Bruno's early adulthood could be measured by his most treasured moments; those of quiet, secret joys shared with Hernando. Between stolen kisses, and books read loom-side, or by candlelight when the rest of the town was sleeping each second they were together, no matter how fleeting, how mundane, or how routine was somehow more precious than the last. They were, when measured against the sum of his life, the happiest years Bruno had ever known.

Eventually, however, in spite of their shared bliss the taboo of his closeness with Hernando became more evident in the way people spoke of, and to, the clandestine couple. Soon, townsfolk began to take notice of how fond they had become of one another, and how often their free time was spent together. It wasn't long before even the most casual and innocuous of interactions kindled the fast spreading flame of rumors, truthful rumors, but no less stinging for the contempt with which they were spoken. These scornful words quickly began to engulf the entire community.

It wasn't long before people began sharing uninvited commentary on the matter as well, some speaking with well intentioned advice, others malicious and cruel. The turmoil stirred by the community's prevailing ignorance, fear, and prejudice tore away at the young couple until even sitting together near the fountain pained Bruno's soul. Their words filled his skull like a million biting ants, swarming him, painful, and frenzied until he felt feverish with guilt, embarrassment, and an anger that made his hands shake.

"¡Fifís!" a man had said spitefully of them over his shoulder one evening.

"¡Malditos maricones!" called another, spitting onto the road with a burning disdain as they sat enjoying a meal together.

Enraged by every altercation, these rumors and curses also made Bruno feel sick with a sinner's shame that settled in his stomach like sour milk. It was this shame that would make him pull his hand away, turn his attention to girls in pretty dresses, and skip a planned meeting, here and there, attempting to conform to a world that had no place for him.

Hernando never said a word. He would only smile bitterly when Bruno made room between them on the bench, or spun a fumbling apology for his absences. For Hernando never made any efforts to hide his affection, unless Bruno asked him to. Hernando had no doubts, no fears, and expressed no regrets for the unruly nature of his loving heart. The jealousy in Bruno hated him for it, almost as much as he hated himself for his weakness, or the strangers for their harsh words of condemnation.

All Bruno wanted was to be happy, but it seemed fated that he never would be.

Then, one morning, the rumors found root in the most devastating of places: Casa Madrigal.

It was a balmy day, Pepa had lunch plans with her new pretendiente, a jovial young man who had earned the family's love and approval at an early age. It was a marvel, Bruno thought, that it should take this long for the two to begin courting after Félix had broken his own primo's nose in the girl's defense as children. Then again, Pepa was often as ignorant to people's obvious affections for her as she was fiery.

Julieta, mysterious and aloof as of late had plans of her own. Her brother took this secrecy as a positive sign, it was about time the good girl did something bad. Besides, he trusted her not to let whatever it was go too far.

So, on a day of respite Bruno made do with his own company, until his mother cornered him in the kitchen. The air about her uncertain, and electrified by nerves, the woman beckened him to sit. Heart beating loudly in his ears, Bruno could sense that something was amiss as he approached the table. Anxiously he waited for her to request a difficult vision of him, sure that this was the reason for her malaise.

Alma stared with knit brows, and sorrowful eyes before taking a measured breath and saying, "Brunito- I mean, Bruno, mijo, we need to talk."

Knots forming in his stomach Bruno slunk into a chair. The man little liked the sound of his mother's tone, or the expression she wore. This wasn't about a vision, he'd done something.

"What about?" he asked, staring back at her, suddenly he was a child again, caught in the disappointed gaze of a mother he longed to make proud.

"¿Dónde empezar?" she asked, eyes darting around the room, unable to focus on anything for long, not even the face of her son. "I am worried about you mijo." she started, as she seated herself across from him. "Your life is just beginning, and like all mothers I have had an idea of where your life would take you since you were born and-" she stopped, her fingers pressed against her lips as she thought how to better rephrase what she had been saying.

Hands held beneath the table Bruno anxiously picked at the skin around his nails, a nervous habit that often left his fingers bleeding. Breathlessly, he waited. He didn't want to interrupt, to engage, or open up lines of dialogue that would otherwise remain closed by saying the wrong thing. It was better if he stayed quiet, and maybe if he did this would all be over sooner than it had begun.

