A/N: Edited 6/24/22 for spelling and grammar.

Chapter 14

Lucía's heartfelt plea for the family not to blame themselves, and her gratitude for their help in her time of need – her individual address to every member of the family – caused something to click into place in Alma's mind.

She hadn't done that.

She'd made blanket apologies, and had a conversation with Julieta about holding each other accountable – but she hadn't had conversations with each individual member of the family. She hadn't yet listened to all of her children, let alone her grandchildren.

She knew there were still hurts that needed addressing, still so much that needed to be said. And while she was in good health and felt very much capable of living another twenty years, she knew nothing was promised. Each day was a blessing of its own.

She also knew she could not do what Lucía did. She could not just sit down at the table one evening and make her way around the table, apologizing and thanking them all for their contribution to the family and moving on.

It had worked for Lucía, because she was only addressing one very specific event. There was a lifetime of events for Alma to go over. And she was not so foolish as to believe that asking bluntly what she'd done wrong and apologizing would magically heal the relationships she'd damaged over the years. She needed to reconnect with her family, to do what Mirabel did on a regular basis – to see them as more than just their gifts.

She needed to spend more time with them.

Perhaps it was because she already knew Mirabel would accept her, being the most understanding, most forgiving, and most perceptive member of the family, but she decided to begin with her. She wanted to begin learning from her – and to begin teaching her the responsibilities that came with being a leader in the town and a guardian of the miracle.

And so, the following evening, she stood outside Mirabel's door, knocking lightly.

Mirabel opened it, brushing some stray threads from her skirt and beaming at her. "Abuela! What's up?"

Alma smiled at her. "Could we - perhaps - sew, together?"

Mirabel blinked, surprised. "Uh – okay. Of course." She led Alma into her sewing room, helping her pick out a project (a cross stitch of various cacti in bright colors, for Isabela's upcoming birthday), and then Mirabel led her to her sitting room overlooking the Encanto. The sun was just beginning to set, so Mirabel lit some lamps, but there was still plenty of natural sunlight for the time being.

They worked in silence for a few moments as Alma got started on her project. Once she had a rhythm going, she began asking Mirabel about her day – school, her homework, her friends, the project she was currently working on – a new ruana for Bruno. This newer ruana had a similar color scheme, but the colors were inverted. The majority of the ruana was a dark forest green, and the geometric designs were in a lighter sage green. There were butterflies and rats embroidered into it in addition to hourglasses.

After inspecting the embroidery on the ruana Mirabel was making with a pleased smile, Alma suddenly reached over to cup her cheek. "Mariposita," she whispered. "Lo siento, for being so blind for so long. You are a treasure."

"Uh – uh - what?" Sudden tears filled Mirabel's eyes at the unexpected apology and affection, and – embarrassed - she attempted to wipe them away.

Alma brushed a tear away with her thumb. "You've always been so talented, mi querida. Always had such a way with decorating, with sewing - making individual gifts for the familia, things for the community, connecting and binding us all together like the threads you are so fond of. I should have realized what your gift was, before."

Mirabel swallowed. "I mean – my door disappeared," she whispered. "I – I didn't think I'd gotten one, either. No one did. You have a door."

Alma sighed. "I know. I am so sorry. I hope that one day, you will forgive me for the many mistakes I have made. I am certain I will still make mistakes, but I am trying, now, to do better. To be better. I have had to be Señora Madrigal, Matriarch, Council Member and Town Leader for so long that I wore that persona even while at home. I think I would like to try simply being Abuela, to you all, for a while."

Mirabel was silent for a moment, scrunching the fabric of the ruana she was working on in her hands. "Abuela?" She asked after a moment. "I think – I'd like that. I know I'd like that. But maybe – ah – maybe you could also stay Señora Madrigal, too, in town – for a little while longer?"

