Chapter Text
When it happened, Bruno Madrigal thought it was only a blip. A huge but harmless one caused by the combination of his over-active imagination and the fact that he somehow got used to not having visions after Casita’s walls came crumbling down.
Three months after the whole village came to their aid - after being embraced by his sisters for the first time in a decade - Mirabel performed her own miracle, reviving the mysterious magic that thrummed under their skins; Bruno had a problem.
The seer tried to excuse the phenomenon with multiple explanations. Maybe he was tired, hadn’t created a proper vision for quite some time, and perhaps he became disoriented. Rusty even. He might have forgotten some essential steps in his ritual. He probably stepped over the threshold with his left foot first or didn’t cast enough salt over his shoulder, or...
Whatever reason he tried to summon, the result was the same:
He felt his eyes burning for a while, and his head was starting to hurt. A familiar feeling, when the future was trying its very best to show something. Bruno thought he didn’t have to hide anymore in the walls; he didn’t have to be quiet, and it was always easier with the ritual. Less severe migraine and a physical realisation of his visions - everybody wins.
So he drew his sand circle, lit the leaves, cast the salt over his shoulder and let the sands of Time lift around him. It started out as a very straightforward and easy-to-interpret vision. Mirabel would lose her favourite sewing needle and step into it if she did not find it. A clear message with a binary outcome. Bruno could warn her or help her find the needle when it eventually came to it.
Then it started. The dancing golds and emeralds were spinning around even faster, and Bruno lost sight of Mirabel and the needle. He tried to turn around and look for anything - after all, Mirabel taught him about the importance of perspectives under the sand-dome - but for the longest minutes, all he saw was sand and the flickering lights of the future. Voices whispered through the sands of Time - Now that’s something different! Bruno thought - and he could make out a few. Someone sang.
Louder and louder, as if the singer came closer and closer - or he was getting closer to them. He never heard any song like that before, and he was sure the singer was either dying or would be if someone had to endure it any longer. They sang bad. And loud. Even though Bruno Madrigal was no musician, he was sure there was no rhythmic coherence to whatever the singer tried to scream at the top of their lungs.
Then there was music in the background. Strange and metallic sounding in a way that was alien to any music he knew. It was playing as an afterthought as if the singer should have to follow it, but they sang so off-key, the whole thing just made the situation even noisier.
YOU’RE STILL IN BED AT TEN, AND WORK BEGAN AT EIGHT; YOU’VE BURNED YOUR BREAKFAST, SO FAR, THINGS ARE GOING GREAT!
Bruno tried to understand what was happening, but it was hard to concentrate through a sandstorm while someone was yelling out of tune, and the words got slightly distorted by the wind. He couldn’t see anything, and sharp pain started to bloom behind his right eye.
What was going on?
The song went on, and Bruno was ready to drop the sands and leave it until his forming migraine passed. Just as he was about to close his eyes before the future, he felt a sudden tug behind his iris, and suddenly he saw it.
It was different from a normal vision. Albeit, typical visions didn’t carry voices through the sand, so maybe it wasn’t so normal from the beginning.
It wasn’t images on the sand, mirages of the coming or the possibility and symbols that he had to interpret and follow through the rough grains. Bruno Madrigal saw the dim, crowded room with a tiny stage. He could feel the crowd's heat around him, he could smell the alcohol, and he definitely heard the terrible, terrible singing from the stage while rhythmically appearing words were displayed on a screen.
“I’LL BE THERE FOR YOU! ‘CAUSE YOU’RE THERE FOR ME TOO!”
As the song ended, the crowd cheered, and Bruno furrowed his brows. Was this the future of entertainment? Was this how low the bar would be for singers and musicians? He shook his head in disbelief. Then he saw her.
The singer bowed with extravagant hand gestures, throwing her chestnut hair until she got dizzy and started to laugh with the cheering crowd. Hazel eyes shone with joy, and her fair face was dusted pink by the excitement. Bruno saw her radiant smile, and he forgot that he was looking upon a vision for a moment. It must have been a vision, he reasoned. Why else would he witness such a strange scene?
He tried to focus on the bizarre situation again, looked a bit closer, and saw that most people were quite drunk. He felt the crowd around him, heard their chatter as the woman stumbled off the stage, and he felt the familiar uncomfortable itch under his skin by the close proximity of all these people. But as he tried to look harder and understand why the sands of Time would show such a curious scene, the woman looked at him.
