A man and a street vendor conversed over a bag of flour. The surrounding customers gave the shop a wide berth, and the vendor appeared visibly distressed. He refused to take the money from the man's hand, even to touch it, nervously insisting he take anything he liked with a smile that faltered and died. So the customer did, continuing on.

It was a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky. The streets of the Encanto were lively and jovial, smiling faces exchanging morning greetings and participating in the local market. It was a veritable paradise considering the state of the world outside of the magical sanctuary, and excitement was in the air. It was always a treat when the amazing Madrigals hosted an event.

The peaceful equilibrium of the Square seemed to pitch very suddenly, a veil of disquiet falling over the townsfolk as a figure shuffled oddly through the crowded streets. He carried a sack of flour. His gait was abnormal, calculated: sandals deliberately avoiding the gaps between the stone walkway. His gaze was fixed on his task, monitoring where to place each step. The atmosphere plummeted immediately, hushed voices breaking out. Like a leper in ancient times, there was a clear separation between the man and the villagers, his presence parting the crowd around him like they were afraid they'd catch his disease. The tension was palpable enough to cut, and it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for him to make a move.

He didn't appear to notice the whispering, muttering, and odd looks, carrying on as usual. Then, quite suddenly, he froze in place. His eyes traveled upwards, filling with recognition. Through no fault of his own-really, it was quite unintentional-the man looked rather ghoulish. This particular characteristic tended to unnerve people. Pallid, bloodless skin seemed to deepen the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones, and hair that was disheveled and unkempt framed his face. He reached out, placing a hand on a woman's shoulder. His victim stilled like a deer caught in the headlights, breath choking from her lungs and eyes filling with the dread of impending doom. He wet his chapped lips, and spoke, "Excuse me, señorita."

A funny, high-pitched noise escaped the woman - the shrill whistle of a kettle. He seemed to take this in stride, to his credit.

"Your goldfish," he said without preamble. All gathered seemed to release a held breath in unison. The woman's mouth fell open wide, a hand flying over her mouth as if to stifle a scream.

"Mi corazón!" She squawked in horror.

"I'm so sorry," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "Poor Burbujas. One moment he's swimming around, perfectly content, and the next…" he trailed off, filling his cheeks and pressing his lips together, and then releasing the air in a woosh. The woman watched him attentively, whimpering as if she were witnessing Burbujas actively dying in front of her instead of the performance of this strange messenger.

"No," came her soft reply, her voice breaking as emotion overwhelmed her. The man fidgeted uncomfortably with his hands, before committing to an awkward pat on her shoulder. The woman withered away from his touch, blame assembling itself in her eyes. The man cringed.

"Condolences," He repeated apologetically, dipping his head. The townsfolk cast him wary glances as he left, cautiously returning to their routines.

He stopped in place only a moment later, looking down at his feet in dismay. "Dios mío," he muttered to himself, an edge of fear in his tone. Then, tenderly, he lifted his foot from the gap and returned to his bizarre ritual - once again focused on his every step.

The woman shook and trembled even as he disappeared from view, bottom lip quivering as she wiped a stray tear from her eye. His presence alone seemed to be enough to render her inconsolable. That, or she cared very deeply about that fish of hers.

Preparation was underway in the casita Madrigal. Upstairs, Mamá Madrigal and Félix were attempting to calm a neurotic Pepa while volunteers hung banners and arranged flowers in the foyer below. Julieta was preparing a platter of buñuelos in the kitchen when her brother entered her domain harbored with groceries.

"Oh, Bruno, there you are," Julieta greeted absent-mindedly. Then she froze, raising her head to stare at the bag propped under his arm with a vacant look that quickly morphed into realization. "-And you brought flour, gracias. I'd only just realized I'd come up short a moment ago," she chuckled in amazement.

"Sorry sorry, timing," Bruno apologized, the word "timing" heavy on his tongue like it held some special significance to him only he could comprehend. "I got held up in town," he said, depositing it on the counter next to her. Julieta shook her head in exasperation, forgoing her recipe to sling an arm around his shoulder and drag him to her level. He gave her a long-suffering look as she bopped the tip of his nose with her pointer finger.

"Oye, you're the best hermanito I could ever ask for. Your gift is just an extra perk," she grinned fondly.

"'Ito'?" Bruno protested skeptically, wriggling free.

"Come now, be a good sport," she chided, unfolding the sack of flour with a smirk.

"Disaster will befall you," Bruno grumbled.

Julieta stilled as she fiddled with the tabs, whatever levity she had exhibited draining from her face. Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. She hesitated a moment before saying, "Bruno, please tell me that this wedding will go smoothly. It means so much to the town and there are so many things that Mamá expects to be flawless today, not to mention Pepa, she's-"

"Relax," Bruno interrupted vehemently, waving his arms about in obviously telegraphed denial. "I'm certain today will be perfect," he assuaged with a wan smile. Julieta appeared to assign too much weight to his words, sighing in plain relief. Bruno didn't even bother correcting her assumptions.