"Of course, Mirabel. I didn't mean – of course I will keep my position on the council for now. And," she added, taking Mirabel's hand, "while I do believe your gift is necessary to keep the miracle alive, if you do not feel ready, after graduation, to start taking on the responsibilities immediately, your Mamá and Pepa will help me manage everything until you are ready."

Mirabel nodded. "It's just – so different, now. Before, I was trying so hard – and I wanted to be special so badly – and now – I still feel like – I need to try hard, because I have something to try hard for. Like – I have to live up to it. I'm special now, but – it doesn't feel – like what I thought it would. Does that make sense?"

Alma smiled sadly, running her fingers over the cross-stitch in her lap. "You were, and are, always special, Mirabel. But I do know what you mean. It is a blessing and a burden, mi milagrita. But we will try to lessen that burden together, as a family. Never feel like you have to do anything on your own."

"Gracias, Abuela."

"Mirabel?"

"Mmmm?"

"Would you like to go to the next council meeting with me? Just to observe?"

Mirabel smiled. "Yeah. I think I would."

They returned to their sewing, content in the comfortable silence between them.

"Don Bruno! You came! Did you bring him?" Josefina asked, eagerly hopping around Bruno as he walked through the gate to the courtyard, knocking carefully on it and throwing salt and sugar over his shoulders. Josefina was literally dancing with excitement, wiggling her hips and shoulders and spinning around like an excited puppy.

Bruno laughed. "Sí, sí, but stop all your hopping or you'll scare him."

He reached into a pocket beneath his ruana and pulled out Pablo, and Josefina stilled and immediately melted. "Oh, hello, mi rata pequeño. Aren't you such a fat little cutie? Come here, we're going to have a little fiesta del té with Beatriz and Cecilia while your papá works on stories with my mamá. Gracias, Don Bruno! Gracias!" (1)

She carefully took Pablo in her hands and – showcasing how seriously she took her role as rat babysitter – walked slowly to the sitting room, where she had spread out a blanket and some tea things, her doll Beatriz carefully propped against the foot of a chair. Her school friend Cecilia was due to arrive any moment.

"Hola, Bruno!" Lucía called cheerfully from the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee? Juice? Anything to eat?"

"Ah – maybe – a little coffee, please."

"Of course."

They sat down at the table with their coffee, some arepas con queso and a few empanadas in the center. Lucía carefully set out some paper, pencils, and pens between them, and took a sip of her coffee. She looked past Bruno's shoulder at Josefina's methodic plating of snacks for her doll and little rat friend. "Thank you for bringing Pablo. That was very kind of you. Hopefully Cecilia is fine with having a rat guest with their tea."

Bruno looked concerned, but Lucía smiled at him. "Don't worry. She's a gentle girl. Even if she's surprised at the unexpected guest, she'll be kind."

He relaxed and tapped his fingers on the table. "Okay. So. Uh – how….are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you. Storytime went well Tuesday and today – the toddlers are easiest to plan for but harder to manage. Yesterday afternoon the storytime for the school age children went well." She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. "Juan wasn't there, but I'm not surprised. I hope he is doing all right. I haven't seen him since Saturday. Business with Papá is steady. How are you?"

Bruno nodded. "I'm – good, thanks." His shoulders rose a bit, tense. His family seemed to be doing fine after the encounter with Tatiana, but he was still anxious for them. So far, though, it seemed any gossip around town was in their favor – no one seemed keen on supporting Tatiana in her opinion that the Madrigals were to blame for Alejandro's death. "You know. Ah – same old, same old. Everyone's – figuring everything out. It's - it's working, so far." He rapped his knuckles on the table and resisted flinging more salt over his shoulder.

"That's good." Lucía sighed, looking at the papers between them. "Do you have any ideas for this festival?"

Bruno shrugged. "Is – I mean – is a performance even a thing? It's a flower festival…"

Lucía smiled at him. "I forgot it's been a while, for you."

"Over a decade," he muttered. "It's not like I was a regular attendee even before I left. Heh." He laughed nervously.

