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Chapter Text

Mirabel supposed she should be there at Antonio’s ceremony. She should be dancing with him, eating food and laughing with Camilo except-

Except there’s a tightness in her throat and a stinging behind her eyes and Mirabel is certain that if she opens her mouth a sob will come out.

So she turns around. Walks away and once she’s climbed the roof of some random house, tilts her head to the sky and tries to push back the tears.

“Come on,” she whispers through gritted teeth. “All I need is a chance, just open your eyes.” Mirabel is tired and sick of it-sick of waiting for a miracle, for the cold stares from Abuela to stop, for the whispers from the community to cease.

“I’m ready, I’m steady,” Mirable says, blinking her eyes furiously up at the colorful fireworks. “Bless me like you blessed us all those years ago. I’m ready.”

Except the candle doesn’t burn for her. Just like how it hadn’t burned when she was five at her own ceremony, seven when she begged for another try, or thirteen when Isabela’s harsh words sent her flying to her room with tears in her eyes.

So Mirabel slides down back onto the ground, sniffs, and heads back to Casita where the party is still going. It’ll continue on until late at night so maybe she can give Antonio a quick hug before trying to fall asleep in the Nursery.

She’s just stepped into the courtyard when she hears it-a sharp clatter, the sound of dry clay shattering. It's like a bullet sounding out in the quietness of the night. Mirabel frowns as she suspected the piece of clay which looks exactly like-

Like Casita’s roof tile-

But-Thats impossible! Casita has never had any dents in its walls, let alone cracks! So lost in thought, Mirabel’s grip on the tile slips and the jagged end of it leaves behind a stinging cut across her palm. Only then does she notice how the floor is trembling and when she tries to reach out it-

-it cracks-

-and from there the cracks grow. Jutting out sharply against the walls, shaking Abuelo Pedro’s portrait, and her family’s doors dim and glow as the cracks get closer and closer to the candle.

All Mirabel can do is watch numbly as the light from her sister’s doors dims. It's the most terrifying thing she’s ever seen. 

‘I need to tell Abuela,’ is Mirabel’s first thought and she quickly moves. ‘The magic is in danger, our home is cracking, I need to tell-’

Sharp, sharp pain blossoms on her head. It's so sudden and so painful that Mirabel finds herself collapsing, gasping in shock. Her head feels so incredibly heavy like one of Luisa’s weights. Something is slowly dripping down the back of her neck and sliding under her blouse.

She can hardly move. Her head keeps on bobbing down, seemingly weighed down by the pain. 

“Ma-” Her voice comes out raspy and shaking. “Ma-Please, I’m hurt-”

The ground beneath her is rippling like water and her vision is blurry like she doesn’t have her glasses on. ‘Stand up,’ Mirabel shouts at herself. ‘Stand up, you useless-’

And then there’s a blow at the back of her neck and the world goes dark. 

Casita burns.

One of it’s own is hurt because of them, bleeding out, staining the ground with her blood that keeps on flowing out. It had tried to move her but the magic that usually flows through it’s walls and every crevice falters. It's enough time for pieces of it’s roof to fall and hit Mirabel. Sweet, energetic Mirabel who can create art with thread and a needle, and can play any instrument as long as it's properly tuned. 

Casita swore to protect this family and refuses to have one of it’s youngest bleed out.

It is vaguely aware of the candle flickering and sputtering as it moves across the floor, shudders up the staircase, and bursts little Antonio’s door open. It needs to be quick.

Luisa is content.

So far, no one has asked her to move anything. She’s able to sit down on one of the large branches of Antonio’s new tree house, sip some jugo de mango, and chat with Dolores. It's a great party, with everyone dancing and laughing and singing while the food disappears quickly. In the center of it all is her little cousin, Antonio, who seems to glow under all of the praises. 

Yeah, Luisa is content.

But then it ends just as suddenly when Antonio’s door bursts open and swings about wildly. Luisa and Dolores are sitting closer to it so they can see the frantic way Casita is moving the door.

Luisa and Dolores share a worried glance. One would expect Casita to be as excited as the party-goers but it seems like that wasn’t the case. “I’ll go check it out,” Luisa says to Dolores, who pursues her lips and nods.

Luisa is just walking towards the door when she hears her name called. Holding back a groan, she turns around and straightens her back at the sight of Señor Sanchez, a well-known figure in the community. “How can I help?” Luisa asks, silently begging for someone else to swoop in and take the responsibility.

Señor Sanchez grins sheepishly up at her. “Ah, Luisa, I hate to ask for you to do something now, but could you move the food table somewhere else? A lot of people feel like dancing.”

‘The table isn’t even that heavy, you could just carry it yourself with some of the others,’ is what Luisa wants to say. Instead, she plasters on a grin and heads over to the long food table, shifting it so that more people can enjoy themselves. Then and only then does she head for Antonio’s door that is still frantically waving.

“What’s wrong with you?” Luisa asks, brow furrowed. She’s never seen Casita act this agitated. Her stomach twists as she descends the stairs in order to find the source of her house’s worry.

The brawny woman had just descended the stairs when she saw it. A dark pool of something and cracks of all things running across the floor of the Casita. Luisa gasped when she saw the cracks had reached even the walls on the second floor.

The ground is suddenly shifting her further when Luisa glances down.

She just stares. The world fades away, the music softens to a whisper, and something is crawling under her skin as she gazed down at the prone body of Mirabel that is surrounded by something dark.

She just stares and finally, finally opens her mouth to scream because she’s pretty sure her sister is dead.

Mirabel has always been smaller but right now she’s tiny, curled up on the floor with her eyelids shielding half of her eyes that look so, so empty. She had just been alive, walking Antonio to the candle and entering his new room. How could she be lying here, dead on the ground with her family only a floor away?

Luisa is falling, falling to the ground as she tries to hold her baby sister in her lap. God, she’s so cold. How could none of them hadn’t noticed? How could Luisa not notice? She’s the responsible one, the one her tio and tia trusted to hold all the kids and entertain and she failed.

“Mama!” Her voice sounds twisted and raw. “Mama! Help! Someone, please help!”

Miraculously, the universe answers her. Julieta is there, face pale and eyes wide. “Mirabel,” her mother is saying, brushing back her daughter’s curls. “Mirabel, carino, open your eyes. Please, open your eyes. Luisa, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Luisa is still holding Maribel who’s head just flops back and the sight of it makes her stomach churn. “I-I just saw her like this-Mama-”

Julieta is standing up, hands bloody (and that's her sister’s blood, mierda, mierda) and sprints towards the kitchen. It's only then Luisa notices how some of the people from the party are on the ground floor, gasping and whispering. 

Two people are kneeling besides Luisa. Her papa gives out a strangled gasp before turning around and yelling something, and Isabela is shrieking. She sounds wounded, as if she’s the one bleeding from the head. The shriek turns into a sob as Isabela cradles Mirabel’s head. 

“No, no, no,” Isabela is wailing, curled in on herself and white flowers start growing from her hair and falling to the ground. “Luisa, who did this? Who did this?!” More voices join in.

“Is that Mirabel?!”

“The blood!”

“Who did this?!”

‘I don’t know,’ Luisa wants to say. ‘I don’t know.’ Instead, all she can do is grab her older sister and let sob into her soldier. All she can do is cradle the broken body of her baby sister. 

Julieta returns, a bowl of soup in her hands that nearly spills all over Mirabel. “Mira,” she gasps out, spooning some of the soup and holding it up. “Mira, you have to eat this. Carino , please open your eyes.” 

But Mirabel’s eyes were empty. Usually, they were always shining with different emotions-wonder, happiness, anger. Mirabel was someone who felt everything so strongly and reacted even stronger. But tonight her eyes looked dead.

“Mirabel, please!” Luisa had never heard her papa sound like this, scared and angered at the same time. “Mirabel Madrigal, you stop scaring your family right now. Mira-”

“Mirabel, wake up.” Isabela is leaning over, begging. “Mirabel, I promise I’ll stop being mean. I’ll let you m-make me a new blouse and do m-my hair just please wake up!”

“Agustín, help me open her mouth,” Julieta began urgently. “And apply pressure to the wound, there might still be time.”

Someone has stepped forward. Abuela looks shaken, clutching her shawl in a death grip with one hand and placing a shaking one on Julieta’s shoulder. “Julieta,” Abuela begins, voice trembling and says the two words Luisa had been dreading. “She’s gone.”

“NO!” Julieta jerked away and lifted Mirabel gently from Luisa’s hold. “My hija is just hurt, she’s just hurt! I can help her, I’ve always-always-”

The great sob that had been lodged in Luisa’s throat, choking her, finally crept up at the sight of her mama holding Maribel. An ache was spreading from Luisa’s chest, making her tremble because this was her baby sister. The same sister she swore to look after and protect, and Luisa failed.

Abuela just falls to her knees and presses Mama’s face against her shoulder. “Oh, mi pobre querida,” Abuela says and the grief is too raw in her own voice. “ Mi pobre querida, lo siento. Lo siento.”

“I can help her, Mama, I can heal her.” And yet Julieta made no move except to cradle her youngest. The air is thick with grief and despair.

Luisa-She should be pulling herself up. Getting the townspeople away from Casita, helping her parents and Isabela, helping in any way she can. But all she can do is let her papa hug her and Isabela tightly.

Chapter Text

Dolores had never heard Luisa scream like that.

Oh, sure there had been screams of pain (or frustration but we won’t talk about that) that Luisa had let out over the past but not this. Not this terrible noise that raises the hair on Dolores’s arm.

And then Luisa is calling out for tia Julieta and Dolores can’t stay silent anymore.

(Man, the food is so good tonight! Julieta’s outdone herself.)

(Ay, Abuela!)

(Colombia, te quiero tanto!)

She finds her tia and tio on one of the floors and grips Julieta’s arm tight. “Tia,” Dolores says, forcing her usually soft voice to be extra loud over the music and chatter of everyone else. “Luisa’s hurt.” Yes, Luisa must be hurt. Why else would she be crying for her mama, the only person in the house who could heal anyone.