Usually, Bruno didn't have to be so careful with his wording around her - she must be really stressing out. He wondered how much of that stress was of her own making versus how much Pepa had inadvertently placed on her sister's shoulders. If Julieta was stressed then Pepa was biting her nails to a bloody quick right now. All that emotion bottling up inside her was going to pop off like a cork, he just knew it.

Bruno waited anxiously in his seat, unable to stop fidgeting. His knee bounced underneath the table and he kept fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Stop wiggling!" Julieta commanded in a whisper, obviously bristling with anticipation.

"Sorry," Bruno muttered, forcing himself to sit still.

The crowd of villagers in the doorway parted, Pepa emerging from their midst to a chorus of awed gasps. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her. Her hair was folded into an intricate braid that twisted up into a scarlet spiral, and her white gown suited her perfectly: embellished with lace and ruffles that added a certain, indescribable charm that matched Pepa's own. The sun kissed her skin with vivid golden and set her red hair ablaze. She looked beautiful. Fondness overwhelmed him so completely that his heart seemed to squeeze uncomfortably in his chest. Beside him, Julieta struggled not to cry. Bruno was so caught up in the moment he almost didn't notice a pang of déjà vu. But the feeling only intensified.

Pepa drifted up the steps of the cathedral, arm in arm with Mamá. Each step was placed with practiced perfection, a familiar look of careful concentration in her eyes. Bruno began fiddling with his cuffs again, exhaling unhappily. As the procession continued, nobody seemed to notice how panic slowly asserted itself on his sister's expression. The beginning of a grimace had formed on her lips and her posture was so tight Bruno couldn't help but wince in sympathy. Meanwhile, Mamá claimed to be saying a few words but in reality, was saying quite a lot of them. None of them made it to Bruno, however.

"To witness Pepa growing up has brought great happiness into my life, the likes of which I had once thought would never find me again. Yes, there was a time, like many here of my generation, when I felt all was lost to me. How wrong I was." She said, laden with that mysterious, enduring love for another only a parent could understand, and which eluded all others. This seemed to elicit an emotional reaction within a few gathered. "When she was very small, she begged me endlessly for a puppy. I was hesitant to indulge this request, but there is only so much pleading and blubbering and depression a parent can endure before they must give in. She named that little pup Zorro, because of its russet fur and white belly. It was a cunning little thing, too. It feels like only yesterday she came to me, sopping wet from her own storm cloud, and shivering like a leaf, to confess to accidentally stepping on that little puppy's tail," Mamá continued with a fond smile. "'Will Zorro ever forgive me, Mamá?'" she mimicked sweetly. A few chuckles broke out. In sharp disparity, Bruno was becoming so increasingly unsettled that simply sitting still felt like torture. Julieta shot him another annoyed glance. I need to calm down, this is hardly the occasion to chase another idiotic hunch.

"Being this sweet girl's mother and having the pleasure to watch her grow and mature into a beautiful, passionate woman is a miracle in itself. I am assured of our prosperity when I look at you, mija, and this wonderful match." Her eyes fell onto Félix for a moment before resting on Pepa again. "I know you will not disappoint the community or the miracle our family has inherited. Most of all, I know that if Pedro were here today, he would be so proud of who you have become."

Papá's name seemed to be the catalyst. A cloud passed over the sun. The radiant colors streaming through the stained glass turned dark, cold, and a slight, supernatural chill cut through the room. Bruno shuddered, clicking his teeth together and shutting his eyes. He inhaled slowly, a familiar foreboding settling on his shoulders. An inkling of the future, like a half-remembered dream. Julieta shivered beside him, evidently realizing the same change in the air. Bruno rocked back and forth on the bench, urging himself not to interfere. A few murmurs rippled through the pews, people clutching their shawls tighter to themselves.

"Our future has never felt so secure, so bright. Sunny." The word was a little more forceful than it ought to be in that context. Bruno couldn't take it anymore, standing suddenly. Julieta watched him get up with a bemused look.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I need to talk to her," Bruno responded.

"What, now?" she gawped in disbelief.

"Yes, yes now," he murmured, maneuvering past the others in their row.

He didn't see the way Julieta's face fell in immediate dread. Like she could sense disaster in his wake. As he advanced, disquiet followed, quickly overtaking the entire cathedral. Bruno stopped near the front, looking nervous. Only Félix was looking at him, ever the perceptive one. He and Félix had never spoken much, and so this brief meeting of the eyes was a little weird for the both of them.