Lucía's smile faded. "Well - "

"Festivals are wonderful!" Josefina exclaimed beside Bruno's shoulder. He jumped slightly at her sudden appearance. Pablo perched on her shoulder, and she giggled as his whiskers tickled her ear.

"Careful with him, mi fresita!" Lucía warned.

"I am being careful, Mamá." Josefina patted Pablo with two fingers in demonstration and turned back to Bruno. "You haven't been to one?"

Bruno shook his head. "Not since I was a kid. Well, twenty-ish."

"Well!" Josefina exclaimed, eyes wide. "Festivals are the best and most funnest things, besides birthdays and Christmas and Easter. Because there are so many colors and smells and food, and everyone is excited and happy. And there is loud music and loud talking and singing and dancing but there's also times when everyone is quiet at the exact same time, when the fireworks go off or when Dora's Mamí sings for us or the band plays a sad, pretty song, and it makes tears come out of my eyes even though I'm still happy, because we're all quiet and loud together. Do you know what I mean?"

Bruno's lips twitched up into a half-smile as she continued.

"And at La Feria de Las Flores there's flower displays and a parade and Isabela usually does something amazing and I'm so excited to see what she'll do this year!" Josefina's brows drew together in determined concentration. "And there's games and prizes and booths with new things from over the mountains and yes - there is always a show, too! Sometimes there's more than one, some for little kids and some for adults, and the adult ones are for later 'cause us kids can't watch them." She rolled her eyes. "So yes, there are stories and so what story do you think you're going to do, Don Bruno?"

Bruno and Lucía laughed together. "That's what we're working to figure out, mi amor," Lucía said. They all looked up at the sound of the courtyard gate opening, and Lucía inclined her head toward it. "That'll be Cecilia, Sefinita. Go greet your guest and introduce her to Pablo. Be careful, and be kind."

"I will Mamá!" Josefina walked cautiously with Pablo still on her shoulder, and the two adults listened to the conversation of the two girls greeting each other and settling into their game in the other room.

Bruno sighed. "I've – uh – well - " he smoothed his ruana in his lap, attempting to explain. "The past ten years - "

Lucía nodded, encouraging.

"It's been – rat games and rat fútbol and rat telenovelas, because – it's all I had, you know? Would – would people really want to see – any of that?"

Lucía's lips quirked into a smile. "I really enjoyed it. Your stories are fantastic. I will be honest – if your focus is purely on adult stories – some may think it is a little odd, to watch rats perform the story. I think a family or children's story told by rats would be more readily accepted by the village; I think a human actor would be best for an adult story. But I'm willing to do whatever you're most comfortable with."

Bruno flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah – uh – yeah. I'm not – I'm not that – ready. To be – in front of the whole village. As myself. Like, on stage." Flashbacks of his well-intentioned but ill-received fortune telling acts played in his mind, and he winced.

"Well, then – rats it is." Lucía smiled at him and pulled a piece of paper towards herself, sketching as she talked. "That means that, because our little actors are small, we will probably do more than one show. Possibly two or three, so that everyone that wants to can see it, since the stage will be smaller and there won't be as large a space for the audience. That's what they typically do with the puppet shows and such for the children. Are you okay with that? Do you think your sobrinos would still be willing to help make the stage and props?"

Bruno nodded.

"That makes it easier. And with Antonio's help, your rat acting troupe will catch on quickly. So the only thing we need is the story." Lucía propped her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, and tapped her cheek with her fingers as she thought. The gesture reminded him what Sofia had done earlier in the week. It was easy to see they were sisters. "I love your telenovela, and I think it could be adapted as a family story for the festival. Not that I don't already think it is a family story, but some families…eh. Perhaps not the forbidden tía-sobrino love, but that aspect would be easy to rework. Or if you had another idea…?"

