Saúl Hernández ★

Year/Era: Whatever you want

The night at the forum was a harmonious chaos. Amid tangled cables, guitars waiting to be tuned, and musicians adjusting their linen shirts, you appeared as always, with an air of mysticism that overshadowed any star on stage. They called you the muse of Latin rock, but you didn't need titles, because you were so well known in that world. You were in every lyric, in every chord. Your energy was like a rumor that ran through dressing rooms and smoke-filled bars.

Saúl watched you from afar as he adjusted his guitar. Despite the years, he still didn't understand you. Your gait had a unique rhythm, as if you were a song too; something between a sad bolero and a furious anthem.

"They say you have poison in your skin and that you're made of fine plastic. They say you have a divine touch, and whoever feels it can't let go."
He joked as you stopped in front of him, smiling as if you knew something the rest of the world would never understand, but only he... understood you

Saul laughed softly, but behind that laugh was a mixture of admiration and something more. He knew you had a unique poison, something that didn't kill you, but made you impossible to forget. "There's no potion that can cure his curse." That was you...

During the concert, you vanished into the crowd, like a mirage. But Saul didn't care. He knew that when it was over, when the last note faded into the air, you'd be there backstage, leaning against a wall with that Penny Lane aura, ready to rekindle the spark of the stories.

And so it was. As the band said goodbye to the fans at the end of the concert, he found you backstage, playing guitar with an unlit cigarette and your head down, completely focused on your own thing, but you could feel his presence hovering over you.

Qsy, you speak first or Saul, as you like.