Their eyes met for the briefest second, not longer than it would take for a single grain of sand to fall to the ground, and Time seemed to stop. Bruno suddenly couldn’t breathe, and his heart might have skipped a beat in that timelessness as the woman's eyes widened and her cheer and joy transformed on her face into an expression with questions and wonder. Bruno would have said he mourned that momentary change from pure bliss if anyone had asked him. It had looked good on her.
She was looking at him like there was no other in the room, and Bruno Madrigal felt the entirety of Time shifting around him, the grains of sand stopping in mid-air. Who are you, he wondered. She focused on him with an intensity that made the fine hairs of his neck stand up, and as he was about to combust then and there under the weight of her gaze - the woman slipped and fell with a loud thud.
Bruno wanted to race to her aid, but the Time that seemed to stop before was running by him as if it tried to catch up. A whirlwind of rainbow dashed beside him and called out with half-concern and half-laughter:
“Emma!”
And before he could do anything, say anything, Bruno was back in his vision cave, and the sands fell around him to the ground. All he was left with was the emerald tablet of Mirabel’s needle and his racing heart.
What in the world happened?
That had never happened before. He had never seen anything like that before. And in no instance had a vision of someone made direct eye contact with him before.
He looked upon the tablet as if expecting any kind of explanation from it. A benign, simple vision about his favourite niece with an easy solution - this wasn’t the type of vision that would haunt him with headaches until he was forced to see it. That other thing, though…
His headache was dissipating rapidly, and he hadn’t even realised before how stiff his neck and shoulders were until they started to relax. Maybe that was all, he wondered. A huge blip in his ritual, something novel in the future to look upon, and Time felt the need to show him at his earliest convenience.
It was a peculiar sight; he had to give Time that. He had never seen anything like that before. Never heard anything like that, he scoffed as he groaned and drew a hand across his face. It must have been something in the distant future. Maybe decades, even if he were about to guess by any clue he briefly saw. Strange music, even stranger standards for entertainment…
And all in all, it didn’t seem too relevant to anything or anyone Bruno had ever known. A woman he had never seen before, somewhere in the distant future, would sing. Badly. Horrendously. And then she would stumble and fall. What did it mean?
“Maybe I’m just tired,” he reasoned, and it wasn’t far from the truth. “That’s all, you old fool, knock-knock-knock, knock on wood!”
He crossed his fingers, held his breath and stood with determination to never experience it again. Even though deep down he knew, he didn’t have any saying in the matter.
As he left his vision cave with the tablet under his arms ( right leg over the threshold ) threw some salt over his shoulder, he allowed himself to relax a bit. Emma , the thought suddenly came to him on the stairs, her name was Emma.
What an interesting thing to focus on, Bruno Madrigal ; he berated himself. This had never happened in your whole life before, but sure, think about the mysterious woman’s name. That’s the real conclusion, isn’t it?
He shook himself and shut the scolding inner voice down before letting himself sink into self-hatred anymore. His Mamá would be so sad if he would go on like that again. And Mirabel needed him right now to find her needle.
He left his room, and Casita welcomed him with rattling tiles and kindly creaking wooden beams. Even though he was shaken, and the ugly fangs of fear started to neg at his nerves, he sighed happily.
He was back.
Antonio waved at him from the back of a jaguar as he passed in the courtyard. He chirped happily at the beast while a small flock of birds of paradise approached him from above. The boy was as happy to be able to talk again with his animal friends as Bruno was to be back at Casa Madrigal - in the light. It was heartwarming to walk the halls of Casita without hiding. However, it was also somewhat unnerving. Old habits die hard, and more often than sometimes, he felt the urge to hop behind a potted plant or hide in the shadows whenever his family made any loud noises.
And la Familia Madrigal was a loud bunch. He heard Luisa and Dolores goodheartedly arguing over one thing or another somewhere downstairs while Isabela was laughing with Mirabel. If anything, the various cacti and carnivorous plants appearing and disappearing on the stairs indicated that they had fun.
Julieta’s cooking was seducing him by his nose, and who was he to say no. Bruno followed the scent of dinner - avoiding any suddenly emerging spiky plant - and tried to fight back the urge to make himself as small as possible when Agustín passed by him with a warm smile.
He was at home. He was welcome. He tried to repeat it as many times as he could, tapping on wood and stepping over cracks in the pavement.
“Camilo, mi vida , stop pretending you’re your tío !” Pepa grunted from somewhere, and threatening rainclouds gathered over Casita. “Bruno, where are you?”