Bruno leaned back in his chair and scratched his cheek. "Maybe. There's – there's a lot of story in there. Almost ten year's worth. It would be – ah – pretty hard to shave it down to a family-friendly, less-than-an-hour-long performance. But maybe. What about you? Do you have any ideas?"

Lucía paused. "I…" her voice trailed off, and her cheek twitched. Her gaze was unfocused, but her lips twitched into a smile, and it made him smile in response.

He cleared his throat and gave a little wave to get her attention after a moment and inclined one shoulder apologetically when she blinked at him.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I – I do have something. Something I was working on before…" She looked up at him, something uncertain and shy in her expression, but also excited. "Can I – show you?"

He nodded. "I'd love to see it."

Her eyes lit up, and he realized he wasn't just saying it to be polite. He really would love to see it. In fact, she could probably ask him if he wanted to see the compost pile for her garden, and he'd love to see it. Anything that made her look like that would be worth witnessing.

"Okay! Come with me." She pushed her chair back to stand and called to Josefina to tell her they would be in the art studio. Bruno followed suit and followed her up the stairs and into Alejandro's studio.

Since he and his family had left, the Moreno-Hernandez family had pulled a rectangular table and a few chairs into the room. The art supplies and cabinet still took up the back wall, but it looked as though they'd been using it regularly again. He paused at the end of the table, noticing some of Josefina's drawings. It looked like some sort of science project for school, as she had illustrated various stages of plant growth and had labeled the sun, dirt, and water needed for them to grow.

Lucía crossed the room and opened the cabinet, carefully removing a stack of paper from the center shelf and carrying it to the table. She indicated he should sit, and then sat beside him, carefully untying the string that bound the papers together.

She paused and held his gaze for a moment, and he held his breath for the length of it. Her brown eyes were wide and shining and he could see, again, the small hints of gold in them that he'd noticed once before. She drew in a deep breath and he blinked, looking away. She carefully placed the pile of papers in front of him.

"Una Princesa y Un Pirata", he mumbled, reading the title. A rough sketch underneath showed a fairly realistic young woman, chin lifted and face somber, her hair in a messy braid over her shoulder, dressed in what appeared to be traditional pirate garb with a long, thin sword in her hand.

"It's a working title. It's not – anyway. Ah - it's a story I was working on, with Alejandro, before - before he died. I – there was a time I loved this story. I wrote it," she said proudly. "At least – I started writing it. And the illustrations are Alejandro's. It's not finished, but – it's based on a legend I read, in one of my father's old books. The Legend of Alf and Awilda, from Denmark. Have you ever heard it?"

Bruno shook his head as he carefully moved the top piece of paper, placing it face down beside the other stack. The one beneath it began the story, and he skimmed through it, reading the words and taking in the sketches Alejandro had drawn beside his wife's words. This page's sketch was of the same woman on the title page, but she was immaculately dressed in traditional princess clothing, presumably European, from centuries ago.

"It's the story of the Princess of Scandinavia," Lucía continued softly. "She was betrothed to Alf, the Crown Prince of Denmark. They met and despised each other. Awilda refused her father's choice, and she ran away. She and a group of women friends dressed like sailors and commandeered a ship. While sailing, they encountered a pirate ship that had just lost its captain, and the pirates elected Awilda as their new captain. They gained a name for themselves, and soon the King of Denmark sent his son – Prince Alf – and a navy ship to deal with the pirates. It was a fierce battle, but Prince Alf managed to board Captain Awilda's ship. Apparently, she was so impressed with his courage and capability that she revealed her true identity, and he was equally impressed to see her leadership, ingenuity, and cleverness. They agreed to marry after all, and lived happily ever after as King and Queen of Denmark." (2)

Bruno flipped through the pages, noting the words and sketches. It was obviously a rough draft, as there were things written in the margins and several things crossed out and rewritten on each page. He moved through the pages, noting that the final page in the stack presumably showed the pirates pledging fealty to their new leader. The papers didn't tell the whole story of the legend, but there was a lot of material there.