"I am concerned about how much time you're spending with that boy." Alma said at last, managing to find and hold Bruno's gaze. "The time of your childhood is behind you now, and you need to leave all of this foolishness in the past. Friendship is one thing, but you're a man now and-"

"He has a name!" Bruno snapped, his plans of being a conscientious objector thrown out the window the moment she referred to what he had with Hernando as foolishness.

Alma's lips formed a thin line as she blinked back pent emotions. "All I'm trying to say, mijo, it that I want you to be happy. I do, Bruno, my children's happiness means more to me than life itself, but you need to start thinking about the future, and you cannot build a future-"

"You, speak of the future?" Bruno couldn't help but scoff. "As if you know anything about the future!" he muttered, unable to keep the irony out of his voice.

Alma's jaw clenched, but she remained silent for a long while. It was a stare that had sent terror through the man when he had been a child. Now, in light of the moment he saw it as a challenge of his reslove. They glowered at one another, neither making a move as mother and son tested the other's will, tension polluting the atmosphere around them. It seemed for a minute as if the moment had passed and the conversation would die a stalemate, then, Alma spoke again.

"You need to start thinking about where your life is going." she went on.

"I mean it Bruno, you cannot waste your life." Alma said more firmly when it seemed her message wasn't getting through to him. "You're old enough, you need to start thinking about starting a family of your own."

"I would never be selfish enough to bring children into this world." Bruno said tearful and combative, the palm of his hand slapping flat against the woodgrain of the table, the anger and outrage that coursed throughout him so sudden and unexpected that it scared even him.

The woman seemed to have been taken aback by his response, clearly hurt, and puzzling she couldn't tear her gaze from the tight contortions of his face. The man, quaking, struggled to reign himself in, teeth on edge tried to bite back his next words, but they slipped out anyway, "You know how cruel this world is. I would never willingly bring a child into it."

Again they stared scornfully at each other.

"I see." Alma said, arms crossing, nostrils flaring in a way that only her children, who knew her best would notice. "So I am selfish for bringing you into this world." she said. Bruno tried to rebuke her, but she continued, raising her voice to talk over him. "I am selfish for wanting my children to be happy, to have children of their own, to pass the miracle given to our family on so that we may continue to serve our community. I am selfish for-"

"It's not a miracle, it's a curse!" Bruno snapped, his expression one of sheer disbelief, wounded after so many years of her disregard.

Casita began to creek and groan, its foundation shifting in response to Alma's emotional state as she glared at her son.

"It is a blessing." Alma stated, the finality in her tone meant to end the now derailed discussion then and there.

"For you!" the man wailed, resolve breaking at last as he spoke the words that had been eroding his soul for fifteen, horrendous years. "It is a blessing for you! For me, for Pepa, for Julieta it is a curse! Haven't you noticed? Do you even care? We're miserable! Pepa cannot even live a normal life! Julieta has the weight of the hopes and prayers of the entire community on her shoulders! And me- I-"

"What?" Alma asked now standing as well, the table the only barrier between them. "What about you Bruno? How have I been ignorant to your 'curse?' How have I failed you as a mother?"

Turning away, tears spilling from his eyes Bruno let out a little strangled cry. What was the point? She wasn't ever going to listen or hear him out. Besides even if she did she would only hear what she wanted to, or would twist his words to fit her narrative. Alma was his mother, that meant she would always be right, more so on this matter. She had been given a miracle, only she could interpret it and all it's gifts.

Bruno knew it was useless to argue, and worse yet? He'd pulled his sisters into it, betraying their trust. Now she would hound them, try to pry the truth from them, use it like a weapon against them, until they gave her what she wanted. He shouldn't have said anything, those weren't his secrets to share, but he wanted, hoped, to help ease their suffering somehow. If only she could see the world the way they did.

"It's doesn't matter Mamá." Bruno murmured, eyes pinned to the tiles beneath his feet, the fight going out of him entirely. He conceded. The man knew a lost battle when he saw one.

"Clearly it does." Alma pressed, going after him like dog with the scent of meat.

Bruno looked at her. He was afraid, so afraid, and he didn't want to hurt her, not even in his anger. Yet the truth tumbled out despite his efforts to keep it at bay, "All I see is war, death, and disease Mamá. The future is a terrifying place." he whispered with chagrin.

Eyes wide the woman caught herself on the table's edge if only just, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. "War is coming to our Encanto?" she asked, a hand clutching her chest.