Tia Julieta’s eyes widened slightly before she turned fully to Dolores. “Take me to her,” she says in a firm voice that doesn’t hide the worry in her eyes. Tio Agustín straightens up, that same worry in his own eyes.

(Isabela is so lucky to have someone like Mariano after her!)

(That Antonio kids got a good gift but how will it help us out?)

(Antonio can finally explain to our livestock where to go and stuff)

(Where are they going?)

Dolores starts making her way to Antonio’s door-and it's a wonderful sight, she’s so proud of hermanito -and weaves through the party-goers. Behind her, she can hear Tia Julieta excusing herself from Señor Sanchez. “Ah, that's alright,” Dolores hears him say. “Just thank Luisa for helping out tonight!”

Dolores opens the doors and steps aside because Julieta is almost running out and down the stairs. Good because she’s pretty sure she can hear Luisa sobbing, great big sobs that steal her breath and are making her gasp. Dolores follows after her tia and is halfway down the stairs when she sees-

-she sees blood and there’s so much-

-and Tia Julieta is kneeling on the ground with Luisa, both of them staring down at something. 

Then Tia Julieta is saying “Mirabel” and the pieces finally click.

Luisa isn’t hurt, Mirabel is hurt. That blood (God, it's almost a pool of it) is Mirabel’s. Dolores wonders how long her prima had been bleeding out for it to get that big.

“Dolores?” She spun around to see Tio Agustín standing in Antonio’s doorway, eyes darting to the stairs and back at her. Behind him is Isabela who’s brow is furrowed in confusion. “Dolores, what's happened?”

(Careful, you almost spilled your drink on my new blouse!)

(Va llegando la madrugada!)

(Let’s hope this is Pepa’s last kid. Don’t you remember how much damage was done to our house whenever she gives birth?)

All she can croak out is “Mirabel’s hurt” and it's enough to send both Agustín and Isabel flying down the stairs. Noise is overlapping, piling higher and higher, and more and more on top of Dolores who is struggling to get the image of blood (Mirabel’s blood, sweet and energetic Mirabel’s blood) out of her mind.

(What’s that noise?)

(Hey, close the door a parties going on!)

(Dolores what's-

“-going on?” Abuela is asking. “Where did Isabela and your parents go?”

“Mirabel’s been hurt. She needs help,” Dolores says, trying to focus on Abuela’s voice only.

Abuela’s face goes from shock to concern to determination fast. She straightens her back and picks up her long skirt. “Go back to the party. I will go down.”

“Abuela, she needs extra help. Tia Julieta might-might be too late in saving her,” said Dolores and the words are bitter in her mouth.

Both Dolores and Abuela jump as a voice cuts through the air. “Señor Perez!” shouts Agustín, voice strident with fear. “Someone get Señor Perez! Hurry, my daughter is bleeding!” Isabela’s panicked and pained screams fill the air, and now people are coming from Antonio’s room lured by the sound of a Madrigal crying out for help. Abuela follows after them.

And Dolores? Dolores hurries back into Antonio’s room in search of comfort from her mama’s arms (don’t think about the blood, don’t think about the blood).

Her parents are standing in the middle of Antonio’s room, watching in confusion as people trickle out. “Hey, where’s the fire?” her papa calls out to the people walking out.

“Dolores, what's happening outside?” her mama asks.

(Luisa, who did this? Who did this?!)

(Is that Mirabel?!)

(The blood!)

(Who did this?!”

So much noise-

“Luisa saw Casita acting weird and went to go see and I heard her screaming and crying for Tia Julieta and found out Mirabel is hurt and it doesn’t sound good!” Dolores almost shouts the words out, so wound up she grasps tightly at her ears.

A growing cloud forms above her mama’s head as they register what she says. 

“Dolores, stay with your brothers. Do not let them outside,” her papa orders, quickly heading for the exit with her mama following behind. 

Dolores stands there, clasping her hands together and squeezes. She tightens her grip until it becomes painful but that's good because the pain ground her. Then, after taking a deep breath, heads over to where her brothers are standing.

“Hey, Dolores, what's going on?” Camilo asked when he spotted her. 

“Somethings happening outside but mama told us to clean up here.” The words came out so smoothly that it surprised Dolores. She was reminded of Abuela who would cover up any mishap the family would make with pretty lies; like icing covering the cracks in a cake.

Camilo narrowed his eyes. “So, you gonna’ tell us what's happening outside?”

Dolores just gave a small “hm” and walked over to pick up crumpled up napkins off of the food table. Unfortunately, when Camilo has set his sights on something he doesn’t go away.

“Doloressss,” he groaned out, walking over; Antonio trailed after. “Just tell us! Why do you gotta’ be so secretive?”

‘Because our prima is surrounded by a pool of blood and looked like she was dead, and Luisa was screaming. Because you’re too immature to handle something like this. Because I said so and decided to be.’

Instead, she busies herself with stacking chairs. 

(Oh, that poor girl.)

(My hija is just hurt, she’s just hurt!)

(Where is Perez?!)

(Mi pobre querida.)

Camilo huffs as he also begins to help. “It's probably not even that serious!”

Dolores just presses her lips together.

A tug on her skirt makes her glance down. "What is it, Antonio?" she asked her baby brother who looks uncharacteristically worried.

Antonio simply gestures to the toucan perched on his arm. His large eyes look very, very afraid. "Dolores, why is Pico saying Mirabel is hurt?"

Once, when Dolores was younger Tia Julieta had praised her for getting her chores done early. "Such a polite and quiet girl," she had said, slicing a large slice of roscon for her as a reward. It was that single memory that encouraged Dolores to always carry out every chore and order dutifully. She has never faltered ever since.

Except now.

Casita almost starts cracking all over. 

It had been too late. It should have been faster or more insistent. Now, Alma is comforting their daughter while Mirabel lies dead on the ground.

Casita had sworn to protect and serve these nenitos and failed. Hadn't it pushed toddlers away from dangerous rooms of the house like the kitchen to prevent cuts and burns? Hadn't it rocked the nenitos cradles carefully? Why wasn't it enough?

(Hadn't he faced death and tried to hold it off at that river? Surely that should have been enough.)

Casita wishes it could turn back time and hold on just a little bit longer. Maybe then it's roof wouldn't have cracked or even hurt Mirabel. But the family was fracturing, each and every one of them buckling under the pressure put on each one.

All Casita can do is hold on tightly to its foundation and fix each and every crack. All it can do is rumble soothingly as Julieta wails and Pepa's cloud becomes a thunderstorm and the blood of Mirabel Madrigal dries on it's floor.

In the kitchen, behind the mural, a man listens. He is hunched over and hugging his shaking shoulders as all he can do is listen.

Tears drip down the side of the man's face as he listens to his sisters scream and thunder. He-He hadn't even heard anything other than cracks forming in the walls of Casita, and Jorge and Hernando were busy patching those up. By the time they were done it had been too late.

"No." The word comes out strangled in a whisper, crumpled up and wet with grief. "No!" The next one comes out sharper with edges that threaten to cut everyone. Rats scatter as he yanks down a clothings line and shoves a battered red armchair to its side. The noise shudders the foundations of the house and a plume of smoke rise up from the spot.

"This isn't how it was suppose to go!" Bruno Madrigal screamed, hugging himself again. Oh, his poor sobrina who he tried to protect. His little sobrina who lived to tug on his ruana and grab at his nose when she was just a baby. He had fed that girl when she was little and twisted his hands into different shapes to create a shadow puppet show for her and the rest of the ninos.

"This isn't how it was suppose to go," Bruno repeats to empty air. Mirabel was suppose to be safe, protected from his mama's scorn with the vision gone. She should be dancing with her cousins during Antonio's party. Instead, she lay in the courtyard of Casita where her heart, so big for this world, had stopped beating.

Julieta screamed again; it was a wounded noise that seemed to stab Bruno through the chest. 

"I should've looked," Bruno gasped out, sliding down against a wall and grasping at his unruly hair. "I should've looked, I should've looked! Oh, Mirabel, forgive me. Forgive me for not doing enough. Mi querida sobrina."

He will look again. He will tear through vision after vision into the future and find a solution, an antidote to his family's pain. He will march up to the Lord himself and scream for a miracle.

Chapter Text

Once, Julieta had sobbed so loud it echoed around Casita when she was seven

Alma recalls that there had been a party held at Casita to celebrate Año Nuevo . She remembers laughing with people when she felt off. As if she was walking down the stairs and missed a step. Soon, she was searching every room to check on her children and discovered little Julieta bawling in the kitchen.

“I can’t find Bruno and-and Pepa!” Julieta had cried, sniffling. “They’ve been gone all night!”

(Alma had explained to her children weeks ago that year that their papa was never coming back. She wished she had explained it more gently but stress had made the words come out sharp. Once they were out, it was difficult to take them back. Alma never wondered how much it had hurt her children until that night.)

Alma had gathered a distraught Julieta into her lap and pressed her face into her shoulder, shushing and promising to find Bruno and Pepa. The townspeople murmured around her, and Alma had to stand and bark at them to find her other children. They were discovered in the woods surrounding the Encanto, searching for frogs to prank some of the children in town.

Alma had hated that moment. She could not fully comfort her daughter and still had to watch over the town. 

Just like now.

The air had gone cold as Pepa’s gift caused dark clouds to grow overhead. Rain slammed down onto Alma and soaked her dress. It seemed fitting, given the situation.

Alma too wanted to collapse and sob like Julieta was. She felt something inside of her give and drop at the sight of Mirabel with bloody hair. God, she looked too young and too small in death. Too young to be gone from this world. Mirabel was a girl who was always moving, always nosy. Running around with Camilo and the younger children in the town, tapping her foot at the dinner table, playing on a guacharaca or an accordion. To have her be so still seemed so wrong.

Alma does not collapse. She lifts her head and turns towards the townspeople.

“Someone get her out of the rain,” she said, voice horse. Her nieta would not stay in this rain in death. “Now!”

Several people stumble forward, hesitantly as if they don’t want to intrude on the Madrigal’s mourning. Alma places her hands on Julieta’s shoulder and watches as they gently lift Mirabel up.