"Pepa," Bruno whispered softly. Mamá trailed off, her eyes falling onto him. And just like that, every person in attendance was staring at Bruno. Pepa was so still that he thought she didn't hear him until she stiffly turned her head in his direction. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. He grimaced.

"What."

Bruno looked around anxiously, sensing a distressing amount of eyes on him. He approached Pepa's seat, leaning in to whisper, "You're tense. Talk to me for just a second, please," he pleaded quietly, struggling not to shrivel up under the weight of dozens of beady-eyed stares, of Mamá's disapproving frown.

"I am not 'tense'," she hissed. Bruno winced at the accompanying gathering of clouds above her. She waved them off, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. "Clear skies. Clear skies. Clear skies," she breathed almost inaudibly, hands twitching to stroke a braid that was no longer hanging. "Bruno, please sit down," she said in desperation.

"You're in no state of mind to get married to the love of your life right now, Pepa; you're a bundle of nerves. It's so bad you can't even concentrate.'' The cloud outside shifted and grew darker, thicker. The light within the cathedral dwindled, the sinister shadows of the clouds crawling across the floorboards menacingly. The sibling's whispers reverberated through the cathedral, hushed words transformed into eerie, eldritch chants. Bruno's crooked shadow warped and lengthened, extending down the aisle. The silence became suffocating, cannibalistic, and a palpable fear was beginning to brew.

Pepa chanced an anxious glance at Mamá, getting up and pulling Bruno aside to lend them a sliver of privacy. Invading eyes watched unerringly, a quiet commotion of frightened whispers spreading from ear to ear like wildfire. "Bruno, for the love of-" She broke off just in time, crossing herself. Then she inhaled slowly. "You need to sit down," she managed to say evenly, eye twitching with the effort. But Bruno had already opened the floodgates. And this time, so unlike himself, he was unwilling to back down. And the surge was growing.

"Anyone would be stressed in your position, getting married is a big jump," Bruno told her. Pepa would laugh at the casualness of it all, as they stood in the heat of dozens of judgemental stares, but the words were having more of an effect on her than she would like to admit. Pepa's heart fluttered dangerously in her chest. Mariposas in her stomach. "All your life you've been told 'calm down, don't let it out, clear skies,' so you keep it all inside. You have to. But you can't just ignore your feelings. Feelings don't quietly disappear, they fester and grow and demand out! And they've got to go somewhere!"

"Up your-" Pepa broke off, again censoring herself. Though in her opinion, God would have ordained this one violation of his sacred house, furthering the holy mission of getting her brother to shut up. Her fists were clenched so hard Bruno feared she'd rip her skin open.

"Oye," he urged, suddenly nervous. Something in his tone captured Pepa, lying her vulnerability bare before her. "Where you're heading now, it looks-" he broke off, leaning inward even closer. Pepa drew forward in turn, magnetized by his grave expression. She found herself hanging on his next words. Because, despite how she tried to deny it, he was right. He was the only one, at that moment, who understood how she was feeling, who could offer up some assurance or prophesy that would make everything okay again. Like he had done for her when they were young, and she had thought the world to end. Everyone in attendance seemed to hold their breath, unease hanging in the air like a guillotine about to plummet. Bruno's voice was soft and lower than a whisper. "It looks like rain," he said. It looks like rain. It looks like rain. It looks like-

Pepa recoiled from him with a gasp, horror washing over her. Bruno felt a shudder pass through him from tip to tailbone. Dread. The second before the other shoe dropped felt like an eternity, siblings staring horrified into each other's eyes. Then it passed. At once, bodies, like limp dolls, were thrown in all directions as a great gust of wind split the crowd in two. Bruno was pushed back violently, back slamming against the wall. His head fell forward, slack, even as he fought not to pass out. Screams broke out. A veil of darkness descended over the Encanto, a funnel of black clouds twisting above the town and its surrounding woodlands.

Pepa fell to her knees, arms wrapping around her chest. Rain plummeted from the heavens, tearing up the landscape beneath. The torrent of wind ravaged the cathedral, and the elaborate floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the entrance burst into thousands of colorful fractals that became beautiful weapons for the wind to wield. Gusts of rain and detritus burst through the new openings. The people nearest the front rows screamed, struggling to get away. Shingles, masonry, and arrays of colorful flowers fell prey to the hungry tempest.

Bruno groaned, rubbing his tender scalp as he regained consciousness.

"What did you say to her!" Félix roared, struggling to move towards his beloved.

Bruno stared at Pepa, crushed under the force of her own emotions, and felt the urge to vomit. The wind within the confines of the cathedral was too strong for anyone to breach and eventually became much too dangerous for anyone to even try. The roof crumbled away, after a while, and then the walls, then the tile, until the foundations were left stripped bare. But eventually, the storm had run its course.

