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Isabela Madrigal remembered her Tio Bruno Madrigal vividly. Sometimes it feels as if he really is physically there in her dreams, exactly as he once looked like.
He was a kind, soft soul, with eyes so gentle he could have guilted everyone into loving him again if he really tried, if he realized how lethal those eyes of his were. He never spoke too high, always in a love voice afraid he would get the wrong message across or upset anyone. He was always terrified of something, or at the very least very superstitiously anxious and throwing salt over his shoulder, and knocking on wood whenever his anxieties would invade his mind.
And he without a doubt, loved her dearly; she was his everything.
Bruno had always been there for her - and dare she say it, more than her own father, who tried his hardest to be there despite the responsibilities her abuela placed on everyone, including him and Tío Felix despite being giftless. She knew her father wanted so much more for her, and she loves him very much! Do not mistake her!
But.
There were often times where when she called Bruno Tío, she would replace in in her mind with 'Papá'.
She felt guilty, and ashamed for thinking of her uncle as her father, when her true one always showed her such unconditional love it was almost suffocating, and showered her in affections as best he could.
Then again, his suffocating love was not what she needed, not what she could handle.
Bruno, on the other hand, had loved her much quietly.
He had much more time for her, as he never really did visions anymore and never had anyone to hand out with. So therefore, when she wasn't busy making everything beautiful and practicing being perfect, she would spend all that spare time with him (unless he needed to be alone, she understood, and would kiss his cheek and tell him 'love you tío' before bouncing elsewhere. She wasn't like the littlest ones of the house, always in everyone's business.).
Bruno would brush her hair with a gentle hand, delicately sliding the brush over her dark hair and freeing it of any tiny knot that managed to form, making sure not to tug too tightly and hurt her. She would ask him to braid her pretty flowers in her hair, and he would do so without question, taking the offered Flowers and working them in. His nimble fingers would cross the stems with pieces of her hair, and planted them just a little crooked, but she would always say it was perfect(they both knew she could just grow them in her hair herself, but neither of them said anything of it). Abuela would look at her flowers weirdly, even reaching to maybe even them out of her braid but even she wasn't allowed to touch.
Sometimes, she would ask him to tell her a story. Instead of the dramatic shows he would do for Luisa or little babies Camilo and mirabel, he would talk with only his hands and a soft voice. His hands glided in the air like feathers flowing in the gentle wind, making occasional swift turns to express a strong scene, his face would be soft, eyebrows twitching and eyes lidded, as if his own stories would put even him to sleep.
Sometimes, her Tio would have nightmares or another horrible vision. He would look extra tired on those days, and she would ask to have a tea party in her room. She would grow the softest, biggest, and nicest smelling flowers, making sure her uncle was comfortable before playing with her dolls. She wouldn't stop if he fell asleep, she would simply let him rest and talk and talk as if he was still listening.
Sometimes, she would curl up next to him, just to feel his steady heartbeat and soft exhales of air and reassure herself.
Oftentimes, her Tio would have a bruise somewhere, or look shaken and afraid. She would force him down -pout and widen her eyes when he began to protest and ultimately losing to her, because he loved her too much to argue with his precious niece daughter. She would stuff her mother's food in his mouth, and go on an angry rant about how it wasn't his fault he saw bad things. He only saw them because people were bad, or because some things just had to be.
"You can give good ones too, you know! Remember mine? And I'll make sure it comes true, just for you! So they can see just how amazing your visions can be! " she would practically yell it to his face, her small hands planted on either side of his face and determination burning in her eyes.
And he would smile, eyes kind and whatever stress on his shoulders would lessen. He'd hug her, and tell her how much he loved her.
"You're too good for me, mi sobrinita. "
She would pretend, that instead of Sobrina, he had said "mi hija"
Then, mirabel turned five.
She didn't get her gift.
Isabela had seen her Tio run off, felt his hand let go of hers so quickly and wondered what would happen from then on.
Abuela had then said he agreed to have a vision, an hour after the party was cancelled and her little sister was in her room, with their parents comforting her.
Isabela knew better. Abuela must of cornered him. No one could say no to her.
Hours passed, and she became restless.
She knew her Tio, he never took this long, she should know. She's been with him during many of his visions after a while, keeping people away from him whenever they weren't happy with what they saw. Yet, she couldn't do much but sit around and wish for the best.
Then her cousin Dolores cried out and said she heard a bunch of sickening cracks from his room.
Isabela has been the first to run to his door, her short legs pushing her forward as fear plagued her.
She had been the first to swing open the door, through the curtain of sand.
And-
The sand had been mere feet away. Mere feet front breaking his fall and leaving him at least a little injured but alive.
Not - not this.
It was so incredibly cruel for a twelve year old little girl; the sight of the most important person on her life, who promised her everything, dead before her.
She wailed, screamed in such a horrible ear bleeding way that shook the entire house and the families very bones.
The sight would forever be burned in her mind.