“No!” Julieta cried out, lunging forward. Alma was prepared for this and tightened her hold on her daughter. “N-No! I can h-heal her! I’ve always been able to-”

“Where are you taking her?!” Isabela demanded, fury and grief thick in her voice. Vines bristling with thorns grow around her.

“They’re moving her out of the rain, Isabela,” Alma gently explained. Her heart shatters at the sight of Isabela’s and Luisa’s tears. She swore that none of her family would know what it's like to see the dead body of someone you love. Failure is too big of a word to describe how Alma feels. 

Isabela twitches and stares as people move her sister somewhere dry with Félix directing them. 

“Mama.” Julieta tugs on Alma’s shoulder; when she turns she nearly recoils at the pure pain in her daughter’s eyes. “Mama, bring her back. You know I can help her. Please, ask them to bring her back. My Mirabel can’t be-”

A choked gasp stops Julieta’s words and she seems to gag on the words. Alma just tucks her head under her chin and shushes her.

Because Alma understands. Understands the awful shock and pain that courses through you when you see the body, the begging to God for another chance and frantically searching for a cure or answer. Beating yourself black and blue because you weren’t fast or strong enough to save them.

Alma understands all too well. Some days, the portrait of Pedro is too difficult to look at because she always thinks how she should have dragged him away when those men slashed his body bloody. Every day she avoids looking at green because it reminds her of a son who vanished without a thought to how his family would react.

Alma understands and curses whoever did this to make her own daughter understand. 

Luisa is suddenly stumbling over, hunched over and pale. “Ma,” she said, kneeling in front of her mother. “Ma, don’t cry. This-This is my fault. If only I had gone here faster-If I had been better-” A sob rattles Luisa’s strong frame and she buries her face in her hands.

The sound of one of her daughters crying brings Julieta back to reality. She tears herself from Alma’s grasp and gathers Luisa into her arms, rocking her back and forth. “Do not blame yourself,” Julieta said. “Don’t you ever blame yourself. Shh, shh. No one is to blame.”

Alma draws back and lets Julieta and Agustín hug their daughters (they’re last remaining daughters) and spins around to suck in a shuddering breath that rattles her ribcage. A part of her wants to collapse on the steps and let grief sweep over her. But she can’t, not yet, she needs to make sure Mirabel is somewhere dry.

Félix has directed the group of people carrying Mirabel to her room. They’ve withdrawn and hover in the doorway, some of them with their heads bowed. When Alma approaches, they step aside and mutter condolences.

Inside, Félix is wrapping Mirabel’s head with gauze around her head to stop the bleeding. Alma thinks about the pool of blood downstairs and wonders how long Mirabel laid there, unable to call out for help when her family was only a floor away.

Félix is done wrapping but stands there, staring at his sobrina’s face. His shoulders are slumped and he sways slightly; a great palm tree in the wind. When Alma reaches him and places a hand on his back, Félix eyes are shiny with tears.

“Go,” Alma gently said. “Help the family. I’ll change her…into something warm.” Félix nods and trudges out of the room. It seems wrong to see the usual boisterous man act so despondent. 

Alma shuts the door and moves towards the closet where a nightgown lay folded at the bottom of it. She thinks about how after her and the refugees had first settled here, they had to change Pedro’s clothes because of how soaked they were. Alma can’t remember if it was from the blood, water, or both.

She had wanted to do it. The thought of anyone else touching her husband-her lover-made her want to scream and break something. But she was shaking too much and her children were still newborns; they needed to be cradled. 

Two women who were her neighbors sat between her and draped a thick blanket around her. The local doctor and his assistant bandaged Pedro’s wounds and dressed him in a worn shirt and pants. Alma wished she could give Pedro a proper burial with proper, handsome clothes and a bed of flowers to rest on. But she couldn’t and Alma hated herself for failing her husband after his sacrifice. 

‘You will not be laid to rest away from your home,’ Alma says, cupping Mirabel’s face (so cold and so young, she’s just a baby) and gently closing her eyes. ‘You will not be given a poor excuse of a grave. We will send you off properly and lovingly because you were the best of all of us.’

She wishes she could say it to Mirabel when she had been laughing and singing just hours before. But then it hits her that a million years ago, a young Mirabel had beamed up at her in her white dress just moments before her ceremony. She had a stunning smile, one that transformed her face and made even the most stoic people fight back a grin. Mirabel had gotten it from her father and always seemed to be beaming out at the world.

Now she will never smile again. The little girl Alma had sat on her lap and kissed her hair and held her as a baby; that girl who tripped over her own feet and made Alma a shawl from yarn was dead.

Alma laid her head on her nieta’s chest and wept.

Camilo knew something was up. He just wished that it was something fun like Mirabel setting off fireworks or someone tripping over a chair leg. Not hearing that one of his primas is hurt from a toucan. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell us that?” Camilo demanded from Dolores because this was Mirabel. Sure, they weren’t as close as they were as kids ever since Camilo got his gift but that was still his prima! Their prima! He even considered her an hermana because of how close they had grown. 

Dolores just stood there, gripping a chair tightly and threw a wide-eyed panicked look at the door. Camilo followed her gaze and saw that rain was rapidly falling. Clouds the color of dark smoke were forming and a harsh wind swept into Antonio’s room, dragging cold fingers down Camilo’s back. He shivered, tucking himself further under his ruana. 

Camilo could vaguely remember weather like this when he was five. It had been the following days after Bruno Madrigal left the family and his mama had been in disarray, frantically searching the Encanto while clouds blocked the sun. Rain seemed to constantly fall as days turned into weeks into months until finally, finally Mama was able to calm down.

It was Camilo’s job to make sure someone walked around with a smile on their face. It was also his job to calm down his mama not just for everyone else but for herself.

“Camilo!” Dolores called after him as he made his way to Antonio’s door. “Camilo, come back here! Papa said to clean up in here!”

“Mama needs me,” Camilo said, still marching to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Antonio quickly running up to his side to catch up. Camilo wondered if his brother’s new gift might help as well. Maybe petting one of the capybaras would help his mama calm down. He had seen it work with some of Abuela’s friends who would stroke the backs of their respective pets sometimes.

Outside of Antonio’s room, it was even worse. Icy sheets of rain were everywhere and Camilo found it difficult to walk. Thunder echoed against the walls of Casita and seemed to faintly roar in his ear.

“Antonio, go back inside,” Camilo shouted at his brother over the howling wind.

“But I want to help!” Antonio’s voice was barely heard over the storm.

“You’re gonna’ get hurt if you stay out here. Now get back inside!” Camilo watched as his younger brother shuffled back into his new room before glancing around to see what was causing his mama so much distress.

To his right, he saw the door to Mirabel’s room open. His papa stepped out, wincing as the storm hit him in the face. “Pa!” Camilo shouted at him, making his way over. “What happened?! Did someone spill something on Mama’s dress?”

As he drew closer, Camilo noticed how shaken his papa looked. Felix’s face was drawn down as if by a heavy weight and-and were those tears in his eyes?

“Pa?” Camilo quickly closed the distance between him and his papa, and touched his shoulder. “What's wrong? Is someone hurt? Is it Mirabel?”

For a brief moment, his papa just stared at Camilo with wide eyes. Camilo found he hated the look on his papa’s face which was usually filled with mischievous joy. Instead, all he found was shock and a deep sadness.

“Oh, mi hijo ,” his papa breathed out, suddenly reaching over and crushing Camilo in a hug; air was squeezed out of his lungs as the embrace tightened. “Yes, Mirabel has been hurt. Very, very badly.”

“But tia can help her,” Camilo said, leaning back a little. “Can’t be that bad.” Except it must be bad because he could hear the wind screaming around him-

Wait. No, it sounded like an actual scream. It was familiar, almost like-

“Pa, what happened?” Camilo asked, feeling a ball of discomfort grown in his stomach. A part of him wanted answers immediately but another part seemed nervous, as if whatever news he was going to receive would be worse than he could possibly imagine.

His papa opened his mouth to answer but froze, turning his head to Mirabel’s room as if he heard something. When Camilo cocked his head he heard the worrying sound of weeping. The kind that came after you spent all year holding something back.

Camilo suddenly twisted away from his papa’s hug and darted towards Mirabel’s room. He can hear his papa calling after him but all he was focused on was seeing his prima’s face, to assess how hurt she was, and get a big grin on her face like always-

And in her room, Abuela is hunched over Mirabel’s bed. Her shoulders are trembling. 

There’s a lip hand laying on the bed sheets. 

Camilo hears a roar grow that wasn’t from the storm his mama was causing. The screams seemed to be louder.

“Abuela?” His voice sounded too loud in this room which seemed to soak up any noise. “I-Is Mirabel okay?” ‘She has to be okay. She’s Mirabel. She gets hurt, eats some arepas, and runs around again. She can’t be hurt that badly.’

Abuela sits up with a wet gasp and turns around and her face creates a crack in Camilo’s heart. It looks so helplessly sad that he takes a step back and then freezes.

Mirabel looks like she’s asleep with a slightly open mouth and closed eyes. Except gauze wraps around her head, bunching up her curls and she isn’t moving.

Mirabel isn’t moving.

She moves a lot when she sleeps. Always ends up in odd positions like on her stomach or dangling off of her bed; Camilo remembers her foot in his hair once. To see Mirabel still means she’s either lost in thought or something is wrong.

“Camilo.” Abuela’s voice sounds so, so far away. “Please, leave.”

“What happened?” His own voice sounds too high-pitched, too loud. The ground feels uneven under his feet and that's why he’s stumbling as he moves forward, Casita is just playing tricks on him again.

“Camilo-”

“What happened to Mirabel? Why is she-she-” ‘So pale, drained of life. Why are you crying when you barely glance at her? Who did this?’

Abuela’s eyes were dark, dark like a cloudy night, dark like charred bits of wood from a fire. She stared at Camilo with those dark eyes while he stepped closer and closer to Mirabel’s bed who still isn’t moving.

He had just touched a finger to the palm of his prima  when Abuela spoke. “Camilo,” she said softly in the quiet room of the usually lively Mirabel. “She is no more.”

