Julieta had nearly reached the end of her considerable patience by the time Isabela appeared. Isa looked very proud of herself, covered in dirt, sand, and gravel and with a clumsily made (but absolutely adorable) flower crown perched on her head. A very faint whiff of tobacco smoke clung to her – meaning Bruno had likely been involved in the diversion.

"Mi amor! Where have you been? It's almost nap time and then we have to get you ready for tonight!" She tsked over the state of her daughter, glad she had had the foresight to draw a hot bath before searching for Isabela in earnest.

"But Mamí, tonight isn't for a long time! And I'm not sleepy! And it doesn't take that long to get ready!"

"No, but how long will it take if we have to get ready and un-ready and ready again because you were playing the flower beds?"

Isabela's mischievous grin softened her mother's frustration as they both remembered the last time Isa had been found in a freshly dug hole, working on her own garden.

"Mmhm," Julieta said knowingly. "Just for today, I want to be able to keep an eye on you, and I promise that next time, I'll only come looking for you when I'm sure that you are already in a tree, okay?"

Isabela took her mother's outstretched hand without further comment, and Julieta was sure her daughter was committing that promise to memory – she supposed she had better inform Agustín.

Julieta guided Isa through the kitchen and around the sprawl of ingredients and utensils. She had been up since before sunrise, preparing the meal for tonight. She had managed to fully dress and stuff two pigs and get them in the brick oven before breakfast but she still had arepas and roasted vegetables and buñuelos to make in addition to safeguarding Isabela's overall cleanliness until Bruno returned with her dress.

She sighed, and something of her weariness must have escaped, for Isa looked up at her, concerned. "Don't worry, Mamí, your food is always the best."

Julieta smiled back at her reassuringly as they passed under the archway connecting the kitchen and the entrance hall. "Thank you, mi amor. I was just thinking that your tío had better hurry back so he doesn't miss any of it."

Casita's tiles undulated underfoot, the wave erupting into a stylized staircase that led to the upper landing. Isabela jumped excitedly onto the bottom step. "Tío promised me a surprise!"

"Oh? How did you wring that out of him?"

"I didn't! He said he would get it when he went into town, and that's why I couldn't go with him."

"Ah, so that's where you were, hm?"

"Lo siento, Mamí." She had the good grace to look at least a little abashed as she led her mother up the stairs. "But you know he hates going by himself. I didn't want him to be lonely."

Julieta narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "And your generosity had nothing to do with avoiding a bath, did it?"

"Maybe a little."

Julieta gave a valiant attempt to roll her eyes and look annoyed, but Isa caught her mother's smile as she was marched to the bathroom. Isa made a show of forgetting how buttons worked until Julieta threatened to take away the birthday buñuelos if she kept stalling. Isa pouted prettily but her pouts never quite had the same effect on her mother as they did the other adults. She was quiet while Julieta helped her work the dirt and tangles out of her hair. Julieta didn't break the silence; Isa was very much like Agustín when she was preoccupied.

A large fluffy towel lay warming in the spotty sunlight spilling through the window. Julieta scooped Isa out of the tub and wrapped her up snugly, trusting the soporific effects of a long day, a warm bath, and a gentle hairbrush would loosen her daughter's tongue. She hummed as she gathered a comb and ribbons and began trying to part Isa's hair from the back.

"Mamá?"

"Hm?" Julieta inquired around the comb she had between her teeth. Trying to convince Isabela's hair to part evenly was nearly as difficult as trying to persuade its owner out of whatever tree she had decided to climb.

"If I don't get a Gift, can I just eat the buñuelos for dinner?"

"What?"

The comb bounced off of Isa's head and clattered on the floor.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, mi vida," Julieta picked up the comb and renewed her attack. "Why would you think you wouldn't get a Gift? It worked for your tío and tía and I, didn't it?"

Isabela shrugged, undoing the last inch or two of work but Julieta managed to repair it before draping half of her daughter's long locks over each shoulder. She began a slow and methodical braid – she wasn't nearly as proficient with this as either of her siblings.

"Tío Bruno said he didn't know if I'd get one."

Julieta paused, looking into her daughter's face and asked carefully, "You... didn't ask him... to use his Gift for you, did you?"

It was one of the firmer boundaries Bruno had established around his visions – family were not to deliberately ask for them. It was frightening enough to have to shoulder everyone else's fates – Julieta knew it would destroy him to think he had to foretell the injury or sickness (or worse) of a loved one.

Isabela said, "No we were just talking."

The tightness in Julieta's chest eased slightly. She nodded smartly and then started on the second braid. "Well, your tío does know a lot but not everything and – try not to move, nena – and him not knowing isn't anything to be worried about. He'll be just as surprised by your Gift as you are by his!"

She tied off Isa's braids with lilac ribbons, twisting them into dainty bows. She looked up in time to see Isa's face contort as she tried to hide a yawn. Casita had moved Isa's nightdress to replace the towel in the window, soaking in the afternoon sun. Isa curled into her mother as soon as she was clothed, sighing contentedly. Kissing her forehead, Julieta carried her out of the bathroom. "Whether or not you get a Gift, today is your special day, and I am proud to have such a spirited big girl."