She sobbed and sobbed, screamed until she could no longer, reached for the mangled remains of her Tio as her parents dragged her and the rest of the children away. Every flower she ever created, every single one in the encanto, wilted and died. Her screams echoed throughout the once warm home, lighting strikes booming and swirling grief striken clouds covered the encanto; a ranging storm brought on by her Tia, who was just as inconsolable as she was.
Isabela wailed and wailed, and when she found her voice-
"HE PROMISED ME! PAPÁ SAID - HE SAID - HE PROMISED! "
her father had looked hurt, betrayed, the moment he realized he wasn't the Papá she mentioned, the Papá she so desperately wished was still breathing. Her Mama looked shocked, and hurt too on her husband's behalf, yet she still played along, realizing just how much his loss is affecting her, forcing down the grief she felt for her eldest.
"Mami! He told me-! Papa told me the life of my dreams would be MINE! HE SAID IT WOULD BE MINE! AND- and- and how he's gone!!! "
It didn't take long for them to realize that he was a major part of her desired future. A future that was given to her on glass.
Bruno, in everything, was her Papa by heart.
He was gone, now.
Later, Felix, eyes-rimmed red and face green, would say he looked as if he wanted to runaway, having packed his little satchel but the Bridge to his room snapped as he was halfway.
Casita had let her Tio fall to his death.
Casita ripped him away from her.
She hated casita from that moment forward.
They recovered his satchel safely, which was miraculously untainted. It was full of necessities that could barely last him a few days.
And a vision, a vision he had planned to take with him away from prying eyes.
Except, it was different.
The little glass shards of the slab were not glowing green, like the rest of the visions despite her dearest being deceased.
The shards looked... Dead, and it had made her laugh hysterically inside her head. They were all milky grey, not a single one glowing.
She had been allowed to sit through them rearranging them. They couldn't fight her, not when she was grieving just as much as they were. It was difficult since the pieces were small and chipped in some areas, little pieces lost and too many similar.
When the final piece connected, she felt a seed of deep bitter anger settle inside her and grow rapidly.
Her little sister was the vision. She was grown, standing in front of the house, and the house cracked around her, as if she was breaking it.
Abuela mentioned quietly, in a such a tiny voice how she had asked for a vision, fearing the magic was in danger.
Isabela's fists clenched.
She was young, but she was smart, and she was beginning to guess what this grey dead slap was, and the rest of the family caught on.
A failed vision. One that no longer mattered, one that would no longer come true.
It may have been glowing green at first. He may have been leaving with this vision knowing what would become of her little sister if they knew she would be the root of casita's destruction. He wanted to keep her safe, wanted mirabel to still be loved and safe and maybe he even prayed for something else to happen, for anything else.
And his life was the price, apparently.
She wanted to blame them all, she wanted to lash out and point out every single one of their faults and she wanted to tell them all Bruno died because of them.
Because of Abuela.
Because of Mirabel.
She didn't. At least, not out loud.
A funeral was held soon after, and she glared at every single person that dared showed up. If they made a comment or even tried to speak to her, she would scoff, she would snarl, she would grow a wall of vines and left their presence.
Everyone could see their mistakes as they saw their perfect little doll become bitter and angry, mourning the one man none of them loved. Showing she's just as human as they are, capable of feeling and displaying such awful emotions.
They saw, and had begun to feel terrible for it, and the more each of them reflected on their treatment on the poor madrigal, the worse each of them felt.
It hurt her to know that her rebellion was what made the town see the error of their ways.
The entire encanto was gloomy for an entire month.
Then, they bounced back as if nothing had happened; well, bounced back as well as they could. Abuela had demanded they move on and continue their duties, and to simply not mention Bruno so much, especially in front of Isabela.
Though, the demand was quickly dismissed, and instead she asked that they be gentle when talking about him, and to not utter a single bad word about him.
The first year was very hard. She was just 13 and a husk of a bright girl. The days leading up to the once triplets birthdays left her blubbering and sobbing.
The night before, she snuck to cry against his rotten door, and found her mother and aunt instead, calling out to their Hermanito, their missing third.
Isabela couldn't help herself, and threw herself at them, grieving with them. They were the closest she had to Bruno himself, and she held on.
His death anniversary was much the same. She refused to let them stray away from her, sticking close and holding their hands.
Her mother once said she was too young to understand how they felt.
The years passed, and while the wound was still fresh and raw, it did feel easier to breathe.
She grew, and was no longer perfect Isabela, but rather, just isabela.
Not perfect, certainly not anything more than a quiet, standoffish woman but it did not matter, as long as she was happier being herself, as her late Tío Bruno wanted.
Her flowers no longer died within minutes nor hours. They lasted at least a month now, and it was good enough for everyone. Her flowers became less perfect and more diverse, each little bloom becoming special in its own right. No petal was perfectly shaped, some even were of multiple shades and colors, but they were loved nonetheless, cherished and plucked to be laid on his grave.
Abuela did not force her to be perfect, instead, she just encouraged her to be as kind and gentle as she could. Abuela hadn't changed very drastically as some of the family had, but being more human than leader was more than any of them could ask for.
