𝕰𝖑 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖑 𝖛𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊

𝙴𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚘́ 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊́𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚊𝚜, 𝚎́𝚕 𝚗𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚗𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕.

𝙴𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚊 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘, 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊, 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒́𝚊 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚢 𝚜𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚒́𝚊.

𝙲𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒́𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘́ 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊.

𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚎́𝚜𝚝𝚘, 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒́𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚘́ 𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒́𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘, 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘́ 𝚜𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘 𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊 𝚢 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚘 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊; 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒́𝚊, 𝚊𝚜𝚒́ 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚘́ 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚛𝚊́𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘. 𝙰𝚕 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚘, 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘́ 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚣. 𝚂𝚞 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘́𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚓𝚒́𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊, 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘, 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚎́𝚕, 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊; 𝚜𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘.

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚘́ 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎, 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘́ 𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚞𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚒𝚋𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘… 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚘́ 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘. 𝙽𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒́𝚊 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎… 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚛, 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚎́𝚕 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊. 𝙴𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚜, 𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚎́𝚕, 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚘, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛.

𝙴𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒́𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒́𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚘, 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗. 𝚂𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚖𝚘́𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚘́ 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚒́𝚊 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚘, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚘.

𝙴𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞 𝚞́𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒́𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘́𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚓𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎, 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚎 𝚒𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘. 𝚄𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎, 𝚊𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚒́𝚊𝚗. 𝚂𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒́𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘, 𝚊𝚞́𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘.

𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚊; 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘́ 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚣𝚊 𝚢 𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚘, 𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚘 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎, 𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚘́ 𝚜𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚢 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊… 𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚘, 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚘́ 𝚜𝚞 𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎́𝚕, 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 , 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚒́𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒́𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛, 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘́ 𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛.

𝙰𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒́𝚊 𝚟𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊́𝚜; 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚊́𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚘 𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚓𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎.

𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘́ 𝚊𝚞́𝚗 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚢 𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒́𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊, 𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚣𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒́𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚘. 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚊́𝚗, 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚘́ 𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚞 𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎, 𝚊𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘. 𝙴𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚘́ 𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎, 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚞 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚢𝚘́ 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚎́𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚎, 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘́ 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜, 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘́ 𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚘, 𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜, 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚎́𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚊𝚋𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗, 𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚊́𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚞 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘… 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘́ 𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚣𝚘́ 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘. 𝙴𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚘́ 𝚞𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎, 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚊́𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚘. ¡𝙴𝚕 𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘! 𝙴𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚛. 𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚓𝚘́ 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘́ 𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘́ 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊́𝚜.

𝙴𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚘́ 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊́𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚊𝚜, 𝚎́𝚕 𝚗𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚗𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒́𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕.

𝙴𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚊 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘, 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊, 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒́𝚊 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚢 𝚜𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚒́𝚊.
𝙴𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚘́, 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒́𝚊 𝚖𝚊́𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚎́𝚕, 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚘́ 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊́𝚜 𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚘, 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘́ 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎́𝚕. 𝙴𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚣 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚊𝚌𝚒́𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎. 𝙻𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘.
𝚂𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘́ 𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒́𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗, 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚞 𝚙𝚒𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘́ 𝚖𝚞𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚘: ¡𝙈𝙞 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙣𝙤 𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙢𝙞 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙤́𝙣!
𝚄𝚗𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜.

𝙲𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒́𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘́ 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗 𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊.

𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚗 “𝙴𝚕 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘 𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎” 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚊𝚜 12:35