Pepa sat hunched against the stone in the tattered remains of her wedding dress, drenched to the bone, mascara staining her face in smears of black. Her hair had come undone, the spiral unraveled and the strands of escaped hair plastered across her face and neck. A flame extinguished. Crumpled flowers and torn petals lay in ruins around her. She heaved shuddering breaths, her chest occasionally hitching in a sob. Mamá watched on in dismay, clutching her hands together above her heart. Félix ran to Pepa's side, scooping her up in his arms.

He took her hands in his as she sobbed, kissing them reassuringly. "Oye, Oye," he called to her softly. She wasn't focusing on him, however, eyes wildly searching for one man. As they found him, standing among the scattered remains of their family, they filled with a bitter, roaring fire.

"Is this what you wanted!" she howled, teeth bared like a feral puma. Bruno's eyes filled with answering outrage, but whatever response was about to burst from him was interrupted by Félix.

"Pepa, calm down, it's okay!" he urged, his eyes growing soft. Bruno deflated, the words on his breath escaping in a woosh of air. Pepa turned away from him as her fiance rubbed her hands consolingly between his fingers.

Rain pelted the rooftops in violent, mournful sprays. "This is calm!" she snapped, gesturing angrily at the sky above them.

"You'll feel better once you're breathing properly," Félix coaxed. "Just take a moment, relax."

His gentle words finally reach her. Félix held her patiently, allowing her all the time she needed. Pepa gasped and heaved for a little while, and no one spoke. Félix continued to stroke her back reassuringly.

When Pepa's breathing had mostly evened out, Félix moved the wet hair from her eyes and said, "Will you still marry me?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes, so he lifted her chin gently to look at him. She gave in, then, a weak smile appearing on her face. "Sí," she chuckled hoarsely. "If you'll have me." She received her answer in the form of a kiss. She melted into his arms and he held her there, longer than either could keep track of. The rain slowly subsided, and people emerged from the wreckage to survey the damage to their homes and loved ones. Several people wept as the night went on, but none were killed. The marriage was officiated, there in the courtyard. It was hardly what anyone had in mind.

Rebuilding took weeks, and Julieta had her work cut out tending to the injured. Pepa's gaze never rose from her feet for more than a minute. Even Félix couldn't get her to respond with more than a few words at a time. Depressingly, Pepa had become just like that little, guilt-ridden girl who'd asked her Mamá imploringly if her Zorro would ever forgive her.

The four of them sat quietly as each picked at their food. Occasionally one of them would look up and meet another's eyes, then both would quickly look away. Pepa was the only one who seemed unaffected by the atmosphere, eating her food as if nothing was amiss. Julieta couldn't stop sending fleeting glances in her direction, fiddling with the cutlery. There were some wounds, it seemed, not even Julieta's cooking could fix.

All four sat in complete silence as the sound of approaching footsteps was heard. The creak of each stair. None acted as if they heard it. Pepa didn't even look up as the doorknob twisted.

Bruno poked his head into the room, a hand resting at the base of his neck. His gaze seemed to flit from each person in the room anxiously, before gluing to the floor, where it stayed. "Perdóname," he said, very hesitantly. "I didn't mean to- to interrupt."

Mamá sighed heavily. "It's fine," she said firmly. Precipitation gathered on the edge of everyone's glasses, a chill cutting through the room. Mamá didn't even twitch. "Sit.'

Bruno swallowed heavily, looking very suddenly like he'd experienced a change of heart. "No, ah, I can-"

"Sit!" Mamá commanded, pounding on the table so hard her plate seemed to leap into the air in terror. Everybody flinched. Bruno sat without another word, back ramrod straight as he found his chair. The Casita quietly passed his plate over, as if afraid of incurring Mamá's wrath as well.

The silence dragged on once more, except this time nobody would even look up from their plates. Mamá sat expectantly at the head of the table, fingers steepled as her gaze went from person to person. They landed on Félix first: he scratched at his scalp and looked at the ceiling. Julieta coughed lightly. Bruno fiddled with a loose thread, faintly humming an odd tune that was so off-key Julieta struggled not to leap over the table, wrestle him to the ground, and strangle him until he shut up permanently.

"How are you settling in, Félix?" Mamá asked. The children just about jumped out of their collective skins.

"Great!" Félix blurted out, "Your Casita is something special."

Mamá hummed vaguely. Félix let out an odd noise that landed somewhere between a chuckle and a wheeze, drumming his fingers against the table. Dinner stretched on. Eventually, Pepa pushed her chair out and stood. The scrape of the chair against the floorboards felt agonizingly loud after what felt like hours of charged silence but had probably only been a couple of minutes.

"May I be excused?" she asked innocently.

"Of course, mija," Mamá said, her voice going all soft and tender. Félix and Pepa grazed hands as she left, exchanging fond smiles.

