Love Me for Eternity || Bruno Madrigal

Chapter 35: Dim

TW: Mentions of Blood

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Bruno Madrigal had always been the nervous one.

He sat alone in the dimly lit recesses of his vision cave, cleaning up the remnants of burnt leaves from his rituals. They were not a necessity to bring forth a vision by any means, but it helped him believe that it could ward off some of the bad luck that seemed to float around him like an ominous house vail.

A prophet he was to the people of his community; a hermit to some, an omen to others. Rumors floated around about his transgressions—a death of a relative, the woes of a widow, the doom of a merchant—they were mere words that meant little to the passing ear, shrugged off as a bedtime tale for children in their sleep. Some talks were true, some false, some of them were too exaggerated. But no matter, the root of the gossip was always the weird hermit in the tower of the respected Madrigals; the black sheep of a family blessed with a miracle.

It wasn't as if he was unaware of these whispers, no. He always knew. Although a recluse and a pariah, he was still a member of the esteemed family of Madrigal. Words always came from the knowledge of the familia that served the people, and he was no exception to the gossip that surrounded him and shrouded the seer with mystery.

He didn't mind the rumors, no. He never cared about how others see him (well, not as much as when he was a child). It would have been fine, he would have laughed it off, but it pains his heart to know that you were being dragged down to the levels of his reputation.

"A shame," one such señora would comment. "...Mateo's girl would have been so much better if she had married a better man. My son is more suitable for her, no?"

Yes, Bruno found himself thinking. You would have been so much better off with the carpenter's son.

"It's unbelievable," Jolo Cevallos would flaunt. "That girl was supposed to have someone strong as a husband; like me."

He's right, Bruno frowned while dusting the last bit of ash from his rituals. You needed a strong man to be with you—someone who can protect you, someone to fight for you, someone who you could proudly say they were the father of your child.

Don't get him wrong, Bruno loves you with all of his being. He knows you love him back with the same intensity. You've never even dared to look at another man with the same ardor as you would have given him. There was no doubt in his heart that your love for him was true, unwavering. But he couldn't help but feel... lacking. He was not a strong man with hulking biceps to brandish, nor was he a well-respected figure that matched the grace of your own.

He was just plain, weird, anxious Bruno.

His thoughts wandered to his unborn child—how he just wished he could look into the future and see how he fared as a parent. Would his child be upset for having him as a father? Would he take care of their needs as a father should? Would he do good? Bad? Fail horribly?

No, no, no, no. This was not the time to spiral into self-deprecating thoughts.

"Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock on wood." Bruno found himself throwing salt over his shoulder and knocking on the wooden frames of his door. He looked back at the depiction of himself—menacing, scary, foreboding—was that how the town really sees him? How would his child react knowing their father is the town's weirdo who only gave them bad luck?

As soon as he opened the door to his room, a flood of orange light kissed his cheeks in a warm kiss. The dusk made way for an amber ombre in the skyline, and there was an ambient calm washing through the house as the last rays of sun waved its last goodbyes. He breathed in from his nose, looking at the entrance of the nursery painted in a welcoming green.