Oh… well, that was something else. He was still getting used to being called upon. For a decade, his name was nothing but silence or a hushed “we don’t talk about Bruno ”. Sometimes he had thought he would forget he was Bruno. So it was nice to hear his sister so freely calling him.
“There you are, Brunito,” Pepa greeted him by the kitchen with a wide smile, holding a squirming Camilo by the ear.
“ Mamá, it was only a joke!” his sobrino pleaded to no avail.
“Maybe you will think twice before pulling an act like that next time!” Pepa snapped at her son.
Bruno was ready to excuse the kid - he was surely pulling a prank about the creepy, scary boogieman he knew as Bruno. He couldn’t fault Camilo, and to be honest, sometimes, when he had heard his impressions through the walls, he was even impressed by that imagination. The kid had a gift for acting. He was about to open his mouth when Pepa said;
“What if I wanted to ask him something personal?” The sly grin and mischievous glint in Pepas eyes made the teen go pale. “Then you would have heard about how your mother and father have a love life.”
“Ew! No! Mamá ! Stop, I won’t ever pretend to be tío Bruno around you again, I swear! Gross!”
Pepa laughed, and the clouds started to part over Casita when he released Camilo. He darted and mumbled under his breath about the things he had to erase from his memory forever. Bruno was so surprised that Camilo had actually mimicked him - the real-life him - and apparently with a good enough impression to fool his mother, that he almost missed Peppa’s grumbling.
“That kid! He is way too good with his gift, and now even I can’t tell whenever he changes.” Pepa fumbled with her braid with annoyance, but a tiny smile played in the corner of her mouth.
“Please, don’t tell me anything about your love life,” was all Bruno could say to her with panic while his fingers nervously played with the loose threads of his ruana .
He was glad to be back in the family and involved with his sisters, but he didn’t feel ready to talk about anything like that with them. Ever. He wondered, though. Had Julieta and Pepa started to freely talk about something as inappropriate as this? Did they expect him to contribute to such talks? Would they hate him if he never wanted to imagine his sisters… and their husbands… Would they send him away if he was not willing to engage and…
Pepa snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“You’re doing it again, Brunito,” she said with a gentle tone. “Stop digging a hole in your head with all those thoughts. I only said that so Camilo would take me seriously. God gives us children, but the devil gives teenagers.”
Bruno allowed himself a tiny chuckle at that. That made some sense.
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Oh, right,” Pepa beamed at him, and for a moment, Bruno felt the setting sun shining brighter than all day. “Come, we help Julieta with the dinner, and we gossip.”
Bruno followed his sister to the kitchen and turned that word around his head. Gossip. Whatever they meant by that? Town gossip had made his life miserable before; surely, they didn’t want to reignite the sparks and start the rumour mill again. He hoped not. He enjoyed walking in the sun on those few occasions when he ventured to the market.
It’s alright, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it … his mantra helped him be calm and concentrate on stepping over cracks and knocking on wood. He could do this for his sisters. He owed them so much after they let him come back. And if the town started their miserable, Bad-luck Bruno campaign, at least he had his family. He could always hide in Casita. When Pepa didn’t look, he cast a handful of salt over his shoulder, and he held his breath when he crossed the threshold.
“Just in time,” chimed Julieta, and she handed out aprons to them. So he set the tablet on the workbench and let Julieta boss him around.
All Bruno was allowed to do was chop herbs while his sisters prepared everything else. He couldn’t blame them for the decision. To be fair, he would have burned water if Julieta had assigned him near the stove, but it was nice to be near them.
“So, I heard that Mariano walks by Casita every day, just to help Dolores water the flowers,” Julieta started with an impish little smile, and Pepa grinned.
“What?” Bruno asked and almost cut himself. “Why would they do that? Isabela can sure take care of those flowers. Why would they… oh!”
“I know! Félix and I pretend we don’t know she’s sneaking out every day before dinner,” Pepa laughed and fanned herself with her hands. “Oh, young love!”
“We were there once, darling!” sighed Julieta wistfully.
In the next hour, Bruno wasn’t quite sure what was happening. He helped his sisters with the dinner preparations as the sun was slowly setting, and they talked about everyone and anyone. Julieta and Pepa never forced him to contribute to the gossip, as they called it, but they involved him. Before he knew, what hit him, he learned about Camilo’s secret sweetheart ( you should never mention Diégo, we’re not supposed to know about them yet!) , Isabela’s ambition to hunt down anything written about botany, Lusia’s wish to learn more about ancient Greek myths and Augustín’s idea about occasionally taking the girls to the city library beyond the mountains.