Those words seem to reviberate inside of Camilo’s head as he stilled. He ignores how those words explain why his papa and Abuela and mama are so upset and a storm is screaming outside. He ignores how something is crawling under his skin. He ignores how the tiles under his feet seem to be trembling.

“No.”

And everything goes quiet.

“She’s not dead.” Camilo was amazed that he was able to get the words out; a stone had lodged itself in the back of his throat and it made swallowing difficult. “She just needs some of Tia's arepas.”

“Camilo,” Abuela began, voice thick with tears. “I saw the blood and-and it's impossible for her to survive that-”

“She’s not dead.”

“You should go sit down-”

“I’m not leaving her!” Camilo almost shouted because he needed to be here when Mirabel wakes up to make her grin and laugh so hard she’ll snort like she always does. It's what he does whenever anyone in the family gets a serious injury. That's what this all was. A serious injury because there’s no way Mirabel is gone.

“Camilo.” His papa is suddenly there, placing a hand on his shoulder. His voice sounds all wrong, wobbly and deeper than before. “Please, leave your abuela be. Let’s go find your ma-”

“No!” Now his voice sounded weird, wavering around the edges like it was about to crumble. It can’t crumble, not until Mirabel wakes up. “I need to stay for her. To make her smile!”

Camilo is vaguely aware of Abuela saying something because suddenly he’s being wrapped up in his papa’s arms again and dragged away from Mirabel’s bed. He tries to twist and throw himself away from the embrace but the arms around him don’t budge. Someone is shouting and it takes a second for Camilo to realize it's him.

‘That won’t do, he needs to be happy, he needs Mirabel to be happy and alive and moving-’

“Let me go!” Camilo and his papa are outside now, rain swirling around them. “Let me go! I need to be there for Mirabel when she wakes up!” Every shout feels like it scrapes his throat roughly and the stone in his throat makes it painful to swallow. Everything is shaking and tumbling and he’s so, so confused. 

His vision must be getting blurry from the rain because the figure of his sister is a smudge of yellow and red. “Dolores!” Camilo cried out. “You heard her, right? Mirabel can’t be hurt that badly!”

Dolores said nothing. Instead she quickly walked over and wrapped her arms around Camilo too, tucking his head under her chin. “Abuela’s right,” she said and Camilo accepted the fact that it wasn’t rain making his vision blurry but tears.

The stone gave away and Camilo is gasping, trying to stop the tears that are rolling down his face. “Mirabel-” he gasped, letting his papa and sister hug him. “Nuestra hermana-”

“I’m sorry, hijo ,” his papa said and Camilo joined in on the screaming wind.

Antonio didn’t know whether he was confused or frustrated. Maybe both.

Abuela had asked if his gift could help the community which had made his head turn, someone stepped on his shoe, everyone was gone, mama had created a storm, and Dolores and Camilo had left him alone as well. 

Oh, and apparently Mirabel was hurt.

Antonio huffed, sitting down on a tree branch-which was a part of his amazing and awesome treehouse-and turned back to Pico. “Are you sure you don’t know anything else?” he asked the toucan.

“Nope, sorry!” Pico said, flapping his wings a bit. “Just saw the one with glasses fall and suddenly everyone is feeling down.”

“A shame, really,” Antonio heard one of the birds mutter.

He sighed. “Thank you, though,” Antonio said because his mama always told him to thank anyone who helped him. He turned back to his cup of dulce de leche. Antonio had wanted to venture outside to check on his mama; the weather outside sounded awful.

But Pico was heavily against it. “It's safer to stay in here,” the toucan had said earlier, dripping wet from what must be rain. So Antonio had done his best to clean up with the help of a couple of people from town who also had to leave. He didn’t get bored easily because his room was like another world, one with tons of trees to climb and rivers to play in and a whole bunch of new friends!

His gift reminded him of Dolores’s (she never answered his question about Mirabel, which was rude) with how many voices were talking at the same time. They came all at once and it kinda’ made Antonio overwhelmed but it was nice to listen to.

He wished Mirabel were here so that he could talk to her about his gift and thank her for the stuffed cheetah she had given him. He named him Hernando!

The sound of his door opening caused Antonio to glance over. His papa stood in the doorway, glancing around. “Papa!” Antonio called out, quickly making his way over. “Is everything alright? I heard from Pico that Mirabel was hurt and then Camilo and Dolores left. Is the party over? Oh, I tried to clean up the best that I could.”

For a moment, his papa stared at him and Antonio knew something was wrong. Usually, his papa would be smiling and messing with his hair but right now he wasn’t. He seemed sad which worried Antonio. Maybe a cup of dulce de leche would help?

Finally, his papa spoke. “Let's get you to bed, Antonio,” he said, bending down to pick him up. “Which way is your bed?”

Antonio knows he should ask what's wrong because that's what he always saw Mirabel doing-asking for help and if everyone’s day was okay. Instead, he pointed to the huge hammock in the middle of the tree. His papa climbed all the way, tucked him in, and gave him the biggest hug Antonio could remember.

“ Buenas noches, mi nino ,” his papa said, giving him a kiss on the forehead and another tight hug. “I love you forever.”

“ Buenas noches , Papa,” Antonio said, suddenly sleepy. “ ‘Love you, too.” Then, a thought struck him. “Wait, I need to say buenas noches to the rest of the family.” Especially Dolores and Camilo and Mirabel.

His papa just smoothed his hair back. “You can forget about that tonight, okay? You must be exhausted. I know I am.” His papa’s voice did sound tired and with that, Antonio went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Agustín did not sleep.

He had been dragged to his bedroom by Félix who had also dragged his wife and daughters into the room as well. He did not change into his nightclothes nor did he remove his glasses. He just gathered his wife and daughters into his arms and let them cry. Tears came easily for Agustín as a hole in his chest widened with each passing second.

Some time during the night, all five four of them curled up into the bed and drifted in and out of sleep. Twice Julieta woke up screaming for Mirabel; Luisa silently cried in her sleep, the pillow underneath her damp. Agustín doubted that Isabela slept at all.

Eventually, Agustínn sat up carefully so that Julieta or his daughters were not disturbed. He feels his bones creak as if they’re straining against the weight of what happened last night. Outside, dawn is shyly creeping forward and everything has been dipped into a light shade of baby blue. Stepping out of the bedroom is more difficult than it should be but somehow he manages to make his way over to the stairs. Only there does Agustín stop because he’s remembering.

Every time Agustín blinks, pictures of last night flash under his eyelids. Dolores’s anxious face. Luisa hunched over on the floor. Augustin’s heart dropping at the sight of Mirabel’s limp body with her usual bright face terrifyingly blank. Him shouting for someone to come, shouting at Mirabel to stop scaring us, please get up, please let me hug you and kiss you one more time, take me instead, mi rayito de sol-

“Papa?”

Agustín blinks. He finds himself standing at the top of the stairs, Isabela placing a hand on his shoulder. His hijas face looks older than it should be; puffy eyes and frazzled hair replaces her otherwise immaculate looks.

“Are you okay, florecer?” Agustín asks, brushing a strand of Isabela’s hair behind her ear. The flower that was usually there was gone, probably fallen after what had happened.

Isabela shook her head, leaning against Agustín and tucked her head under his chin. Automatically, Agustín wrapped his arms around her and ignored the stinging in his eyes when he remembered his hija used to be so small once upon a day. Then one day she blossomed like the flowers she grew. Now she’s much too big for piggyback rides or hugs from her old papa.

His girls were growing up and now one of them was-

“Pa!” Isabela suddenly cried out. “You’re crying!”

Agustín blinked, reaching up to touch his now damp face. “Yeah…” he said, trying to swallow against the tightness in his chest. “I-I think I should sit down. Here, let's sit…”

Both him and Isabela sat down at the top of the stairs, shoulders pressed together. Agustín closed his eyes, and tried to push down the urge to wail and break and demand for Mirabel back. He needed to be strong for the girls he has in his life, his esposa and princesas. Tried to focus on the warmth of Isabela who’s alive.

But she’s not fine. Agustin opens his eyes when he hears the sound of weeping with harsh gasps of air. He turned his head and felt his heart break because Isabela looked horrified, hands pressed against her face to muffle her cries and eyes wide open in shock. 

Instincts made Agustin turn towards his daughter. “ Florecer, what's wrong?” he asked, rubbing a hand up and down Isabela’s back.

“I-I-I-“ Isabela had to stop, taking in a shaky breath that seemed to rattle her frame. “I was awful to M-Mirabel!”

“No!” The word came out louder than it should have from Agustín. “No, you weren’t, Isabela. You loved her-“

“I was so mean to her, Pa!” Isabela cried out, a sob building up in her voice. “I called her annoying, I made fun of her glasses, I told her she was in the way all the time. I-I’m a terrible sister. When was the last time I said “love you” or-or hugged her?! Or even asked how her day was? Now I can’t because she’s-she’s-“ Isabela choked on her own words and let out a wounded sound as if she had been stabbed, burying her face in her hands. 

Agustín stared as his eldest daughter sobbed and shook, trying not to join in. He suddenly felt furious. Furious at the world for taking away his Mirabel (who was his beautiful mi rayito de sol), furious at the fact that his baby daughter had died so young, furious that such pain had struck down his family. But most of all he was furious that he found wanted to cave into the howling animal in his chest that demanded to be let out, to sob like his eldest daughter.

But Agustín doesn’t let it out. He locks it’s pen and pulls Isabela into a tight hug, tucking her head under his chin.

“If you were an awful sister,” Agustin whispered. “Then you wouldn’t be crying over something like this.”

Isabela’s shaking ceased.

“If you were an awful sister,” Agustín continued, voice as soft as a dove’s feather. “You wouldn’t go all out for her birthdays or ask for her to fix your dresses or make sure she isn’t hurt or throw poison ivy at anyone who was mean to her.” Isabela had been one of Mirabel’s biggest protectors when she was little, always squashing even the tiniest rumor anyone made. “You guys have-had some differences and made mistakes but you love-loved each other fiercely. And you know what? She felt the same way. Mira would tell me how much of a perfect princessa you are but she’d never let anyone call you that. Ever.”