"You really like pirates, don't you?" He mumbled, remembering one of her earlier stories featured a certain Dread Pirate as well. He looked up at Lucía, and she was anxiously watching his face for a reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a lopsided grin, and he gently ran his fingers over the words on the last page. "I think it's great," he whispered.

Her lips, which she'd been biting only a moment before, bloomed into a small, genuine smile. "Do you – do you want to try and use this? There's still a lot of work to do, and it was originally meant to be a book, not a – script, so there's that - "

He grinned at her and shrugged. "Let's try it. We're just - seeing where it goes, right?"

"Right."

Lucía liked working with Bruno more than she would have ever expected.

He was still quiet and nervous around other people. He held his head higher, she thought, than he did those first few weeks after his return – but he still twisted his ruana in his fist when he felt cornered and he still avoided eye contact with most in a crowd. He wasn't afraid, exactly, anymore - he could return someone's greeting without ducking his head and he could shake hands without flinching. But he was still subdued in town - as though he were afraid of drawing too much attention to himself in public. He could look someone he was familiar with in the eye and smile – though that list was still fairly small. He'd helped Lorenzo coax Itziar into the stables one afternoon on his way home from Lucía's house and now, it seemed, had been adopted as one of Lorenzo's friends. Lorenzo seemed to sense that Bruno would be more open to talking if he was involved in some sort of activity, and so he invited him to help repair the fences of the fields the horses and donkeys grazed in and to help feed and groom the horses. Anytime he helped, Sofia insisted on feeding him. He was modest and polite, Sofia said, but he always seemed happy to be included. Her three youngest adored him.

So he was quiet in town, but - in their homes - at la Casa Madrigal or la Casa Hernandez and even, a bit now, at la Casa Rojas, with Sofia and Lorenzo - he was different. He was becoming more confident and funny and dramatic.

He was comfortable around them, and the man he became when he was comfortable in his own skin was a sight to behold.

He teased his sobrinos, and Josefina with them. He always knew when to pull back, and he never crossed the line between affectionate and hurtful teasing. He made the funniest facial expressions to go with that teasing, and incorporated them into his voice acting, as well – when running through lines in their script.

While the story she'd originally worked on with Alejandro had been a faithful retelling of the Denmark legend, she and Bruno had decided to modify it, slightly, to be a more modern retelling with a Colombian flare. It would make the little rat costumes – which Mirabel and Alma, of all people, had volunteered to make – much simpler. Princess Awilda became Imelda and Prince Alf became Ramón. The plot remained largely the same, and Bruno proved to be adept at translating the words and descriptions of her story to dialogue and action in the script for the play.

She liked the way his brows drew together in concentration as he wrote. He'd taken to pulling his hair back when he was writing, and the way his curls sprang out in random places and misbehaved made her want to touch them again, like she had the one day he'd come over to retrieve Señora Rata's leather. She liked the way he'd look up suddenly with earnest, dark green eyes when he wanted to make a change to her original draft, always hesitant and humble. But most of all, she liked the way that – no matter how deeply he became absorbed in the story, and the process of translating it to script – if she, or Josefina, or a member of his family asked for his attention – he would always stop what he was doing and listen. He focused as intently on Josefina as he did her, he listened as carefully to Mirabel as he did Alma – and she loved the way his quiet attention made everyone feel wanted and important and worth the interruption, even if he didn't realize it.