It was… nice.
Though it had been a few months since he was allowed to return, those months had been spent rebuilding their home and even though they had worked and dined every day together, slept under tents the townspeople offered to them, they were always so exhausted to just… let him be a part of the family.
Right then and there, as they set the table for their first dinner inside Casita and his sisters giggling about various family affairs, Bruno Madrigal felt like he finally arrived home.
While they chatted and raised their glasses to Casita (and to Mirabel) during their dinner, he even forgot about his vision. La Familia Madrigal felt stronger and happier than ever before, and Bruno was just so glad to sit at the same table as everyone else with his own plate.
His sobrinos and sobrinas teased each other playfully; Antonio’s animal friends were circling the table begging for snacks, and laughter filled the dining hall. He almost choked on his bite when Camilo mentioned one of his friend’s - Diégo’s - impressive acting abilities. Yet, a warning glance (and a little thunder somewhere in the distance) from Pepa was enough to remind him not to spill anything.
All in all, it was one of the best dinners in Bruno’s life. After the dessert, Antonio delightfully called upon his rat friends, and with Bruno’s lead, they performed a little scene out of a telenovela he was working on. It wasn’t half-bad if one could believe Dolores’s excited squeals.
“I can make them some cute costumes, tío Bruno!” Mirabel offered with a grin. “I just have to find my needle.”
“Don’t you have like a million of those?” Isabela rolled her eyes at her, but the gentle tone of her teasing made the words less sharp.
“That’s my favourite one. A lucky needle, if you will.”
It all came back to Bruno. For a long moment, all he could see was hazel eyes, chestnut hair, fair skin with some dust of pink and a curious look, wide-eyed look that pinned him to place. He shook himself a bit, knocking on the table and throwing salt over his shoulder.
“I’ll help you find it, kid,” he offered to Mirabel.
“Thank you, tío , but don’t worry. If I don’t find it tonight, I can sew with another needle.”
“If you don’t find it tonight, you’ll step into it in the morning,” Bruno replied, throwing even more salt over his shoulder.
Everyone looked at him, and his skin started to itch under their gaze. Finally, he realised what came out of his mouth, his breath became shallow, and even though his eyes widened, his sight started to narrow down to a single point on his plate.
Not again! He did it again. Not even a few hours after they were gifted again, he had to ruin his reputation, the family’s dinner and Mirabel’s future… and give a bad vision with bad luck…
“Thank you, tío ,” repeated Mirabel, a bit softer.
All Bruno wanted to do was to slam his head on the table and apologise for ruining their evening until he lost his voice.
“We can help you, sis,” Isabela offered nonchalantly while Luisa nodded.
Bruno didn’t realise he was fisting the edge of the table until his Mamá gently pried his fingers off and held in a gentle but firm grip.
“Casita, could you help with this needle?” Mirabel asked, and the distant rattle of tiles was her only answer.
Bruno was spiralling. He didn’t hear the family clearing the table or that the said needle was flipped unceremoniously on the table by some floorboards. He didn’t hear Mirabel’s triumphant cheer at that and the promises of many rat costumes for the next day.
He didn’t see his rats departing with Antonio for the evening and didn’t feel the reassuring hands brushing against his shoulders, arms or hair. The dining room became almost empty, and Bruno tried to hold himself together while his skin felt wrong on him. Alma Madrigal was the only one left beside him, holding his hands like a vice, grounding him.
“Brunito,” she whispered with a wet voice, and Bruno wanted to kick himself for making his mother so sad. “What a gift you are. How helpful.”
His shoulders started to shake with soundless sobs, and tears ran their streaks on his face. His mother was holding him through it while that harsh voice in his head berated him. How he ruined the evening. How he could never create a positive vision, only those that caused loss and pain. How he wasn’t deserving to sit at the same table as his family.
“Don’t listen to such silliness, mi vida ,” Alma cued at him, and now Bruno felt shame rising to his face as apparently, he had said these things aloud. “You saw something, and you chose to tell us. From that point, the decisions we make and bearing the responsibility for those are entirely up to us.”
“But it wasn't… It was bad luck, and-”
“Thank you for that, Bruno,” said Alma and with hushing sounds, she embraced Bruno, running her hands across his shaking shoulders and back. “Thank you for sharing your vision with us. We could prepare for it because of you.”