Agustín had remembered when thirteen-year old Mirabel had stomped home, her skirt messy and her face bruised. “Someone made fun of Isabela and Luisa!” she had explained to him and Julieta. “So I beat them up!” Agustín couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his sweet, bubbling daughter could give two boys a head taller than her black eyes and bruised ribs. But she did and for years people said nothing but praises for her older hermanas. 

Isabela had stopped shaking but her cries had not.

“I want her back, Pa,” she whispered hoarsely, fist gripping Agustín’s vest tightly. “I want mi hermana pequeña back. It hurts so much.”

“I know,” is all Agustín could say as he too began to cry. “I know.”

Antonio wakes up wondering why Mirabel hadn’t woken him up like how she usually would every morning like she usually would. Maybe she allowed him to sleep in because of the party which had been long.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Antonio changed into his clothes. He was ready to start the day helping the Encanto. Whatever Abuela needs Antonio will help just like how his mama and tia and Camilo and Dolores his primas help! If he doesn’t, then everyone will be disappointed.

“New day, new you!” Pico exclaimed as he perched onto Antonio’s shoulder. Antonio grinned before stepping outside with a whole group of animals trailing behind him. 

He was halfway down the stares when he stopped and listened. Usually, the house would already be filled with noise. The sound of Tia Julieta cooking breakfast, the thuds of prima Luisa working out, Camilo’s laughter. Today, the morning was quiet. Too quiet.

Antonio bit his lip anxiously before turning to Pico. “It shouldn’t be this quiet,” he said to the toucan.

Pico clicked his beak in thought. “You’re right. Let’s go find that dancing girl and ask her what's wrong.” Some of the animals that had been following them chimed in and agreed.

Antonio couldn’t help but laugh. “That's my prima Mirabel! She’s the best. Maybe she slept in too.” With that, Antonio climbed back upstairs and went to knock on the door of his new room-of the nursery. He was officially officially a Madrigal with his own door. No old rooms for this boy!

Antonio had hoped that Mirabel would open the door, grinning and giving him a kiss on the forehead. Instead, his knock echoed with how quiet the morning was. No one had moved yet. 

“Maybe she’s still sleeping,” one of the capybaras said.

“Or went for a walk! A lot of you humans do that,” another said.

“Mirabel only goes on walks when it's late,” Antonio said, feeling nervous. Why wasn’t his prima not answering the door? “Casita? Is Mirabel inside?”

The door creaked open slowly and when Antonio peeked inside he saw that the room looked the same as it was yesterday. Same beds in their previous positions, same art supplies and old toys scattered around. The only thing missing was Mirabel.

“Look!” Pico cried out, pushing himself into the room with a quick flap from his wings. “Something shiny!” He grabbed the object with his beak and when he flew back Antonio could see it was Mirabel’s glasses.

Now, that was odd. All his life, these glasses have only left Mirabel’s face for sleep. She rarely forgot them and would spend a lot of time cleaning them too. “Maybe she forgot them. I’ll find her and give it to her,” Antonio said and quickly began the journey to the kitchen. Yes, he will go down and give Mirabel her glasses and she’ll thank him and call him cool, and then he’ll say thank you for the stuffed jaguara before giving her a good morning hug! Or it could be a “sorry-for-not-saying- buenos-nochas ” hug. 

Downstairs, Antonio could see that people were awake. His parents and Abuela were at the front door, talking to someone. As he got closer to them, Antonio could hear a bit of what they were saying.

“What day would you like-?”

“Buenos días, Mamá!” Antonio greeted, giving her a quick hug. “Buenos días, Papá, Abuela! Have you seen Mirabel? She forgot her glasses.”

Something weird happened when Antonio held up the green glasses. Abuela saw them and gasped, looking so so sad. His papa stared at the glasses with wide eyes before turning around and putting a hand over his eyes like he would do when his head hurts. His mama burst into tears, turning away and running up the stairs with a growing rain cloud following her.

Antonio stared at all of them, stomach twisted into knots. “What-Whats wrong?” he asked hesitantly, a part of him worried that he would get yelled at if he said the wrong thing.

“N-Nothing, Antonio,” his papa said, kneeling down and giving him a smile. Only this time the smile was smaller than his usual ones. “Why don’t you go back upstairs?”

“I’ll take him upstairs,” Abuela suddenly said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. “You keep talking to the arrangers, Félix.”

“Alma, are you-”

“He’ll have to find out soon enough.” Abuela’s voice had gone all hard and a little mean, and Antonio couldn’t help but shrink a little. 

“Yes, because he’s too young. Let me come with you.” Antonio’s papa turned to the man he was speaking to. “We’ll talk later.” When the man was gone and the door was closed, his papa turned back. There was no smile on his face and Antonio hoped that whatever he was going to find out won’t be bad.

There’s nothing more that Félix wants to do than collapse into bed and mourn for his little sobrina. Instead, Alma and him guide Antonio back to his room to explain what had happened last night.

God, last night was Antonio’s birthday and all that had happened-Mirabel had happened-

‘No. Be strong for Antonio. Be strong.’

“Antonio,” Alma began, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder after they had sat down on a sofa in Antonio’s room. Always blunt and straight to the point, she spoke with a gentleness she reserved for children when they were upset. “Mirabel…is gone.”

“She went on a trip?” Antonio asked and Félix wanted to laugh. Oh, to be a child again and not understand that the worst thing had just happened.

“No, no, Tonito,” Félx said, scooching closer to his son. “See, in life people get old. They get older and older until one day their time here is over. Or something happens that takes them away from us. And they move on. They-They don’t come back.”

“I-I don’t get it.” Antonio’s brow was furrowed the way Pepa’s would get when she came across something that was out of her element. Félix wanted to smooth it out and place a kiss between the spaces of his son’s eyebrows.

“Do you know your Abuela Pedro?” Alma suddenly said. Félix’s head shot up to stare at her in astonishment.

Alma rarely talked about her late husband. Once in a blue moon did she talk about how he had helped them find their Encanto or tell a small but sweet story. When Félix came back from his honeymoon with Pepa, Alma had told him how her husband had fainted when he realized he was going to have triplets. “Hopefully, you don’t do the same thing,” Alma had joked, a twinkle in her eyes; they still held a deep sadness in them even after all these years.

Antonio slowly nodded at his Abuela’s question, still looking confused. Alma sucked in a deep breath and Felíx found himself copying her. “Well, when my Pedro and I had to leave our home, something happened to him. Something bad that took him away from us. He…never came back. That same thing happened to Mirabel.”

Now, it was hitting Antonio. “Mirabel…isn’t coming back?,” he said softly, eyes slowly going wide with realization. “But-But she can’t be gone. Papa,” Antonio continued, twisting around to face Félix. “Mira can't be gone!”

Félix almost cried right there. No child should have such a heartbroken face like that. No child should hear such things. “Antonio-”

“I need to tell her thank you,” Antonio explained, his voice getting higher and higher with every passing word. “Because she walked me to my door yesterday and show her my room and gift and hug her and-and she was just there last night-”

“I know, Antonio-”

“Papa, you have to bring her back! You have to! I-I want Mirabel!”

“She can’t come back, Tonito,” Alma said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Antonio fell silent, looking frantically at Félix and Alma as if waiting for them to say it was all a big joke. When no one started laughing, he blinked once before bursting into tears.

Félix reacted instantly, scooping his son up into his lap and telling him lies like how it was going to be okay. Antonio was in a full blown meltdown, his tiny body shaking with sobs. It was the most distraught Félix had ever seen him.

“I-I will leave you both,” Alma said softly, slowly rising from the sofa.

‘Comfort your grandson! ’ Felíx wanted to shout at her. Why was it anytime someone in the family was going through something Alma tried to leave with some half baked excuse? Felíx was tempted to sit her down and force her to help calm Antonio down. But the look on the older woman’s face said that if someone pushed her she'd crumble as well.

So Félix, who felt as if his golden world was ripped away from him, sat with his youngest son for hours.

“Please bring Mira back, Papa,” Antonio sobbed and Félix’s heart shattered.

“I’m sorry, Tonito,” was all he could say.

In a numb haze, Alma wakes up late, speaks about embalming Mirabel, listens to the suggested dates to hold the funeral, tells her youngest grandson about the death, and freezes in the courtyard.

Here, it has happened. Here, Mirabel had died. Casita had cleaned away the blood but if Alma closes her eyes she can still see it and the body-

Knocking rips her away from her thoughts. Alma almost turns back and walks away. She wants to find Julieta and Pepa, and hold them tight. Instead, Alma squares her shoulders and walks towards the door.

Rosa Guzmán was behind the door, holding two baskets in her hands. A black shawl longer than Alma’s is draped over her shoulders.

“Señora,” Alma greeted, forcing a smile to her face. It didn’t feel right. “What brings you here?”

“Alma,” Rosa said, smiling gently. “I hate to come to you during this time but I thought your family needed some breakfast. I-I can’t imagine what Julieta is going through but I imagine she’s suffering. That your whole family is suffering.”

All Alma could do was blink and try to push down the raging mess of emotions inside of her that threatened to spill out. She wanted to rage at Rosa’s smile. She wanted to collapse in the other woman’s arms. She wanted to run away from this pain that seemed to drain her soul because one of her nietas was gone.

But Alma doesn’t. Alma takes the baskets from Rosa’s hands, sets them down, and then takes the other woman’s hands into hers. They were much warmer and Alma imagined Rosa rising early to cook this food for her family. “Gracias,” she said and squeezed Rosa’s hand. “Muchas gracias.” She hoped those two words were enough to convey her gratitude to this woman she’s known for so long.

Rosa patted her hands. “Oh, it's nothing. You and your family have helped us for so long. It's time we return the favor. If you need anything, send someone over. We’ll come.”

A part of Alma wanted to straighten her back and politely but firmly refuse such an offer. She is a Madrigal, the sole keeper of the candle. The one who led Encanto to prosperity in her darkest moments. It is her who should be offering her assistance, not the other way around.

But another part-the part of her that is still that terrified woman who witnessed the town she grew up in burn to the ground-almost tears up at Rosa’s words.