"Later, mi vida," he whispered.

As the door shut and her footsteps retreated, Félix seemed to realize he'd been thrown to the wolves. The prospect of making it through dinner with Pepa's severe mother and his potentially conniving stepbrother was more than a little daunting. It was not long after this realization that Bruno tapped his shoulder and leaned over to whisper, "Oye, Félix."

"Bruno," Félix acknowledged tightly, struggling not to pull away and reveal his unease.

"You should go after her now before you choke on that arepa-"

Félix swallowed very suddenly. Too suddenly. His eyes began to bulge. A great rasp escaped his throat, hands clutching at it in vain. Bruno stared at Félix like a startled rabbit, motionless. Even as Félix mimed frantically to communicate his distress, face rapidly reddening, he offered no acknowledgment other than a hundred-yard stare.

Luckily, Mamá noticed immediately, jumping to her feet and racing to his side. She pulled him from his seat and wrapped her arms around his abdomen, beginning to pump. Julieta gaped in horror, standing by uselessly as Mamá single-handedly forced the chunk of food from his throat. Bruno, seeing that the situation was under control, continued to eat. This terrified Félix more than anything.

"Are you okay? Can you breathe?" Julieta asked as Mamá released him. Félix was left gasping raggedly for air, relief written across his face. His eyes were staring off into the distance but not quite focusing on anything in particular. Mamá rubbed his back supportingly.

"He is fine," she decided. Meanwhile, a haunted Félix contemplated his fragile mortality.

"Yeah," he wheezed, "I'm good."

Bruno stood. "Excuse me," he interrupted apologetically, "I'm finished." Then he slipped from the room. Julieta watched him leave, mouth slightly agape.

"Ay de mí, he wants to kill me!" Félix hissed to Julieta as he left, eyes still wide open in shock.

Julieta frowned in dismay. "Surely not," she denied.

In the kitchen, Pepa looked up from the sink, where she was drying her dishes. "What are you doing? Mamá will be mad," she said reticently.

"She's occupied," Bruno said enigmatically. Pepa raised an eyebrow but did not inquire. "Anyway, their dinner will be a lot more pleasant without the two of us there." Pepa made a non-committal noise. Bruno pulled at that loose thread again as he thought, unraveling a growing amount of his sleeve. Pepa was hyper-aware of his every movement despite how she appeared to be absorbed by her task. "Pepa," he began, strained. Her fingers began to shake, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Electricity buzzed in the air. "I need to-"

Bruno jumped as ceramic impacted ceramic. The plate tumbled from Pepa's grip, crashing against the other dishes. Pepa whirled around, face twisted with rage. "It slipped from my hand!" she claimed loudly, piercing Bruno with a fiery glare before retreating from the kitchen in a huff, storm clouds in her wake. Bruno stood there in shock, for a moment genuinely concerned for the state of his heart.

Pepa and Félix lay in bed, facing each other. Their noses almost touched. Above them, an endless expanse of artificial stars glimmered and twinkled, though they looked nearly identical to the real things. Within this soothing pocket of heaven, Pepa found solace from another frustrating, tension-filled day. Another day where she again failed to bring herself to go into town, staying cooped up at home as Félix struggled not to dote on her constantly. It had begun to worry Mamá, prompting a hushed conversation about duty, a hug, and a request to join her in town tomorrow morning. Mamá didn't want the town to worry.

The weathervane on her bedside table creaked gently in an easy breeze. A small, wicked grin played on Pepa's lips as she asked, "How was dinner?"

This innocent little question seemed to fluster even her poor, sweet-talking husband. "It wasn't so bad," Félix answered defensively- as if he'd deceived himself into believing her family was anywhere approaching normal. "Your sister is lovely," he admitted easily, and indeed it would have been odd, to say the least, if he'd come to any other conclusion. "And your mother is…" he seemed to be searching for the right word, "strong." He said this with feeling. Pepa looked perplexed, but couldn't refute the statement per sey. Whatever had happened at dinner must have been even more eventful than she'd presumed.

"And, Bruno?" she asked, knowingly.

"Bruno," he agreed. Pepa frowned, turning onto her back. She studied the starry expanse of sky above her wordlessly, tracing the constellations with her eyes and naming them by memory. She pointedly ignored the way the weathervane now squealed and gyrated, a tsk of annoyance escaping her. Godammit.

Bruno sat alone in a dark room, the light from the TV casting his face in a ghastly glow as he watched attentively.

"I can not believe you, Diego! How could you betray me like this?" The fiery woman, Gabriela, shrieked, slapping Diego across the face. Bruno winced in sympathy. Gabriela had only been unfaithful a few times before, and she promised she had never gone past second base. It was widely known she was a passionate lover, but Bruno knew she had a secret, sensitive side -one Diego had witnessed, and then promptly violated. He didn't see how he could worm himself out of this one.

