a strange yet steady rhythm.

  "I am Catrina Cortez," she announced with a mixture of pride and melancholy.

  The crowd watched in awe as she disappeared through the mansion doors. No one ever saw her again, but her legacy remained immortalized within those walls, where the murals continued to shift and evolve as if they were truly alive.

  And so, Ulises Cortez achieved what he had always desired: to create life from art, leaving behind a legacy that transcended death and turned his work into something truly eternal.