So, uh, I wrote a thing.
When Cheque asks him about his great-great grandmother and great-grandmother, things get slightly awkward.
Ernesto hadn’t even known of the existence of Maricruz del Rio until the previous year, when Héctor had revealed it to him. He knows nothing about her other than what he’d been told then: that she’d been left in an orphanage, that she’d died young in childbirth, and that she’d been forgotten years ago.
And, of course, that she’d been his daughter. It feels unreal, to think about it; if not for Cheque – if not for the fact that petal had lit up for the blessing, proving their relation – he wouldn’t even believe she ever existed.
He supposes it should sadden him, knowing that she passed away from both worlds so soon, but the truth is that it makes him feel nothing. She’s a name, and some nebulous information, but nothing more. He knows nothing of her, nothing of her short life and of her afterlife, and nothing of the wretched bloodline she – he – left behind, if not the fact that Ezequiel was its result.