"What does 'spirited' mean?" the big girl in question asked sleepily.

"It means you tease your tío too much before sneaking off to play in the dirt and making your poor Papí have to come un-bury you." Agustín poked his head out of the nursery, where Julieta could see Luisa and Dolores already sleeping. He hefted his eldest daughter out of his wife's arms. "This will be your last nap in the nursery, won't it? Come on, let's get you tucked in."

Julieta smiled warmly at the pair of them then turned to return to the kitchen. Savory herbs and spices from the cooking lechona perfumed the air. She glanced at the sky, judging at least five more hours of sunlight – she could let the pigs alone until then. It would give her time to make everything else, and assuming Bruno and Pepa returned by mid-afternoon, she might actually be able to rest her feet and hands before having to plate the meal.

"Julieta?"

"Mamá, hey."

"How is everything coming along? The lechona smells wonderful."

"Gracias. It should be done before sundown so everyone will be able to eat before Isa... well, before." She ticked off items on her fingers. "Bruno and Pepa should be back soon, and I'll have the rest of the meal either done or cooking by then. Guests begin arriving at 5 o'clock, dinner at six, and the...walk at seven."

Alma nodded appreciatively. "Lorena and I have been working on the decorations. We'll have Isabela enter from the kitchen to come up the stairs and to her door. How is she?"

Julieta took her time answering that question. She pulled down several mixing bowls and arranged her ingredients in front them, feeling her mother's eyes following her. "She's... mentioned the magic several times. Asked if she could eat just the buñuelos for dinner if...if she isn't blessed."

"'If she isn't...'? Why wouldn't she be?" Alma's tone had an edge to it, one that made each of the triplets flinch for different reasons.

"I don't know, Mamá, she was just worried."

"There's nothing to be worried about."

"That's what I told he-"

"We were given a Miracle, mija. We have guarded it faithfully, as we have stewarded this town and the lands. We must never forget what we lost to gain this life, what has been asked of our family in return."

"Sí, Mamá. Lo siento, I didn't mean to upset you."

Alma's stern demeanor faded, just a little, as she looked on her daughter. "I only want to know you are all safe and provided for... that the Miracle will keep burning for many more generations. Surely, you understand that."

"Yes, I know." Julieta kept her voice small, obedient and proffered an apologetic crook of the mouth.

They spoke for a bit longer over the little nothings that came with a celebration – how would she fix Isabela's hair? Would Isa walk in accompanied or no? Had Agustín finalized the music for the night? – and then Alma had had to leave to oversee the rest of the set up.

Blowing out a puff of air, Julieta supposed she should also get back to work.

Whatever confidence Bruno possessed almost always vanished as soon as he had left the family's land. He never knew if he would welcomed or rebuffed – well, not never. Those who wished him ill, they made themselves known in one way or other. Today would be only marginally different because though he was nominally unaccompanied, at least one of his brothers-in-law was in town and Pepa was on the loose, and any of them could show themselves at any time. That didn't stop stares. Or the whispers. Or the creaking of closing windows and latching doors. He sighed, clicking his tongue quietly at the mule, and came to a stop.

He waited for the clothier's wife to finish loading a low cart with lengths of wool for spinning and to receive her payment in the form of several dressed chickens. Señora Sepulveda paled slightly when he approached and nodded quickly when he mentioned Isabela's dress. She took a single sheaf of dried herbs and two jars of honey and waved him on before he could request unspun cloth.

The butcher refused him outright, holding tightly to his most lethal looking knife and stating that Julieta had collected all that she had needed several days ago and that if she was unsatisfied with her purchases, she needed to come herself not send an intermediary. He could feel the man considering shoving the blade into his back and supposed he couldn't blame him; Bruno had seen the demise of his shop within a few years.

The apothecary was pleased to see him but only in strictest business sense; Bruno always bought the high quality tobacco leaves for himself and paid in coin more often than in barter. He tucked his purchase into the pocket of his ruana and moved on.

He trundled laboriously around the square, stopping at nearly every vendor for produce or meat or drink or spice. Despite his earlier worries, most people seemed content to ignore him today. Granted, it did make some of the bartering awkward, but a good portion of the town seemed to want to remain in his good graces – whether that was to avoid a particularly horrible prophecy or to ensure that their invitations to the night's festivities weren't withdrawn, he couldn't say.

Judging by what sunlight was filtering through the clouds, he had completed the majority of his transactions by a little after lunch. He considered the day an overall success – his sister hadn't shown up to pick a fight, the mule had only tried to bite him once, and he had only been refused twice.

He knocked lightly on the wooden cart behind him as he came to his last stop, reminding himself not to count his chickens.

The florist probably hated him more than the butcher but that was only because her vision had already come to pass, and well... he'd seen what lifelong grief could do to a widow. Hers had been a particularly bad vision, in every possible sense. It was accidental, it was public, it was violent, and it was painful.