The rest of the month of June flew by. Alma made a true effort to connect with each of her family members, spending time with them in pursuits that interested them, helping them with their tasks, and listening to their opinions and concerns. She'd missed so much. Not only had she missed Mirabel's gifts, talents, and perception – she'd missed the heart of gold and caretaker's soul hidden beneath Camilo's sarcastic teenage attitude and pranks. She'd missed the wild and untamed artistry yearning to break free from Isabela's heart, Luisa's romantic spirit and her passion for fantasy and good stories and anything cuddly and cute, and the wisdom Dolores had cultivated in learning what secrets to share and which to keep – not to mention the feelings, opinions, and interests of her own children and their spouses. The fact that she'd previously missed all that was enough to cut her to the core. She tried not to let regret for all she'd missed keep her from making the most of what she had in the present, but there were times she would retreat to her room and weep silently, grieving lost time and – finally – little by little – grieving Pedro, and the time he had lost, as well.

Still, she continued to make an effort to meet with each member of her family one-on-one, once a week. Sometimes it was for something as simple as a cup of coffee together, sometimes it was more in-depth. (She attempted to help Camilo with a school project on the electricity he was so interested in and was a bit shocked – literally – when their attempt to harness the power of water worked a bit too well. They were both fine, but Julieta insisted on stuffing them both with arepas until she was satisfied there would be no side effects.) Sometimes there was laughter, sometimes there were tears – many tears. Sometimes there were hard words and confrontation and apologies. But there was no regret – not a bit – for the time she spent with them all, now.

All of her children and grandchildren seemed to be adjusting well to the new schedule, and seemed to be happier.

The biggest change she had seen was, of course, in Bruno.

Bruno was happy.

It was still tentative, some days – still hesitant – but growing each day. Part of it was because of his family – his mother's efforts and conversations, and his sobrinos' enthusiastic inclusion of him in their lives, and his sisters and their husbands and the way they all, every single one of them, welcomed him home and rolled up their sleeves and began the hard work of restoring what was broken. He'd had several conversations with his madre, and several hard, tearful, awkward, emotional talks with his siblings, and even though they still had so far to go - he no longer doubted that they wanted him home - that they loved him; that they'd all forgiven each other. That would have been enough to make him happy – he'd have been content with that – but -

Part of it – part of this sense of rightness, this sense of purpose and happiness in his life that welled up from somewhere deep in his soul and patched together the holes in his heart – was because of her, too. Being with Lucía was like – feeling gentle sunlight on his face after living in the shadows.

She and Josefina, and to a smaller extent - her father and sister and the rest of her family – they all treated him well. They all joked with him and welcomed him and greeted him in the streets and it felt so good, so normal, and so right.

He had grown to love the way Josefina greeted him with pure, unbridled delight, every time she saw him, even if she'd just seen him the day before. He adored her enthusiasm about everything she loved – and she loved a great many things. He liked being able to surprise her and make her laugh and he was proud of how hard she worked, at school and on her own interests. He was thankful she liked his rats and his stories and Hernando and Jorge, as much as his own sobrinos. She was a delight, and he was grateful for her.

He was grateful for her Mamá, even more so.

She was patient and kind and generous and a loyal friend, but he knew that before he ever began working with her on their story for the festival. Now, he knew so much more.

He knew she liked her coffee with milk and just a little bit of sugar, and that she liked the taste of the queso in her hot chocolate but would leave the actual cheese bit at the bottom of her cup for Josefina because she couldn't personally stand the texture and because Josefina liked it so much.

He knew she would tap her lips or her chin or her cheeks with her fingers when she was trying to think quickly, just like her sister, and it made him smile. He liked watching her fingers deftly braid her hair, working so quickly it was mesmerizing. (A very strong wind one day caused her hair to fly free from her braid, and she hated hair in her face, and so she'd undone the rest of the braid, run her fingers through it, and rebraided it.) He liked the way she would give him a look over Josefina's head when the little girl said something hilarious but questionable, and knew they'd laugh about it later.

He loved the way her lips would move as she read over the script they were working on for the festival, silently mouthing the words as her expressions changed depending on the mood of the scene they were working on.