When she thought of Bruno, she no longer felt a headache grow and her chest churn. Years of nightmares of that night made it easier to deal with, and she no longer felt so saddened any more, not to the point of tears, at least.
Instead of flowers wilting to the point of death, tiny little ones would bloom, the memories she cherished outweighing the pain and bringing her peace.
It took far too long, but she had realized she was moving on.
It hurt still, but she knew Bruno loved her, and remembering him and his little antics made thinking of him easier, and knew that if it weren't for his sacrifices, the family wouldn't have begun to move away from the chains of his mother's grief any time soon.
Her Papá, who never got to see her leave the shell of perfection and grow whatever she'd want, whatever she felt, her gift growing into something wonderful, something she knew he would have adored.
Soon enough, though, abuela arranged her a marriage, much to her slight dismay.
Mariano Guzman was a kind man, a complete bimbo, a romantic through and through. She didn't like it, after all, she knew Dolores liked the man. In fact, she didn't like him at all at first anyways.
He was too much for her, too sappy, too loud too suffocating to be with.
She didn't talk to him much, and instead opted for one-sided conversations when they went on dates. She didn't engage in much with him, she didn't feel like doing so. She didn't react to his proclamations of his undivided affections. She figured he'd mean nothing to her, and that he'd give up on her.
Though, she shouldn't have underestimated Mariano. He wasn't the brightest, but he was smart enough to pick up on her discomfort and uninterested after only a few interactions.
Then, he began to study her for who she was instead. He paid attention, and he started doing things she would appreciate and like. He did the complete opposite of what she had thought he would do; he changed his approach, with the goal to win her over.
He no longer spoke so loudly, instead, be softened his voice and spoke tenderly to her, as if he were telling her his most well kept secrets. He no longer gave her gifts of luxury, instead, he read her poems he had written only for her, and his eyes would be soft and tender when he read ones about her. About how beautiful she is, her plants as unique as she was, perfect in whatever shape or form.
He was truly falling in love with her, and she thought she was too.
She was.
Bigger, grander tulips began to sprout and bloom after a while. Her mother and father smiled kindly, and told her how proud they were, for overcoming her grief and allowing herself to love once more.
She knew what they meant.
She loved Bruno beyond anything. He was her Papa, and when he passed, she pushed everyone away. She became a ghost of herself, and never let anyone get close, in fear she would lose them too.
It's why she was so afraid to love someone like Mariano.
When Mariano got on his knee, box in hand she knew she was ready to love again. It had begun as an arranged marriage, but now, as the ring slipped into her finger perfectly, it was out of pure love and devotion.
She ignored Dolores' pained expression, and instead kissed mariano sweetly and allowed herself to be held tightly, for she was precious to him.
Large, beautiful roses filled the entire house, and she knew Bruno would be so happy and proud of her.
A wedding was held, and she wanted nothing more than for Bruno to walk her to her husband. When her father Agustin did, she imagined in was Bruno, and when she said "Gracias, Papa. ", she talked to both him and Bruno.
After the wedding, she laid white roses and sat in silence, her wedding dress pooled around her and for just a moment, a cold breeze passed her.
She fell pregnant the following year.
It was strange: the newfound tiredness, the cravings, the swollen ankles.
She still loved everything about it, because it was rooted to her baby. A baby born from love.
Dolores had since moved on from her jealousy and bitterness, and instead, was incredibly excited for her. " let's hope it's a boy." They both knew why.
When the baby is to be born, it was a month too early. The day was warm and soft despite the panic and fear grappling her. Mariano held her hand and kissed her sweaty forehead, telling her, promising her how it would all turn out alright.
It was pain, it was absolute hell, she was suddenly beginning to regret everything and wanted to just go back in time and curl into her Tio Bruno's arms-
Then her baby was placed in her arms, and all those thoughts banished in a millisecond.
He was so tiny, so small she was afraid she would break him if she held him just a little too tight. His little face was scrunched up and he looked about seconds away from crying once more. His skin was a sick purple, thought she could tell he would eventually turn more of a natural tan as the hours passed. His hair was in tiny curls, barely anything on his little head. His tiny little fingers curled into a fist, so miniscule compared to his Father's.
He was perfect. Her baby was perfect in every sense. He was born a little too early, but it was meant to be, for he fit in her arms perfectly, and his tiny head fit in the palm of her husband's hand like puzzle pieces.
Then, after a few hours passed and he got his first feeding, his eyes opened.
She's seen those eyes before.
Years ago, when she was just a little girl and he was smiling, arms reaching out to her.
And immediately, she knew what she wanted to name her baby. She looked to Mariano with tears in her eyes and he matched her, knowing exactly what she was thinking and nodded.
She deserved this.
This was casita's apology to her. She knew it.
Her abuela asked, "what will you name him? "
She looked down at her tiny, perfect baby once more, and traced his little nose and cheek with a dainty finger.
Vines crept up the walls and little flowers bloomed around her little family, some sprouting from the old cracks inside casita ( which, though none of them noticed, a few had begun to finally close. )
"Bruno. Mi hijo precioso Bruno. "
The heaviness in her chest finally faded away.