“Por supuesto, Señora,” Alma said. “Again, muchas gracias for the food. I’ll make sure my family eats. Now, I need to-” The words lodged in Alma’s throat, cold and uncomfortable and painful. “I-I need to prepare a funeral.”

It takes hours for Camilo to fall asleep.

In those hours, he sobs and rages and shouts. He punches Dolores's pillows and kicks the small table in her room. He keeps searching for the punchline of a cruel joke. Dolores just watches him and when her hermano eventually stops, hugs him tight. They both cry for their prima and when their parents come, cry a little more as they all hug each other. Dolores's mama's hugs are tight as if she's afraid one of them might slip and fall away from the family.

They eventually leave to comfort Tia Julieta and Tio Agustín. God, the scream tia had let out had been so painful that Dolores's ears still rung. Once, she had read a passage from a book that stated "resonarán los grits de una madre cuyo hijo ya no está" and finally she understands it. She wishes she didn't.

Dolores slips out of the bed where she and Camilo slept. Making sure to tuck the maroon blankets around her hermano, Dolores quickly slipped out of her room. Outside, noises began to reach her ears. Crying, soft voices, the drop-drop-drop of a faucet in Casita. She held her breath and walked over to a painting. Behind it was a hole that lead to Tio Bruno.

The thought had come to Dolores just as she was about to fall asleep. It had kept her up for a good hour, running around her mind like a starving dog searching for food. Dolores had sucked in a breath and held it, so sure that her thoughts would wake up Camilo and the rest of the family. Now, she slipped behind a painting to voice those thoughts.

Dolores barely remembered the journey to Tio Bruno's room. Muscle memory nudged her to the right places to place her foot. She would come here every Monday, a small basket filled with fresh clothes and food for her tio. Those visits became shorter and shorter as Dolores became more busy with her chores. 

When she reaches the room, surprise registers in the numb state she's in. The big red chair was on its side, clothes from the line lay defeated on the ground, and the small pile of theater stages had been reduced to a smashed mess. At the small wooden table attached to the wall, a man sat hunched over with his hands buried into messy dark hair.

"Can't do it in here, could always sneak out when they're asleep-"

"Tio," Dolores whispered. Bruno jumped with a yell, spinning around with a hand clenched over his chest.

"Dolores?!" he whispered loudly, automatically lowering his voice like he would always do for her. "What-Why-?"

"Did you know?" Those words were like how Dolores felt; frigid and seconds away from breaking. 

'Did you know she'd die? Did you see her fall? '

"A-About what happened? No!" Bruno stood, walking over to Dolores. "There were no visions, no warnings, nothing! I should've looked, Dolores, but I didn't and now-" He sucked in a deep breath, gazing down at her with wide, sorrowful eyes. "Oh, sobrina, I'm so sorry."

Bruno had this ability to understand what people have registered. Dolores suddenly hated how he knew that she had been the one to hear Luisa scream, that she had been the one to hear her tia and tio begging for Mirabel to wake up, that she had been the one to listen to sobbing and cries of grief. She felt too exposed here and suddenly was overcome with the desire to flee.

Except her tio is hugging her and rubbing a hand up and down her back and Dolores is suddenly crying. She hugs her tio back and cries because Mirabel is gone. There's no heartbeat, there's no accordion playing at anyone's birthday, there's no sound of the sewing machine purring to life. Mirabel had been bright, spinning here and there while leaving behind a trail of sound.

"I c-can't hear her," Dolores says as she feels something gnaw at her heart. "I want to h-hear her."

"I do, too," Tio Bruno whispered and when Dolores looked up saw that he was crying freely as well. He guided her to a chair and sat her down, still rubbing her back. Dolores felt what little energy she had left drain away, washed away with her tears.

"What are we going to do now?" Dolores asked. How do you move on when the person you loved, someone who had been a constant in your life, dies?

Dolores did not expect an answer. She hears her tio's heartbeat switch from rapidly beating to a steady beat. When she glanced over, she saw a grim but determined look.

"We make sure this doesn't happen again," Bruno answers. 

Chapter Text

Everything isn’t real

The sheets under her aren’t real. The colors on the walls aren’t as vibrant and therefore they are not real. Even Julieta herself isn’t real. She is a leaf in the howling wind, drifting along without even registering she’s drifting.

But at the same time she can feel everything. The smooth texture of the blanket. Someone’s hand in her hair, brushing it back. The dryness of her mouth.

It's morning. Light pushes past the curtains and Julieta wonders why Mirabel has not waken her up-

Mirabel.

Her hija. Bleeding. Terrifying empty eyes.

“Mirabel!”

What is Julieta doing, laying around why her hija is in pain? She needs to make a quick broth and bundle her baby up and kiss her better-

“Julieta! Julieta! She’s gone. Mirabel’s gone.”

Pepa. Her bright sunflower of a sister is in front of her, face pinched in worry. The space between her eyebrows is all wrinkled up and Julieta automatically attempts to smooth it out with her thumb. Only then does she realize that she’s in her bed with her sister and her daughter is-

“Gone.” The words fall too flat, too stale. Julieta wants to grab it back and lay it down on a bed of spices to make it come out better because it needs to be better.

The wrinkle between Pepa’s brows deepens. “Yes, she’s gone,” she whispered and pressed her head against Julieta’s shoulders. “Juli, today's funeral. Recuerdas?”

Oh.

“Cierto, recuerdo,” Julieta said, attempting to sit up and brush her hair out of her eyes. “You’re-You’re already ready?” Pepa had replaced her usual bright yellow dress with a modest black one. The sunflower earrings were gone and small pearl ones replaced them. 

Pepa bit her lip and nodded. “Yes. Mama told me to come help you.”

‘Mama can shut the fuck up because why should I parade myself infront of everyone and say goodbye to my baby. I don’t want to go. Don’t make me go. Why did they take her away?’

Years of experience has taught Julieta one thing: some things can be said in a more gentle version while others should not be said. She learned this as she watched her Mama deal with people who gossip, observing that her siblings were scolded for having loose tongues. Julieta was the oldest and had to set an example, so of course she didn’t say such things to Pepa. 

Instead, she lets her sister help her change into clothes for her youngest niña’s funeral.

“Pepa,” Julieta said suddenly, thinking of her other daughters. “Are Isabela and Luisa ready as well?”

“I’m not sure,” Pepa replied, tying Julieta’s hair up in a bun. “I think Agustín went to go and help Luisa calm down. Mama and Félix are ready, and Dolores and Camilo are getting ready too.”

Julieta suddenly stood, ignoring her sister crying out in surprise. Shame washed over her. What kind of mother was she, wallowing in her own grief while her children were suffering? Julieta had dealt with this once-her papa's absence stung and Bruno leaving had hurt so much-but her daughters were still young.

“I’m going to find my daughters,” she said to Pepa who still looked concerned. Julieta slowly exited the room, blinking rapidly at the light from outside. When was the last time she left her room? How much time has passed since she’s lost her Mirabel?

Julieta quickly set her sights on Isabela’s door. Agustín was probably already comforting Luisa. Strong as she was, their second oldest was still emotional and needed extra help when it came to emotions. 

Before she knew it, Isabela’s door was right in front of her. Julieta gently knocked and couldn’t help but notice how dim the carvings in the wood looked. Perhaps even Casita was in mourning; Mirabel had been the one that interacted with it more. 

After waiting two minutes for Isabela to respond, Julieta let herself in. “Isa? Amor, it’s me.” Her voice seemed to echo in the room that looked-

Well, a mess. The once vibrant flowers that decorated the food and walls of Isabela’s room had shriveled up. Clusters of cypress and harebell were seen here and there, and even they were in a state of dying. Their heads dropped down like the heads of scolded children and dried petals crunched under Julieta’s shoes. Vines had sprouted and curled against the walls, like arms reaching out for something to grab on. It was a room of erosion.

Julieta stepped further into the room until she came to where Isabela’s bed should be and looked up. A pile of dead flowers caught her eye before they returned gazing upwards. Her daughter’s bed was at a dizzying height and she could see the end of her dark hair draped over the edge.

“Isabela, come down. We need to get ready,” Julieta called up, blinking back tears as she was reminded of why they were getting ready.

For a moment, the bed did not move. Then, it slowly began to lower and as it drew closer to the ground, Isabela sat up. Her lavender dress is rumpled and there are dark shadows under her eyes. She looks so young that Julieta quickly walks over and hugs her tightly.

Her daughter’s arms wrap themselves around her and Julieta breaths properly for the first time since she saw Mirabel on the floor of Casita. Here, in her arms was her child that had not yet been ripped away.

“We need to get ready, Bela,” Julieta whispered even though she was dreading what was to come.

Isabela shuddered as if she too was afraid. “Can you help me?” she asked, voice tiny and Julieta’s heart broke. This is her first daughter, her baby, who grew up too fast just like her mother. All Julieta ever wanted was to love, guide, and protect them and she failed.

But here is an opportunity. So she says yes, pulls out the long black dress from Isabela’s closet, and dresses her daughter. It reminds of her brighter days where she and Isabela played dress-up. Gradually, the dresses became too small for Isabela and Julieta watched as her eldest daughter received dresses from the boutique.

In a small box in the corner of a closet sat a pile of blouses, skirts, and handmade jewelry in different shades of purple and the occasional blue. Mirabel had made them for Isabela, whether it was her birthday or to simply give to her. 

Julieta hesitated before tucking away Isabela’s lavender dress and picking up a hair pin with a fake flower. It was similar to the one Agustín had.

Julieta walked back over to her daughter who had just finished brushing her hair. “Here,” she says as she tucks it behind Isabela’s left ear.  A memory suddenly floated to the top of her mind. “Can’t be Isabela-

“-Without at least one flower,” Isabela finished and a small smile pushed its way onto her face before it fades away. Mirabel would say that teasingly anytime she found rose petals on the ground.

Julieta swallowed before grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go,” she said and they walked to the door.

Loud voices echoed in the quiet of the room. Julieta and Isabel followed them until they came to Pepa’s room where the door was open. Inside was Félix in a black suit and Antonio still in his pajamas. He was clutching a stuffed jaguar toy to his chest and was shaking his head furiously.

