Chapter Text
Like most seers (or sorcerers, a term benevolently sanctioned by the townsfolk), Bruno Madrigal kept a list of maledictions. It was nothing like black magic or voodoo, of course; the Encanto was not meant for such things. The maledictions were simply a glossary of words that he knew caused harm to those around him. Humans could spit flames with the gift of speech, morphing and twisting language like Mamá feared would be done with the Encanto.
Naturally, it took a considerable amount of force to peel Bruno’s forbidden curses off his tongue—wheedling, nettling, and prying at his merciful conscience before he finally bristled. As a superstitious man, he opted to always choose his words carefully; thus, cracking his resolve took persistence. (And unfortunately, more often than not, a smidgen of sadism as well.)
The seer’s enduring patience toward his own suffering served as a testament to his kindness. It ran deep, intrinsic, for animals and humans alike, and his visions made him wise beyond his years. However, that didn’t change his pattering bird’s heart, nor his unkempt, awkward demeanor, nor his childlike desire to help others when he was young, even when it (as it often did) ended in disaster. Despite his good intentions, it was easy to paint Bruno’s gift—combined with his lack of eloquence—in the wrong colors. Take Pepa’s wedding for example.
Due to the long–lasting, aforementioned misunderstanding of his character, one of Bruno’s very first lessons in life was this: Nobody is born lonely.
The theory of tabula rasa states that the human mind enters the world a clean slate, a blank canvas. As time passes, the influences of those surrounding you—as well as your experiences—trickle into your character until you grow strong enough to mold your own destiny. But nobody is born lonely, or scared, and contrary to popular belief, the youngest of the triplets was not born with bags under his eyes, quiet and troubled. Bruno’s divergence came in the later years, when he started to realize that his gift put him at the epicenter of misfortune.
What certainly didn’t help was that the seer could count on one hand the number of visions he’d had that revealed his own face, his own misfortunes. That was an observation that was referenced during the occasional argument among quarreling townspeople; rumors of Bruno as the puppetmaster of fate who worked in the shadows, feasting on the screams of his victims.
On one hand, it was amusing to have grown men and women flinch at the sight of him: shy, lighter–than–a–sack–of–flour Bruno, with his toothy smile and oversized poncho that hung off his timid, petite frame. On the other hand, Bruno’s gift made for a burdened existence, each rumor and whisper trickling down like sand, soaking up his blood and weighing him down.
Pepa and Julieta would always defend their hermanito against slander, but their protectiveness became so extreme that his name was eventually written off as taboo in town. Bruno found himself in the awkward pauses, the frightened stutters; the looming presence poisoning every bloated conversation. The townspeople acted like a bolt of lightning would strike them down by uttering his heretical name—and if not from Dios, from Pepa.
In addition to avoiding him because of his off–putting gift, even well–intentioned fortune–seekers were eventually driven away out of fear of incurring his sisters’ wrath, and as the years passed, Bruno seemed to inadvertently draw in more and more of the wrong crowd.
But there truly was little reason to complain. Bruno wasn’t outcasted from his home. He had a family that loved him (a daily reminder to himself), and his visions did occasionally help others.
At seven years old, he had a night terror of Señor Garcia seizing on the floor of his wife’s panadería. The man would’ve stayed in the cold all night had they not found him. And when Bruno had been fortune–telling for one of his sister’s amigas, he got to tell her that her favorite mare was pregnant. And one of his proudest moments was when he warned Mamá of the contaminated water in the communal well. Not a single person fell ill after they fixed it!
Bruno’s life was not miserable. He had made friends. Not many, but quality over quantity, eh?
Padre Herreros came first to his mind, as they became very close after years of confessionals. Along with Mamá, the priest introduced Bruno to rituals he could perform that would ward off bad luck and evil, which often helped ease his vision–plagued mind. It took years before Bruno realized that they were simply trying to offer him healthy solutions to his obsessive–compulsive behavior (compared to scratching his arms and pulling his hair), but it was still comforting to have someone in his corner that would listen to him without judgment.
Bruno was blessed; very, very blessed! A magical home, for God’s sake! A loving family. At the very least, he was ignored, forgotten, and occasionally given the side–eye for his gaucheness. At the very worst, he had to plant his feet and shoulder some misplaced blame and hurtful comments about how creepy he was. In the grand scheme of things, and in comparison to what the older generation went through before him, Bruno’s cards were dealt generously.
But…
But sometimes…
God, it felt like heresy to even think, but sometimes his gift made Bruno wish he wasn’t a Madrigal.
He didn’t have a clue what percentage of his idiosyncrasies were due to the visions, nor did he know what was left of him if you took away his gift; if he even had any worth underneath his hand–stitched poncho. That was just another one of his maledictions; another inadmissible secret he had to bury in the sand.
So with each passing season, Bruno hid another piece of himself away, repeating the Madrigal mantra. Make Mamá and Papa proud. Make Julieta and Pepa proud. Make the family proud. If he couldn’t, over his shoulder went the salt, and he’d hold his breath, cross his fingers, and wait for another curse to fall upon him.
It took many personal lessons over many years before Bruno saw his downfall. But it wasn’t due to his fear of sacrilege or the cracks in the pavement or even the visions that plagued his nights. It ended up being the most agonizing malediction to swallow down, especially when he was the one who was hurting and desperate, the same hurt and desperation etched upon the faces of those who came to him, because Bruno knew that the hope of a bright future would bring them comfort. And maybe, deep down, he just wanted to feel useful.
It was quite simple, in the end.
The downfall: a pleading face, a needy request, and Bruno’s inability to reject them, even when the logical side of himself told him that he should. The word “no” had long since become Bruno’s anathema, as unutterable as a curse. Denying people his time and his gift made him feel unbearably selfish, and the harrowing face Mamá would direct his way whenever he was hard–pressed into reading someone’s prophecy made him feel stingy, ungrateful.
It’s not like Bruno couldn’t say it. He had a healthy set of vocal cords, and he was far from a pushover. Regardless, it was difficult to bring down the hammer on the pained faces of townspeople in need of some peace of mind. They usually ended up walking all over him before he even realized he’d laid face–down on the floor and optimistically offered them his back.
Bruno was too eager to please to know when to stop, to let the visions simmer in the safety of his mind, to not slip past his lips, despite the curious—and often unhealthy—desperation of those gravitating toward him.
His visions brought out dark things in people. Or perhaps the darkness was already there to begin with, and his gift merely amplified the greed inside their hearts. He’d never speak ill of anyone (another malediction), but those who ardently came to him to see the future often did so for the wrong reasons. And when things inevitably went wrong for them, time after time, Bruno learned that humans only tend to fear power that doesn’t cater to their desires.
Por el amor de Dios, so many lessons learned over so many years, and the seer still couldn’t see.
He should have known better.