"No Mamá, we're safe here, in our Encanto, but it's happening all the time out there." he pointed with meaning towards the mountains that could be seen outside the widow. "And no one seems to want to put a stop to it. No one cares about anyone else, or the cost of life all this violence is causing, not as long as it is profitable to them."

Alma seemed to process this for a minute, the tension in her body fading she let a small sigh pass between her lips. "Well, I am sorry for the souls who are affected, but this is good news for our people."

Bruno snorted turning from his mother with disgust at her indifference and lack of empathy. "I'm sure you are."

"I am!" she shouted, reaching her breaking point now as well. "I know loss Bruno. I know what it is to be caught in a war that you have no part in, to be driven from your home. I know what it is to lose the ones you love most, you selfish, ignorant little boy. I know." she wailed.

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but seeing this blatant disrespect Alma flew further into a rage, both hands striking the tabletop she leaned forward and screamed, "Your father didn't sacrifice his life just so that you could waste yours!"

A silence so heavy it could be felt in his bones settled over the kitchen.

Alma's eyes fluttered, the tears her gaze making it clear that she hadn't meant to say what she had. It was too late, but she didn't try to take it back or apologize either. Her son sat in shock, chilled at his core by her words he began to weep.

"Bruno." Alma said after a while, smoothing back her hair, and tidying her skirts as she came to stand over him, all pretense forgotten. "I have heard rumors about you, and that blind boy."

"Hernando." Bruno managed to breathe in a whisper.

"Hernando." the woman who well knew his name, but spitefully hadn't used it, corrected herself. "Tell me that the rumors aren't true." she commanded watching the man wither in place. "I need to hear you say it Bruno. I need to know that they are nothing more than rumors."

Acid washing up the back of his throat Bruno couldn't respond. The weight of his father's untimely demise now rested squarely on his shoulders. She was right, he'd betrayed his father, made a mockery of his death, and brought shame to his family. Bruno hated himself. With each and every fiber of his being, he truly hated himself.

"Bruno?" Alma asked, iron in her voice.

The pressure of holding so much inside caused dark spots to pulse across Bruno's field of vision. Alma was his mother, he loved her, more than she knew, and he couldn't bear disappoint her any more than he already had. More than that her words threatened to destroy him completely. His life was a poor excuse for his father's selflessness and bravery, a waste. He didn't deserve the second chance his father had bought him with blood.

"They're just rumors." he mumbled, a deep blow resonating in his chest, as he told the lie he vowed to now to make true. "We're only friends Mamá, I promise."

"Look at me, and say it."

Meeting his mother's gaze, he felt pain beyond words, but couldn't let it overwhelm him. Bruno said again in a strong, clear voice, "We're only friends. Those are just stupid stories. I swear it."

Alma stared for a long while before nodding, accepting his explanation. "I know it must be difficult for Hernando to make friends." she said thoughtfully after a minute, reaching out to cup her son's cheek with a tender affection. "You're good to him, but don't throw away your life to be a good friend. Me entiendes hijo?"

"Si Mamá, I understand. Lo siento." he muttered turning out of her reach and getting up from the table.

"I love you mijo." the woman called after him, her voice halting his retreat.

"I love you too, Mamá." he replied, choking on his own grief, iniquity, and doubt as he turned to make his way to his room.

Inside his personal realm the sun which was normally glaring had been dimmed, it's light cut and filtered by mountains that had now stretched so far towards the heavens that their might drown out the figure who stood at their base, reflecting how insignificant Bruno felt. Staring for just a moment at the imposing peaks Bruno collapsed into the sand.

His entire body shaking, fists beating the earth Bruno screamed until his lungs ached with overexertion, throat raw, his head light and dizzy, teeth grit with sand. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. The metallic pang of rage and lies thick in his mouth Bruno felt maliciousness and contempt filling the marrow of his bones until his entire frame was so heavy he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair.

He didn't deserve the life he'd been given, Bruno thought with condemnation. His mother was right he was a waste, and a poor trade for the man she had loved. He couldn't blame her for her anger, when everything he had done to repay his father's love was sinful and wrong; no matter how it beautiful, and right it felt.

His damnation assured, the man was spent as he lay watched listless as grains of sand tumbled down around him, mirroring the many tears Bruno had spilt for himself, his father, and the love that could not be.

Numb and weary of life, heart bleeding, the man knew that, for his mother, for his family, he could no longer see Hernando. It was better for everyone this way.

Laying there, only half aware of himself, Bruno who was dead inside willed the sands to bury him...