Today's fanart is by @thelovelytoby! They drew (y/n), Camilo's "Mariposa." I love the beautiful swirly detailing on the butterfly wings!

BACK TO THE STORY

"Bruno!" Camilo thundered. His face contorted in a mess of rage, terror, and confusion. "What is this?"

"It's a true story!" Bruno shouted, panicked desperation bleeding into his choppy arm movements. Begging the village to believe in his dark fairytale.

The Encanto residents blinked like a mass of darkness, gazing blankly. Overhead, the stars glinted, cold and curious like beady eyes.

"That's enough, Bruno!" Alma sharply barked, towering above the field of seated villagers as she lifted like a tornado. "Think before you say something you don't mean!"

Casita's tiles practically quivered, rumbling underfoot with tension.

"I've been thinking for the past ten years," Bruno accused, but fear crept into his eyes for the brutal war he was about to unleash on his family. His shoulders caved in on themselves, collapsing like a tent. "It's time everyone sees who you really are."

"I am Alma Madrigal, the matriarch of this village and the creator of our home!" Alma asserted, turning to address the crowd.

"She abused me!" Bruno exploded, his voice sinking to a whimper. "She beat me. That's why I left."

"Mama, is that true?" Pepa incredulously gaped. Her reddish eyebrows furrowed, stormy as a volcano boiling to erupt. Julieta breathed in a squeaky gasp, smothering her mouth with her hand.

"I-" Alma's guilty, helpless expression condemned her. With uncharacteristic distress, she clutched at the stiff, wool-heavy fabric of her strawberry dress. Her cracked hands, spotted with age, fumbled to her chain locket.

"That's not all," Bruno insisted, straightening his back and swallowing hard.

"Bruno," Camilo hissed through gritted teeth, sinking down into his seat. Jittery from nerves, his leg bounced, as if high on caffeine. He leaned his white-sleeved elbows onto his knees. The balled fingers of his right hand pressed against his mouth. He looked like he was about to throw up.

Bruno hesitated. For a moment, the fate of the Madrigal family tottered on its balance. A toy ball, courting gravity before tumbling down a cobblestone street.

Camilo glanced up from the flimsy knives of grass. He widened his eyes pleadingly at his uncle. "Don't."

He's... scared. Why is he so scared to have everyone find out? Doesn't he want it all to stop?

"They need to know, kid," Bruno gently whispered. His words churned above the crowd like the overhead, night clouds. But they belonged to Camilo alone.

"It wasn't only me," Bruno gruffly sighed, now regretting this horrible task. "She hurt Luisa. She hurt Isabela. She hurt Mirabel. She hurt Dolores. She hurt... Camilo." Each uttered name sucked shocked gasps from the crowd.

Camilo burrowed his face into his hands, humiliated. You fiercely longed to flash across the stage like moonlight and deflect the curious eyes that lingered on his crushed posture. Stop looking at him. Stop looking at him!

Felix dumbly gawked at Alma, shock blurring his mind. Augustin reacted faster, blazing through the crowd with the fury of a swarm of hornets.

"You hurt my daughters?" Augustin demanded, dangerously raising his voice at Alma to a defensive shout. His wiry copper glasses gleamed like fire in the castoff light from the blinding stage.

Julieta's mouth wordlessly sunk open, tears freely slipping from her eyes. She protectively hugged around Isabela's shoulders, then gripped Luisa's arm. She held Mirabel's head against her chest, as if terrified her children could evaporate.

"Let's... let's go inside and talk about this," Alma tried, pleadingly grasping for her brittle puppet-sticks of control. But they had snapped, splintered like the village's faith and her family's trust. "Let's go back home."

"No!" Pepa roared, a sudden shriek of wind rippling and snapping through her clothes. If she hadn't lost her gift, ice and fire would have pelted the outer courtyard. But her hurricane glare conveyed enough. "We can't ever, ever live with you again! Look at Camilo! Look at what you did to my son!"