"Gabriela, I love her," he declared, shrugging her off and piercing her with his intense gaze. She gasped. Bruno gasped. "How can I feel remorse for expressing such a pure emotion? I refuse!"

"No…" Gabriela wailed, "This can't be true!" Bruno leaned forward until he was on the edge of his seat.

"Tell her it's not true," he urged the TV set, willing Diego to see sense.

Diego turned away from her, conflicted. There was a dramatic pause. Bruno waited in tense anticipation, shaking his head in denial. "It's true…" he said, finally, uttering those two forbidden words.

"Ajá! Bruno?" Bruno almost fell off the couch, pouncing on the remote and quickly switching it off. Gabriela's stunned reaction disappeared from view. Mamá stood in the doorway, staring. It was impossible to know how long she had been standing there. "What, are you watching?"

Pasión en la Selva, Bruno did not say, instead declaring, "Nothing! What do you want?"

"That is no way to speak to your madre," Mamá chided. Bruno shrank. "Scoot over." Bruno shifted, leaving a space for her. She curled up beside him, getting comfortable. "I want to see what my son is watching," she said. Bruno experienced an almost visceral reaction to this, dread settling deep in his gut.

"Mamá," Bruno protested. She folded her arms over her chest, completely immovable. Bruno hid his face in his hands, hissing. Completely humiliated, he turned the TV back on. The show had progressed without him, the drama of the moment robbed away. To make matters worse, Mamá bugged him the entire night with her out-of-touch commentary. When Diego fell into a puddle of quicksand to save his forbidden lover, Alejandra, she snorted derisively, clearly deeply offended.

"Alejandra doesn't deserve Diego's devotion," she complained loudly. "He should have just let her drown in the mud and spare us all the torment."

"Mamá," Bruno groaned, "she gave up everything to be with him." Mamá turned her nose up, refusing to see reason. So Bruno gave up. "You're missing the entire point," he mumbled bitterly.

"Whatever you say, retoño," she teased. She was at once rewarded with a peeved look.

As the credits rolled, both sat in silence, the ghostly light transforming them into quite the pair of night-dwelling ghouls.

"That's how they're going to end it?" Mamá scoffed.

"It's emotional," Bruno grumbled. "You wouldn't get it." Bruno switched the TV off. All at once, it was pitch black. Quiet, too. So much so Bruno was unsure of Mamá's exact position until he heard her voice directly beside him.

"Sit here with me for moment longer, mijo," she said. Bruno debated going for a light but decided against it after only a moment of indecision.

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly, sensing a discussion. He didn't have much he wanted to discuss. Mamá let the silence sit, let Bruno begin to get anxious. Skittishly he bounced his leg, wondering if she did this to him on purpose, knowing it put him on edge. He was beginning to wonder if she had simply left the room, quiet as a mouse, and left him sitting alone in the dark room like a fool, when-

"Bruno, I've been hearing some distressing news," Mamá's disembodied voice announced, suddenly.

"Híjole!" Bruno yelped, springing upward like a Jack-in-the-Box wound too tightly. "Warning- a warning next time, please," he beseeched, plastered against the back of the couch in an unnatural sprawl.

"Several people have asked for your prophecies recently. I've noticed that you have refused some of them."

"oh, really?" he exhaled nervously. "What a bizarre rumor." At least the puzzle of Mamá's motives had finally been revealed.

"You are bad liar, Bruno," Mamá bit back gruffly. "Do not lie to me. I only have what is best for the town in mind," she continued severely. Bruno frowned at this, brow furrowing with frustration.

"Maybe this is what's best for them," he reasoned, a twinge of desperation in his tone. "Knowing the future has brought nothing but misery to the people who beg and plead for it. They're so desperate for a certain answer that when I don't find it they just can't accept it. That's why I refused those people; I can tell by a person's eyes if they will be able to handle it. I did them a favor by turning them away."

Mamá at first didn't respond, taken aback. Bruno peered at her dark outline, seeing the way she turned away. She knew he was right, she had to. "I do not blame you," Mamá said finally, smothering his prepared arguments like a delicate flame between her fingers. Bruno was rendered speechless, considering her carefully.

"You don't?" he queried tentatively.

"You are still… healing. I see that. I see what happened between you and Pepa had effect on you. Made you afraid," she proposed softly. Bruno frowned, groaning in dismay. Mamá ignored him, "Afraid of your own power," she insisted.

"I- that has nothing to do with it." He drew his legs up onto the couch with him, suddenly glad for the darkness.

"I find that hard to believe, but I do not doubt that you do. Pain and guilt can make us believe even our own falsehoods."