In his mother’s arms, he started to calm down. He let himself drown out that voice in his head ridiculing him that at fifty years of age, he cried on his mother's shoulder for such an insignificant thing as a sewing needle. Instead, he tried to enjoy the warmth of her embrace, taking deep breaths to calm his racing ( burning! ) mind.
“ Mamá, ” he started weakly as he gathered all of the courage he was left with. It wasn’t much, to begin with, but he owed it to his family to warn them. “I saw something else as well. And it was weird.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Alma’s voice was calm and warm, her hands never stopped with the aimless pattern of caress, and Bruno could slowly start to crawl out of his despair with her help.
“I don’t know what I saw or why. It didn’t quite make any sense.”
He tried to tell her the experience, how it was different from anything he knew, how he felt being right there at that curious place and how the woman looked at him directly.
“It was something new. And I’m not even sure if it concerns Encanto or the family.”
“As I see it, it concerns you greatly,” said Alma, and she brushed away a few locks out of her son's face. “I have a feeling that you won’t leave it alone for a while. If you need help with this strange vision, tell us. But don’t push yourself too much.”
“Thank you,” Bruno sighed gratefully. He felt suddenly more tired than he had been over the last couple of weeks, and all he wanted was his hammock.
“Do you want to tell it to the others in the morning?” Alma asked when they stood and were about to retire for the evening.
“Oh… Ahh… The thing is… Could you and Dolores, ahm… pass around the word? Maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s not-nothing… and I… well, maybe I can’t… I mean, look at what I did today… I…”
Alma reached out to Bruno and kissed him on the cheek before embracing him again, holding him tight and warm.
“I’m sure Dolores and I can handle this, Brunito. Don’t worry. Now go and try to rest.”
“ Bueanas noches, ” he sighed.
Bruno left, knocking excessively on wood wherever his hands could reach on the way, throwing salt over his shoulders at every turn, holding his breath and crossing his fingers tight when entering his room. When he crawled in his hammock, his head didn’t even touch the pillow; he was already asleep.
***
Bruno knew he was dreaming. That or he had another vision in his sleep. He tried to make sense of it first as if by just staring, all of his questions would be answered. He felt the foliage tickle him by the knees. He felt the humid and hot air of the jungle, and in the distance, he could hear a tucan’s call for mating.
Right in front of him, amid leaves, trees, under bushes and vines, just barely out of reach, there was a door. There was no frame or any kind of support around it, but despite that, it stood proudly and stable as if it had always been there and it would always be there for all eternity - with golden carvings of intricate designs.
Bruno couldn’t make out the carvings. He knew he was supposed to see them; they were glowing, shimmering gold against dark wood, not unlike their own doors in Casita. But the light, the shadows and the floating feeling in his head prevented him from recognising any pattern in them. He just knew that the door was elaborately decorated. He knew it, with the same assurance as he knew he was dreaming. Or having a vision.
“What do you want to show me?” he muttered while taking a tentative step towards the door.
The door opened slightly ajar as if tempting him. Though Bruno could see around it quite well, the area promising nothing more than the same hot and humid forest; for some reason, he knew that he would find something entirely different behind that door. Especially when he could feel the cooler, crispier air emitting from behind it.
He took another step, but he couldn’t get any closer. The door didn’t move, and he didn’t move an inch despite the step. He took another step. Then another. Another. And another. Bruno tried to run towards the door, never getting closer, never moving out of the suspended un-reality of the jungle, and all he could do was reach out, but not even his fingertips could touch the wood.
***
Bruno sat up in his hammock with a start, accidentally shaking it so much that he tumbled out with a thud. A few rats came closer to him with slight concern.
“It’s alright, guys,” he groaned and stood while rubbing his aching joints and behind.
His head was still light, and he swore his mouth was filled with cotton balls. He went through the motions of dressing without paying any attention to his clothes. If he was up, he could as well figure out what was happening with his foresight. He hadn’t had visions in his sleep since he’d been a child. Ever since he’d created his elaborate ritual, he was spared from those embarrassing (and sometimes nightmarish) instances where he had to interpret his own dreams.
“What’s going on?” he mumbled to no one in particular. Then something glinting in the moonlight caught his sight from the hammock. “What do you want to tell me?”
There in his hammock, an emerald tablet shone with an otherworldly glow.