All eyes locked on the oldest Madrigal boy. Vulnerable without his ruana, Camilo practically trembled under the pressure of curious, pitying attention. Then Camilo shifted. A rugged blur of colors. Alma. Pepa. Antonio. Alma.

"Don't look at him!" Felix snapped from his daze, lumbering to stand beside Camilo and attempting to block the prying eyes. Camilo fled, disappearing through Casita's door.

As Felix, Augustin, and Pepa launched accusing shouts at Alma, you slunk after him, slipping through the hanging-open entrance.

The Madrigal house was dressed in mournful night darkness and the eerie candlelight of the yellow miracle. Its flame lapped gloomy fingers across the floor.

In the gray shadows, Camilo's silhouette leaned into the kitchen door frame. Breathing raggedly, grunting and gasping as he fought for control. Cautiously, you stepped forward with a silent tiptoe. He doesn't remember me anymore. Three words chanted through your mind. Your mantra: Don't scare Camilo.

"I'm so embarrassed," Camilo whispered, hiding his eyes against his forearm. Sweat glinted hot on his skin. "Dolores, I can't do this."

"I'm not Dolores," you admitted. Camilo's sigh had pulsed with a fresh ache to launch into his arms. You could imagine how your nose would feel, warm against the crook of his neck. How your hands would rush across the lightweight, sandy fabric over his back. How this sugared pain would release at his fingers' gentle touch.

Don't scare Camilo. Don't scare Camilo. Don't scare Camilo.

"Oh. Your footsteps sounded like- I thought-" Camilo's breathing turned choppy, and his arm rigidly dropped to his side. He couldn't even look you in the eye.

"Do you want-" Miserably, your sentence faltered. Want what? A hug? Your pity? Your love? He didn't want any of that. Not anymore.

"No. I'm fine." And Camilo's smile stabbed like a thorn. Because it shone, brighter and sparklier than Bruno's spotlight. His dark eyebrows raised sheepishly. His green eyes glinted, good-naturedly, as if you'd been let in on a thrilling family secret, not a hushed horror-story of abuse.

Like a forceful punch, you felt the rough, stone wall he'd slammed around himself. He'd constructed a detached barrier between him and you. His awful smile only reminded you that you'd never access his emotional landscape again. A secret, overgrown garden, lush with purple hyacinths and rosy carnations. He'd once slid the key into your hands, trusting you with his scared sobs and genuine laughs. But the door had rusted over, and the key had danced away on the winds. Now you crawled across his stone barrier, as distant as lonely ivy. An outsider.

"Camilo-"

"You know what?" Camilo shushed you, still beaming. The stone wall. Your heart twisted like a rope. "You don't have to worry about me. Because I'm a Madrigal. I have the coolest family ever. Go find your parents, okay?" He practically pushed you toward the door before retreating back into the solitary kitchen.

You hesitated, fingers skidding against Casita's creaking wall. You heard a dull thump as he slumped to the kitchen floor.

"Dolores," you heard him choke out, sucking in a shaky breath through his nose. "Come find me. Please."

Tear-strained screams and uneasy murmurs roared through the night air, like the angry crash of the waterfall in Antonio's room. Well done, Bruno. You sarcastically thought. Your play was a huge success.

Suddenly, you jolted forward, gasping. A crooked, black line shot across Casita's floor, swallowing your foot. Alert, you apprehensively fisted your hands. Is Casita hiding me in the underground campout room? From what? From who?

"I need to know-" Camilo was muttering from the kitchen, still whispering secret, invisible messages to Dolores. "The last scene- was it true?" Voice hitching, Camilo demanded, "Did I hurt someone?"

No. He could never discover what he'd done to you. Terror pounded in your chest. He doesn't even know me, and this is the first thing he'll find out?

But Dolores couldn't respond. Because shards of clay streaked from the roof, slicing your cheek and clattering to the ground. The tiled floor shuddered with an unearthly groan. The golden doors flickered out. Cracks convulsed across the plaster walls.

The roof was falling. Casita was breaking.