"That wasn't even a prophecy," Bruno protested weakly. "She just looked… so lost. I thought I could help her."

Mamá had no quick retort for this, no immediate response. She shifted a little closer to him, her hand finding his shoulder. Her face was made clear as his eyesight adjusted. Her expression was sympathetic. Bruno turned away, afraid of meeting those sharp, perceptive eyes. How could she read him like a book while simultaneously being so blind?

"Your gift was not given to this family to be hidden away and squandered, it was given to us to help and serve the community. It is your duty as a Madrigal to share your miracle." Her words weighed as heavily on his shoulders as the burden of fate. He wondered if she actually believed them, or if she was another one of those people who tricked themselves into believing their own falsehoods.

"Is that really what you want?" Bruno asked with weary eyes, his shoulders sagging under the pressure. He caught the moment of hesitance before her answer, despite how she tried to conceal it.

"Of course," she said. Then she squeezed his shoulder and let him go. Bruno stared at her, disappointed in spite of himself. He didn't hear anything but her hesitation. He took it as a confirmation of sorts.

The interior of the casita was a mystery to most of the town, an intriguing, magical labyrinth. There were magical gateways for each of the niños, and one for their Mamá, of course. Beyond the wooden frames were pocket dimensions: spaces tailored personally to each one of them. Now what resided in these mysterious, supernatural rooms, will be left to the imagination- for now. But the Madrigals knew them and controlled them, as their connection to the magic allowed them. One room was different from the others. Its vastness knew no bounds, its complexity, no rival. Its occupant, no peace.

That was the reason Bruno Madrigal did not sleep in his dimension, like the others. Quite unusually, the place disturbed him. He understood it implicity, its complexities, its mysteries, its function, and how falling sand and winding staircases and indescribable carvings represented his essence so completely it was like he was peering at his warped reflection every time he opened his door. He rather disliked it, to say the least. And the rats. The ungodly little fiends had set upon the place like ravenous devils, polluting it with their scrabbling little paws and wretched pink snouts, coarse, matted fur, beady little eyes- he shuddered.

At the top of the tower, up a creaky set of wooden stairs, was an attic. In stark contrast, this room was pleasant, quaintly furnished, and provided an eagle's view of the town below, the stars gleaming above it. Bruno's eyes drifted shut. As h slept he dreamed of somewhere he had never seen before, past even the Encanto's mountainous walls.

Bruno awoke from slumber, groggily, at a knocking on the door. It took him a time to pull himself from bed to answer it.

He opened the door to Pepa dressed in her nightgown, glaring expectantly at him.

"Why did you say those things?" she demanded.

Bruno blinked the exhaustion from his eyes, a yawn escaping him despite his better judgments. It had to be early, early enough the sun had yet to rise and the rest of the household yet to wake. Bruno never woke up early. He detested early.

"Which ones?" he asked, clarification was important. A mistake.

"You know which ones!" She howled.

"Oh," he said, brow knitting together.

"You said all that intentionally! You knew it would make me explode!" She accused, her whole body animated with her anger, arms flailing, chest heaving, fists shaking with rage. Then all at once, she stilled. Her temper burned hot and fast, receding almost as soon as it appeared. Her voice was raw with condemnation as she continued, "You saw it, didn't you?" Her voice was small and hurt, her lip curled in contempt, as she murmured, "You knew just what buttons to press."

"No, no, I-" He broke off, shaking his head, "I never meant to cause-"

"Ha," Pepa interrupted quietly.

"It was a mistake," he said, but the fight had already drained from him.

"Yeah," she murmured skeptically. Her tormented expression seemed to steal whatever reply Bruno had ready, and both lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Bruno's gaze quickly fell to the floor again. Pepa fiddled with her wedding ring. "Félix said you made him choke on his arepa," Pepa said, cowardly changing the subject.

"A bit ironic," Bruno muttered after a moment of consideration.

Pepa scoffed. "That's my husband," she protested.

"Julieta's arepas," Bruno said, applying heavy emphasis on their sister's name. Pepa huffed.

"Dios mío, you have no shame!"

Bruno hesitated. Pepa's keen eyes watched Bruno attentively as he struggled to put his emotions into words. "I-" he began, unsuccessfully. His eyes finally lifted from the floor, meeting hers. Pepa frowned at what she found there. "I really am sorry."

Pepa fidgeted. Bruno watched her expectantly. "Fine," she said eventually. Bruno struggled to read her for a long moment. She didn't give him any clues. He seemed to deflate, a tired frown appearing on his face.

"I understand if you never forgive me."

"Okay," says Pepa. Whatever she had been expecting, his words hadn't been sufficient. No words could be sufficient. Something niggled at the back of Bruno's mind.

"Alright, then…" he said, unsatisfied, "buenas noches, Pepa."

