Worth The Shot

Harsh Spotlight Glare

Today's fanart is by @_Froghuman_ ! It's the rain scene! I'm in love with the swirly rain background, and the way the sunlight glows through the clouds! This picture captures everything I love about rain. :)

BACK TO THE STORY

Slap.

"Bruno," you exhaled, staring at him in horror. "You didn't."

It now seemed so obvious. You should have known. The three siblings wore distinctive robes of sunny-yellow, jay-blue, and murky-green. Pepa, Julieta, and Bruno. Your sparkling flight had represented the creation of the golden miracle and Alma's flight from her town.

Bruno's young character cowered on the floor in the cruel shadow of his mother. Alma.

"She hit you, too," you murmured, surprised.

Bruno's grisly hands vibrated, and he flinched at the harsh sound of every blow. He'd reconstructed the terrors of his own nightmares and vicariously pasted them for the village.

"Bruno," you gently said, sympathy melting through you like molten chocolate. You stretched out your hand to touch his shaking shoulder, but Bruno shied away. Poor guy. "Why'd you do this?"

"Because the village should know," Bruno darkly whispered, resentment burning in his eyes. In the dim backstage lighting, their warm, earthy brown turned to black spheres of ice. "She's a monster. And it's time everyone sees it. Everyone thinks she's some perfect, wise matriarch. Even my sisters. She never hit them. It was always me." Bruno advanced on you, his voice burning with rage. "Ask me why I left, (y/n)!"

"Why," you breathed, shrinking away from Bruno. He'd snapped. Just like Camilo. You recognized the rigid set of his stubbled jaw and the flash of fire in his eyes. You hated how small you felt. Wide-eyed, you blankly gazed at him, unsure of what expression to twist onto your face.

"I saw our Encanto cracking. Casita splintering. But I saw something else: It's going to be her fault. Whatever happens to our miracle, it's her. I was such a coward. I knew she'd hurt me if she found out, because I'm Bruno and everything is on me. So I hid. Behind Casita's crumbling walls."

"Well, I'm done being a coward!" Bruno fiercely erupted, his throaty voice as stormy as a pillar of smoke. "Pepa and Julieta don't even know what happens to their own children! Camilo cries after she hits him. Luisa believes she deserves it. Isabela's too terrified to express her own opinions. Tonight, I'm ending it. This catches up to her now!" Bruno bitterly silenced, his slight chest heaving heavily for breaths as he glowered at you. He paused.

"I'm sorry, kid," Bruno muttered angrily, glaring at the stage curtains.

It's fine. You should have said. But you warily eyed him with a paralytic caution, remembering to inhale a breath flavored by tangy backstage sawdust. He won't hit me like Camilo. Of course he wouldn't. He's not even angry with me.

"It has to be tonight," Bruno pleadingly defended, begging for you to understand. "Because... Antonio." Bruno's wobbly hands hugged around his sides, crossing his arms to comfort himself. "She hasn't started on him yet. The kid's a bleeding heart, (y/n). He'll take it worse than Camilo."

A dark, painful image of little Antonio cut your mind. Lifelessly staring, with tender, purple bruises marring the pure, unblemished skin of his face and back. What repercussions would torture Antonio? Would he withdraw from untrustworthy humans entirely, shyly cowering among his animals?

"You're right, Bruno," you sighed. "Pepa and Julieta need to know. But can't you just confront Alma in Casita, with only the Madrigals? Why does the whole village need to gawk at the ruin of the family?"

"I'm... selfish," Bruno sourly admitted, sharply pacing to the wing of the theatre frame. Gazing at the stage performers, he quickly turned the back of his fog-green cloak to you. Ashamed, maybe, or daring you to conflict his words. "She did it all for reputation. She cared more about what the village thought than her own family. I want to break her prized reputation. I want... revenge."

"Bruno, no you don't!" You hopelessly coaxed, shouldering onto the wing beside him. The sky had calmed to a star-pocked black. A white-hot spotlight harshly beamed onto the stage, disturbing the peaceful, silent night.

Under flickering, tiny strings of lights, the contented villagers sighed at the tragic plight of the mistreated characters. They obliviously sympathized, enjoying the script. But Luisa, Isabela, Mirabel, Dolores, and Camilo froze, unnerved. The Madrigal grandchildren snuck incredulous, aghast glances at each other and at Alma.

Instinctively, your wandering gaze sought out Camilo. An ache swallowed your chest at his abused, scared expression. Black words from his journal choked you.

"She slapped me."

"Really hard, until I teared up."

"I hate this family."

Pepa coddled Camilo in her arms, his curly head drooping against her chest. A joyful, puffy cloud sprinkled over her head. Antonio curled in Camilo's lap, gazing up at his brother and whispering excitedly. Camilo tersely smiled for Antonio, but uneasy tension engraved into his eyebrows.

Pepa doesn't know. Antonio doesn't know.

"It's too late, (y/n). The play's almost over," Bruno hesitated, then grimaced apologetically. "You may not want to watch this last part. It's uh..." A teenage actor sporting a yellow-striped ruana burst onto the stage, shaking with fury as he ripped a crying girl along by her wrist.

"It's about me. Getting hit by Camilo," you flatly realized, but the spark of violated anger was nothing but a needle prick compared to the volcano of concern for Camilo and Antonio.

You steeled your features, bracing for actor-Camilo's strike. Outwardly, you didn't react as his hand coldly smacked the girl. You still felt it, a icy, quick knife cutting inside.

As if a gale of winter wind had whisked away their breath, the audience settled into an uneasy silence. Surely the play wouldn't end like that? With the grandson abusing his lover?

The spotlight glare glistened like sweat on Bruno's pale skin as he nervously bumbled onto the stage. Clumsily, Bruno collided with Camilo's actor, who shot Bruno a confused smile as he scuttled off the stage.

Bruno stood alone, a thin, green thumbprint on the massive floor. The fire returned to his eyes, and he drew in a breath, black eyes viciously locked on Alma.

He's going to ruin the family. My abuela's in that audience. What will she think of the Madrigals?

But he never spoke. Silhouetted against the stage like fingers against a half-moon, a figure roughly jolted to its feet. Startled, the audience murmured, craning their necks to glimpse the front-row disturbance.

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