With a grimace at the memory, he flicked his eyes briefly over the display. Lots of yellows and reds and blues. He wasn't especially fond of flowers and didn't know the names of any of them – Isa would have had them cataloged by color and species already – but let his gaze roam. He found a delicate looking orchid – he thought it was an orchid, could have been a lily – blossoming out of the kind of hair comb he'd seen his sisters use to pin their hair out of their eyes if they didn't have time to fix a bun or a plait. Come to think of it, he didn't actually know what Isa's favorite flower was. He didn't think she outright hated any of them, and the color was nice, a pastel pink to complement her dress.

"If you aren't buying, keep moving!"

He jumped. The speaker jumped.

"Oh, it's you – give me that!"

The florist made a vicious snatch for the hair comb.

"Actually, I-I was going to -"

"No loitering!"

"I-I'm not..." He tried again. His eyes were following the comb; she was nearly crushing it in her attempt to run him off. "Please, Señora, you're going to break it!"

The instant the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had said exactly the wrong thing to the wrong person at the very worst time. She rounded on him. "I am not the one the power to foresee, and I am not the one whom travesty follows like a shadow. I am the one who life is undone every time you come around, so I am telling you to be gone!"

A small crackling sound filled the tense space between them, and they both looked down to see the flower crinkling in her fist. The ornate petals were bent and unsightly, unfit to sell. He didn't need his Gift to see the next part coming and braced himself to take the weight of the comb directly between his eyes. He was still blinking away the impact as the door of the shop slammed hard enough to turn every head within earshot. He picked up the damaged comb and unfurled the flower gently. Julieta knew how to press and preserve all kinds of plants – maybe the damage wasn't irreversible. Though he knew it likely to be thrown at him the next time he came into town – or burned or buried to ward off evil – he counted out twice the worth of the comb and left it on the stair as payment.

He felt the eyes of the people on him and was grateful for the rain that began falling so that he would have an excuse to turn up his hood and gain some much needed distance. If he had to bear another conversation like that one, he would lock himself in his room for the rest of the night, disregarding his family – disregarding Isabela – in his despair. He didn't want Isa's birthday to be marred by his own reticence or for his thoughts on the Magic to taint hers. This was to be a joyous day – a day of blessing and delight – and he'd be damned if he did anything to take that away from any of the sobrinas.

He chuckled ruefully at the irony as he turned for home. Truthfully, he was damned either way, a unpleasantly familiar situation.

Much as he wished for the Magic to spare the niñas, he knew that on some level, the wonder of being raised within an Encanto quickened their spirits, bringing a vibrancy to life. He wouldn't take away the wonder – no, though he longed to change much for himself, the wonder and beauty of their valley was not lost on him.

He wasn't ungrateful, really... just...just... tired.

Tired of never having a comforting word, tired of his intentions always being questioned, tired of striving to earn the smallest scrap of praise, because nothing he did could ever be praiseworthy.

That... that was what scared him. That he had been burdened with something too big for any one man to handle, and though it had cost him his very soul, he had stood. Because someone had to. And he would sacrifice himself over again and again to be the only one that had to.

Perhaps the Magic had sensed something of his thoughts, for he become aware of a dull pressure beginning at the point where he had been struck. It grew slowly, coming to rest behind both eyes.

Not here! Not now! Not here! Not now!

He shook his head, trying to clear it, then stopped when the shaking made him dizzy. He panted and swayed, fighting the magic coursing into his body. Filled to the seams, he groped blindly for support, trying to steady himself and failing miserably. He was drowning – he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move or see or think!

And then it broke over him, the currents of time bearing him aloft as they swirled.

It took an age for the vision to release him. Crying out as it crested and then vanished, he felt blow after blow take him to his knees, and then he was flat on his face in the mud.

It would be mud. It was much nicer to land on your nose in the grass. Assuming you didn't break your nose in the process, it smelled better. And assuming you didn't have anywhere to be, it was easy to pretend you got lost in the day's charms rather than lost your footing because of an excruciatingly painful vision.

He probed the discomfort. As the various pieces of him made themselves known, they also let him know that existing hurt: his head, well that wasn't a surprise – imbibing an entire valley's Magic and channeling it through your eyes was bound to be uncomfortable; his limbs, sprawled akimbo and fully refusing to work together to get him out of the dirt; and most worryingly, his back, which had never protested being attached to him as much as it did now.

He sighed, a faint movement ahead catching his eye. He was still seeing double but the vision had faded enough for him to tell that the cart was rolling away from him of its own accord. He would have sworn if drawing breath didn't hurt. At least it was headed for home.

Someone would come looking for him. Probably. Or at least, someone would notice he wasn't around to doomsay. He reconsidered the likelihood that anyone would come looking for him in light of the morning's events until they were sure he was dead. He pressed his face back into the mud.

Maybe the rain would just wash him away and be done with it.

Author's Note: As far as I know, the type of leaves Bruno burns during his rituals has never been disclosed, but it would not be unusual for a tobacco variant to be during such rituals, for calming the mind.

A/N Pt.2 04/17: During a revision, I removed the content of the vision Bruno had in this chapter, which was of a fire. However, a fire would be an unlikely tragedy in a town built by rammed earth construction. Also, upon reflection, the content of the vision neither adds to nor takes away from the plot here, so I didn't feel a need to invent something.

I would love to hear your thoughts!