"Buenas noches," she said, turning away. It wounded him to watch her retreating back, like the likelihood of their relationship ever returning to something resembling normal retreated with her.

Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating her exit in a flash of electric white. The casita shuddered underneath him with the thunderous boom that followed. Bruno fidgeted uncomfortably. There was something he wanted to get off his chest. He'd been wanting to get it off his chest for days. "Wait, wait, Pepa!" he called out, chasing after her down the stairs and into the hall. She turned, considering his desperate disposition.

"What?"

"Do you remember when we were six, and I used to get those recurring nightmares?" he asked.

Pepa frowned, knocked off guard. The question came so out of the blue she didn't quite know how to handle it. "What?" Bruno didn't repeat himself, forcing Pepa to consider the question. "Yeah, I remember," she answered finally, excavating old memories of childhood she hadn't thought about in some time. "You wouldn't talk about them when I asked you what you saw. And you hid somewhere new every time you had them: Mamá would go half-mad trying to find you. Casita always gave you away, though, in the end."

"I told Mamá about some of them, but some of them were just too awful. If I never spoke of them, maybe they would never happen." Pepa nodded in understanding but was clearly struggling to see what this tangent had to do with anything.

"I would get the same visions, over and over and over, sometimes. They didn't even have to be significant or life-altering to be repeats. For instance, I kept getting this one of Julieta dropping a buñuelo on the ground. It just kept happening, for months! It happened every night for an entire week, directly preceding." He grunted in exasperation. "It happened so often that I became fixated with buñuelos, staring at Julieta like a freak every time she held one, watching for when she'd drop it. Until it finally happened. I immediately jumped from my seat and managed to catch it right before it hit the floor. I was so relieved! Maybe she could see my giddiness because when I handed it back to her, she looked at me like- like I was fucking crazy," he said gravely. Pepa winced. "I probably-" he broke off, with a chuckle, "well, I probably looked it." There was a twisted humor to the situation he described, though Pepa was loath to admit it. "In the end, all she said was 'oh, thanks Bruno'" he mocked in a higher pitch. As he continued though, there was no trace of humor. "Just like that, 'oh thanks', and then she continued to eat as if nothing had happened."

"Dios mio," Pepa said, and there was really no other reaction to be had.

"And they don't have to be insignificant to never reoccur, either. I remember one- this one only happened once. I was about ten."

"Was it-"

"No, not that one. This one was different," Bruno explained patiently. "This dream was very abrupt. I saw a woman, with vivid red hair. She was extremely distressed, covered in her own tears- and the rain was coming down hard, so hard. She cried out, and the sound struck me deeply. I didn't know why, at the time, only that it upset me more than any other prophecy. There was more, I know there was, but it was so chaotic and frenzied… I've forgotten it now. Still, I remembered the woman, I could never forget her."

Pepa had long since figured him out, but she didn't interrupt. She just let him continue.

"Yeah, it was you," he confessed, eyes darting away in slight embarrassment. "When I realized the resemblance, I finally understood why I had held on to the vision for so long. I remembered the buñuelo, I think, because I wasn't as worried. I knew there would be some way to help you." His expression turned bitter. "Turns out the miracle is just mocking me," he spat, "I caused the vision to come true. I made it happen because I saw it."

"Manito, do you still have those dreams?" Pepa inquired, with dreadful realization.

"I try to ignore them," he admitted with a sigh. Pepa's frown deepened further, gradually burdened with a desolate, pervasive sorrow that seemed to penetrate her very marrow.

"Sometimes," Pepa said, not meeting his eyes, "I wonder if it was really a miracle… or a curse."

At that, both were silent. They stood for a time, in the hall outside the tower, quiet and still and in their pajamas. The chirps and croaks of tiny critters were the only sounds of a sleeping town in the early hours of the morning. The peaceful atmosphere did not belay the fearful, timorous insecurity that came over the Madrigal siblings as they entertained the possibility that their family, community, and purpose were based on a lie.

"Nah," Bruno said, at length, breaking the pensive silence. Pepa looked at him in almost disbelief. "Who would help crops grow and make rainbows with her smile if our family wasn't blessed?"

"And catch buñuelos," Pepa insisted, earnestly, as if she were trying to cheer him up.

Though her praise did nothing to lift his spirits, Bruno smiled fondly, continuing, "In my eyes, that can't be anything but a miracle." Pepa looked away. It was hard to determine if she was convinced or not by Bruno's speech, but the burden seemed to have lifted a bit from her shoulders, at least.

"Thanks, Bruno," she said. Bruno looked startled.

"Don't thank me, please," he begged, aghast.

"Thank you," Pepa persisted. "And I'll see you tomorrow morning. We're going out into town together." Bruno was immediately apprehensive of the idea, but he couldn't dream of denying Pepa. He never could.