“No!”

“Antonio, you have to-“

“No! I don’t want to!“

“Please, listen. It’s just for today.”

“I don’t want to! I feel sick!”

“Antonio.” Félix sounded exhausted and almost pleading as he held out a pair of black dress pants to his son. “We need to say goodbye to Mirabel-“

“I DON’T WANT TO SEE HER!” Antonio screamed, a strident sound that made Julieta jump; she had never heard him sound like that. “Mirabel lied to me! She said she would be there for me and she lied! I-I hate her!” He threw his toy across the room where it bounced off of the wall.

“Fine!” Félix shouted as he threw the clothes onto the bed. “Fine! Stay in here!” He marched out of the room and nearly ran over Julieta and Isabela. All three of them froze as they stared at one another. Julieta couldn’t help but notice how red and puffy Félix's eyes were.

The short man shifted before coughing into his fist. “Buenos Dias , you too,” he muttered. “How-How are you guys doing?”

How the fuck do you think we’re doing?

Julieta shrugged as best as she could. Pressed her lips together so that no one knew that she wanted to collapse into her bed and burrow deep into the earth; eventually her daughter will be placed in there and Julieta will crawl forward to hug her for eternity as the earth closes around them.

Félix sighed heavily as the sound of crying filled the air. “I’ll go back to Antonio. I-I shouldn’t have yelled.” He lingered for a moment as if wanting to say more before disappearing back into his and Pepa’s room.

“Mama? Isa?” The sound of Luisa’s voice caused both of them to turn. Agustín and Luisa made their way towards them. They were also dressed in black-him in a suit, her in a simply long dress-and Julieta knew that Mirabel would have thrown a fit. She would have insisted that someone add a splash of color on the hem of every women’s dresses and snuck in shiny buttons for the men. She hated had hated how dull clothes were. That's why her skirt was colorful in shades of teal, baby blue, sunset orange-

-(red, red, blood red)-

-and Julieta shuts that thought quickly before it becomes something dangerous. 

Instead, she walks over to AgustÍn and accepts the warm kiss and hug. Then, she hugs Luisa tightly just to make sure she doesn’t slip away and fall. Strong arms (when did her baby get so big?) gently hold her and when they step back Luisa’s puffy eyes are already welling up with tears. 

She cups Luisa’s face. “It's going to be okay,” she lies in a soft whisper because Julieta will be damned if she isn’t there for her daughters.

Like how you weren’t there for Mirabel.

The four of them stood there at the top of the stairs and a hush fell upon the family. It felt like yesterday when everyone had followed Luisa’s screams to their worst nightmare. If Julieta closed her eyes, she could pretend that the booms of thunder was Mirabel knocking on everyone's door and slamming down chairs at the table. Her chica preciosa , with her determination and fierce love…

A familiar hand slips into hers. “We have to go down,” Agustín whispered and it's only because of him and their daughters that she manages to walk down the stairs.

The rest of the family is waiting for them. Mama steps forward and she wraps a familiar black shawl around Julieta’s shoulders. Right. She was a mother in mourning now. Like mother, like daughter. Will she be just like her mama, pulling this shawl around her shoulders as a soft and harsh reminder?

Dolores had ditched her usual red bow, Julieta couldn’t help but notice. 

Two more members joined them. Félix carries Antonio, both of them dressed in dark suits. Julieta notices something shiny in the younger boy's hand and with a jolt realizes that it was Mirabel’s green glasses. 

Antonio lifted his head up to gaze at the rest of them, youthful face downtrodden before holding up the glasses. The sight of them made everyone inhale sharply; Agustín clenched Julieta’s hand tightly.

“I need to give these back to Mirabel,” Antonio explained in a wobbly voice. “So-So she can see.”

For a long time, no one dared to pull away the heavy fabric that was the silence that draped over everyone. Julieta found tears sliding down her face silently and noticed how the wind was picking up; Camilo ought to make Pepa some tea to calm her down.

If Bruno was still he’d either say a joke or bluntly tell Antonio Mirabel wouldn’t be able to see because of the dirt covering her face. Then, he’d apologize and reassure his sobrino that it was very thoughtful and suggest they clean it. Except Bruno’s gone and of course you don’t talk about Bruno.

Eventually, they have to leave. Pepa steps up and takes her hand, and Julieta is grateful because she wants to collapse. But her husband’s hand is in her left, her hermana’s in her right, her daughters behind her, and the family making the short walk to the funeral.

They had a vigil for Mirabel the night before the funeral. Julieta had let herself be dragged to it in one of the sitting rooms with a balcony. They stood under the awning because rain thundered outside. She doesn’t even remember the eulogy someone gave. Everything just passed through her and the best she could do was hold the candle. Who had lit those candles? Felix? Mama? Pepa? Did one of them do the eulogy? What did they say about her Mirabel? Did they talk about her wonderful mind, pretty glasses and smile, and big heart?

Julieta blinks and she’s sitting in a pew. There is dust collecting in her mouth, her eyes, inside her throat. It feels as if she’s as light as a cloud as a group of men bring in a casket. What caught her eye was the gleaming “M” in the middle of it. M for Mirabel. M for Madrigal. M for magic that was useless in the end. M for mama i’m hurt mama help me i’m dying i can heal her mama-

Padre Ceaser stands at the front of the church, dressed solemnly in black robes. It reminds Julieta of the shawl around her shoulders and how its weight is a reminder. You failed again, it seems to whisper in her ear, brushing against her arms. You failed again. 

Someone is talking. They’re reading from the Old Testament. Julieta has heard these verses four times at a funeral in her life. The first was just for school when she was younger and still learning about her gift. The second was when they were twelve Pepa had stormed so badly that a hurricane wrenched a tree out of the ground; it flew through the air before crashing through the roof of someone’s house. By the time Julieta had gotten there, half of the family there had died from impact. There was nothing to do except cook piles upon piles of food, and make sure everyone in Encanto had a basket of her cooking.

The third and fourth time was when Death paid a visit to the Castillo’s and Herrara’s. Senora Castillo would have celebrated her ninety-ninth birthday if Julieta had spent more time preparing a stew for her. Senor Herrara was only eighty-he should have had more time-when a heart attack took him away. Julieta attended their funerals, back ramrod straight and staring straight ahead as families wept. Only when she was alone in her room did she let herself mourn.

But there is no room for her to mourn in private. So Julieta sits at her hija 's funeral, a husband on her right and a sister on her left (there would have been someone else walking with her, offering a shoulder to cry on and a joke to tell but they don’t talk about him).

"...aunque esté sentado en la oscuridad, el Señor es mi luz…,” Padre Caesar was saying in a steady voice. Mirabel had been like light. No, it was like light came from her; her smile, her laugh, her voice. The bright colors she wore had made her shine so brightly people had to turn away. 

"El Justo, aunque muera temprano, descansará..."

Why one of Julieta’s children? Why hadn’t it been a stranger from the town? She would have greatly taken Mirabel’s place. Would do it a hundred times if it meant her hija could breathe again. On the day Isabela was born, Julieta had taken one look and decided she would do anything for these children, these precious stars that shone against the night sky. She made that decision at Luisa and Mirabel, and the rest of the children. Parents should not have to fail their children like this nor should they dress in black for their children’s funeral.

“…Compasivo es el Señor..."

‘This is not compassion,’ Julieta wants to snarl. ‘This is far from compassion. Where is the compassion for my hermano and my papa? Where is the compassion for the lives I was never able to save? Where is the compassion for my mama’s life that was ripped away from her?’

‘This is not compassion,’ Julieta almost screams. ‘This is life.’

Before the men came, Mama had lived a lively life. A good life that didn’t force her to lead a town of people. She used to tell them how during funeral ceremonies, the whole community would bring music and dance and statues of women made from claw. “The golden bells sang the entire time,” Mama had said, a wistful smile on her face. She never carried on the practice because both her parents had vanished one night, stolen by the same men who would later kill Julieta’s papa. 

Julieta thinks Mirabel would have loved a funeral like that.

Someone is tugging her to her feet. Julieta looks up to see Mama’s teary eyes staring back at her; she had never looked so much older than now. Wordlessly, Julieta lets her mama lead her to the front of the church like a small child.

The casket is open. Its open and Julieta isn't in her body. She's watching everything happen slowly as each member of the family walks up to the casket to take one last look at their hija, hermana, prima, nieta. A part of her wants to join but another part is filled with the desire to run far away from this hell. But Julieta stays and watches as Agustín places those green glasses onto their Mirabel's face; his hands are shaking and his own glasses are wet with tears. Watches as Isabela places a bouquet of carnations onto Mirabel's chest. Watches as Camilo turns his head away when it's his turn. Watches as people in the church bow their heads.

Too soon is it her turn. There is something crawling under her skin as Julieta stumbles forward and peers down. Mirabel looked like she was asleep, face serene and free of blood. Her dress was white with gold sleeves and ruffles; the same dress she received on her fourteenth birthday. When she was alive and happy and laughing...

Julieta lingers. A sudden surge of fear rises up inside of her as she imagines herself old and grey like Mama, and forgetting what her daughter looked like. So she drinks in the sight of the body of Mirabel, commits the curve of her nose to memory. Will they hang a portrait of her like Papa in Casita? Julieta wonders if she'll ever be able to look at it without feeling despair.

All too soon she has to pull away. Again, Mama leads her outside.

Rain pours from the sky and thunder follows after it. The wind is strong enough to bend the trees to the ground. Julieta almost stumbles but she has her husband on her right and her sister on her left. That is almost enough.

Then, she stops. “Where’s Luisa?” she asks, noticing how her strongest hija wasn’t with her. Panic threatened to choke her. “Where-Where is-?” 

Julieta whips her head around to see her second eldest standing before the entrance of the cemetery. Never has she seen Luisa look so terrified; her shoulders shook and wide eyes seemed to hold every emotion in the world. 

Julieta hurries towards her, grabbing her hand. “Luisa? Mi amor , it's me. It's Mama,” she said, tugging her down for a hug. 

“I don’t want to go in there,” Luisa whimpered, hands clutching onto Julieta’s dress. “Mama, I don’t want to. I can’t-I want to say goodbye but I’m scared.”