She was a good storyteller. Their play had a good plot – lots of action, romance, unexpected twists. People would love it. He'd helped her develop the characters, fleshing them out and giving them quirks that (hopefully) made them endearing and lovable. He helped her with the scene where Ramón and Imelda met and developed their first disastrous impressions. He wrote some transitions between scenes, and he helped work out just how Imelda would convince a merchant to give up his ship for what was essentially a joyride. Somewhere along the way, he stopped thinking of it as him helping her with her story, and began thinking of it as their story.

Something about the way she spoke when she was talking about their story was captivating. She loved this story, she loved telling stories, and she loved listening to them. She loved listening to him. Sometimes, when he would read through the script, he would catch her - chin propped in her hand, elbow on the worktable, a small smile on her face - as she watched him. It made him blush and she would ask him where he'd been hiding that talent for the past fifty years and he'd point-blank, dead-pan tell her 'the walls', just to make her flustered and then laugh at herself.

And then – one day, in early July – he realized he'd done it.

He'd gone from just surviving to living, again.

How wonderful it was, to wake up every morning in a comfortable bed with sunlight streaming through the windows, to the gentle squeaks of his rats and his favorite sobrina knocking on the door to invite him to breakfast.

How lovely it was, to sit down every day at a table where everyone smiled and rolled their eyes and grumped and teased and wasn't afraid to cry. How delicious was his life, now, that he could sink his teeth into fresh arepas and slurp sancocho and sneak empanadas and cocadas de piña from Julieta's kitchen.

How wonderful it was, to live in a world where his sobrino could ride a jaguar to school! How beautiful it was, to see the way Mirabel glowed and slowly grew into the looks of respect and admiration the town gave to her! How delightful, to share his tricks for the care and keeping of rats with a niña who had tears of joy in her eyes when Señora Rata finally trusted her enough to climb into her hand, and allowed Josefina to hold her! How precious was this life, when his best friend in the world finally held a rat on her own, her eyes widening in wonder as she pet Pablo with two fingers, exclaiming at how incredibly soft his fur was? How miraculous, that he now had a best friend – not only because of the way his heart swelled when he looked at Lucía, but because he actually had more than one friend, in Sofia and Lorenzo?

How wonderful it was, to be living again. (3)

The vision came one evening mid-July, when Dolores was out on a date with Mariano and Camilo and Mirabel were out in town with friends.

It came when he was alone, so at least there was that to be thankful for.

He was going to his room – already past the sand curtain, but before the door to his actual bedroom – when an intense, familiar pressure behind his eyes caused his vision to blur slightly. He blinked rapidly and stopped, stumbling to halt, and lowered himself to the ground.

He'd had several benign, seemingly meaningless visions since the return of his gift (and a few that held some meaning, though nothing life-changing - just about a broken part of the fence to repair with Lorenzo and what the weather would be on a Sunday), but nothing like this. This one was sudden and intense and although it wasn't painful, it was so insistent that it made his hands tremble.

It was the murales in town. The painting of his family was still cracked and broken, other work in town having taken precedence these past two months – and then – there was the unmistakable image of Lucía, sitting on some sort of bench. There was an utterly blank expression on her face, as though she were completely numb and empty.

She blinked, and a tear streamed down her face.

The vision ended, and he shook his head to clear his mind, blinking his eyes rapidly.

What the heck was he supposed to do with that?

A/N: AAAAAAAHHHHHH it starts it starts it starts. I'm so excited for these little blossoming love buds. I kinda love this chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

1) mi rata pequeño – my little rat

fiesta del té – tea party

mi fresita – my little strawberry

2) The summary of "The Legend of Awilda" is from Wikipedia. It was concise. I love this legend and I suggest you google it. Very cool.

3) Bruno's little ode to the joy of life was inspired by a tumblr post by inkskinned which was originally from a poetry blog post by ridinkskinned dot com. The original poem is amazing and joyful and I give the author all the credit. If you google the line "How wonderful to be alive. I am sorry for forgetting." You will find it.

You all make me happy, and I am thankful for you. God bless you and have a wonderful week!