‘Is this compassion?’ Julieta wants to shout. ‘Is this what you call compassion?’ Instead, she brushes strands of hair from Luisa's face and looks at her in the eye. “You are not alone,” she says and it's the truth and a reminder. 

Together, they both walk back to the family who’s waiting. Together, they all walk into the cemetery.

Encanto's cemetery holds twenty-five graves in total. Mirabel’s will make it twenty-six. Someone-Mama probably-had picked a spot all the way in the back with a pale gray headstone. Julieta is suddenly overcome with the urge to vomit and she would if it weren’t for Luisa’s trembling hand in her own. They reach the rest of the family who stand under large umbrellas held by people from town, shielding them against the rain.

And then they’re bringing in the casket and the wind is blowing so much Julieta almost falls over but maybe it's because that's her Mirabel in that casket, the child she promised to protect and all Julieta wants to do is ask her to-

‘Open your eyes,’ Agustín begs, arms tight around his (remaining) hija’s.

‘Mariposa, open your eyes,’ Pepa wants to scream as the sobrina she loved like her own child comes trapped in a box.

‘For me, Mirabel, open your eyes.’ Félix will gladly drop down to his knees and beg God to bring her back, and will walk on hot coal for that lively, dancing girl.

‘Open your eyes,’ Isabela shouts in her mind, banging the walls with her fists and tearing out her hair. ‘Open your eyes, let me look at them, let me say sorry, I’m sorry, I miss you, please-’

The only reason why Luisa hasn’t collapsed is because of her papa’s arms around her. She clenches her eyes tightly and at the same time silently begs ‘Open your eyes, sis.’

“You don’t need to open your eyes.” Dolores’s whisper unravels and flies away in the howling wind. “I just want to hear you again. I need to hear you. Please-”

‘You can’t leave me,’ Camilo wants to shout. He wants to wrench open the casket and pull his Mirabel  out to hug her one last time. ‘You can’t leave me, you can’t leave us, we can’t live without you. You-’

“You promised, Mirabel,” Antonio says and the words feel cold in his mouth.

Alma bowes her head and squeezes her hand around her locket. The other hand brushes against the small maroon doll in her pocket made by a little girl with bouncing curls once upon a time. ‘Abres tus ojos, Mirabel.’

But Mirabel can’t.

And so Julieta falls to her knees with the rain punching at her back. Someone lets out a gut-wrenching scream as everything finally, finally becomes real. Her hija will not be coming back. Julieta will watch as the first patch of dirt is thrown into the hole. She will live the rest of her life with a piece of herself buried in the ground.

With Casita empty, it gives Bruno enough time to pull on a black shirt that Agustín owns and prays. He listens to the hurricane destroying the Encanto as he changes quickly.

They have a small picture of God along with the cross on the second floor. It's a simple thing everyone in Encanto has in their own house. Bruno kneels before it, hands clasped, and recites verses that he knows to heart.

“Dejad que los niños,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the tears. “Vengan a mí y no se lo impidáis, porque de los tales es el reino de los cielos.”  

Bruno can’t stay for long. He had planned to go to his room and predict visions to give to Dolores. Visions about if their family will die like Mirabel. Visions about how to save the magic, their miracle.

The miracle. That damn miracle that everyone seems obsessed with even Bruno. Had it been that obsession that drove Mirabel to her death? It seems to have a tight hold on everyone in this family; even Bruno is obsessed wether he wants to admit it or not.

Tears splash down onto his clasped hands as he begins to plead. "Forgive me, Mirabel," he whispers, choked cries forcing them out of his throat. "If you tio wasn't a coward none of this would have happened. You're g-gone because of me."

Is it life's goal to take away the good people in your life? Does Death grin wickedly as the soul of someone kind floats into the air? Or is this the price humans must pay for the torture they've inflicted onto the Earth and their own kind?

No time to ask questions. No time like the present.

"I will fix this," Bruno swears through gritted teeth and tiles rattle underneath him. Cracks reach out to the ceiling. "I swear on you, Mirabel, that I will save this family."

Bruno stands. Steps right each time. Forces his legs to climb up every step even when they begin to burn and sweat rolls down his face; it's what he deserves. He wrenches the door open to his vision cave, and doesn't have time to think about all the visions and memories made in this place.

Sit down. Breath. Take a pinch of salt and toss it away. Strike the match. Then, abre tus ojos. 

Chapter Text

The bells hurt Dolores’s ears.

Someone is ringing them after they bury Mirabel and the sounds climb noisily into her ears. The noise overturned chairs and kicked the walls and made her eyes water. And yet Dolores ignores the growing headache because Isabela needs her.

Her prima looks like all the life has been scraped out of her. She just stares at the overturned patch of dirt, swaying in the roaring wind. Dolores reaches over and tugs Isabela to her side, holding her hand tightly. It scares her seeing Isabela like this.

Still she stays amongst the bells ringing and the wind shrieking and the rain thundering and the family sobbing and Tia Julieta’s awful scream-

Dolores lets herself sob as well. She feels as if the world has ended the moment Mirabel was placed into the ground. No, it ended when Mirabel collapsed onto the ground in Casita as a pool of her blood grew around her. It ended when Dolores was too late to listen to Mirabel’s dying heart and call for help.

Tia Julieta seems to crumple like paper in water; her husband follows after. Camilo is hugging Antonio close to his chest and he’s sobbing in a way that makes Dolores want to hug him tightly. She hears Antonio’s words and wants to run away. Past the church and Casita and the farms and the mountains until she’s somewhere where the sounds have vanished.

Dolores wants to lie and say she didn’t hear anything from Mirabel that night but she did. The sound of blood leaking from her body. The grinding of bones as they jostled in places they weren’t supposed to be like two random puzzle pieces. The soft thuds her limbs made as they hit the tiles because she was dead and couldn’t move and Dolores couldn’t hear her heart-

Dolores clings onto Isabela and cries for her prima. Cries for the girl who embroidered like the most talented artists. Cried for the clumsy girl who always looked to her for advice on hair and clothes and dancing. Cried because Mirabel had been fifteen.

Suddenly, it's too much. The sobbing, the grief, the bells-it's piling up and threatening to fall on Dolores. She staggers back and just runs. Runs back home to her room with its soft cushions and warm food and its silence. Runs away feeling cowardly.

Snow is falling alongside the rain. It slams down on her face and the sound of it slamming down onto the ground drowns out everyone's noise.  Dolores tilts her head back and revels in this tormented weather. It feels as if her mama had seen her grief-and the family’s-and let out a bitter, mourning creature that rages against the casket being buried.

Dolores grits her teeth and runs until she sees the familiar sight of Casita. Inside, her house is also grieving. All of the taps are gushing water and every door is banging. The portrait of Abuela Pedro shudders against the wall and Dolores puts a hand on it to steady it. “They’ve buried her,” she tells Casita and the foundation moans, a hollow sound. Old flakes of the walls shiver off and fly down. “They’ve buried her,” she repeats and maybe it is to convince herself that Mirabel is finally gone.

God, what was she doing? Her hermanos are out there watching their prima get buried, Isabela looks as if she’s frozen in place, Abuela is crying, and Dolores ran. She ran away like a little child from her youngest prima’s funeral. Shame creeps up her throat.

Mirabel wouldn’t have ran. She would have cried if it was anyone's funeral but she’d stay. That’s what Dolores had admired of Mirabel. That ability to plant your roots deep into the ground when the world has exploded.

A new sound suddenly reaches Dolores. The gentle sound of falling sand.

It’s enough to make Dolores remember what she and her tio discussed days before the funeral. She forces herself to climb the stairs that stretch on like a mountain; Casita slowly moves the stairs up to speed up the trip.

Dolores feels like she’s drifting like a lone feather through the air. The glow of her door is dim along with the others, she idly notes.

Her room is circular and spacious with walls painted in a warm yellow; when sunlight hits it it looks almost golden. There’s large sofas in every corner that you sink into. A large vanity almost takes over the entire wall and its drawers hold all the clothes Dolores owns. She had stood at that vanity early in the morning trembling, taking her red bow down and replacing it with a black one. There’s another door in her room. Simple and in a brown color, it leads to the only soundproof part of her room: the bedroom. Inside, Tio Bruno runs his hands along something cool and cold. Then, his fingers squeeze around something rough; the rosary he wears.

Dolores makes her way over to the section of the room. Inside, it's partially dark with the curtains drawn back. Tio Bruno jumps when Dolores enters before standing up. He’s changed out of his usual ruana and is wearing a black button up shirt with matching pants. Dolores ignores the red tint in his eyes.

“Dolores,” Tio Bruno muttered softly, placing the glowing vision table he was holding down onto her bed. “I-I thought the funeral was going to be longer?”

Dolores feels like a fishbone is stuck in her throat making it difficult to talk. “I…had to leave,” she mumbled, hugging herself. The feeling of wet clothes makes her shudder. “I-I couldn’t-” Couldn’t watch them bury her. Couldn’t listen to them cry. Couldn’t stand seeing Isabela and her brothers like that. 

Tio Bruno doesn’t question her any further. Instead, he steps forward and wraps her in a gentle hug despite her wet clothes.

Tears grow in Dolores’s eyes. Her tio doesn’t say anything when she hugs him back tightly or when sobs erupt from her or when she presses her ear against her chest to hear someone’s heart beating. The steady beating eases some tension inside of her but it still feels like the world has ended. All he does is rock her back and forth, humming an old lullaby.

Finally, Dolores steps back. It still feels like nothing in the world will ever be right again but her heart feels a bit lighter. 

“I ran away.” Why those words fell from her lips, Dolores doesn’t know. It's too late to take them back anyway. “The-I don’t know why I did but-but I should have been there. That's my prima and all I did was-”

“Oye, oye,” Tio Bruno interrupted, voice soft. “Esta bien. What-Whats happened is hard and you’re still young, Dolores. Grief will make you do things you never expected yourself to do. Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“But Camilo and Antonio needed me.” The words Antonio had said before they had lowered Mirabel’s casket echoes in Dolores’s mind, sending a painful arrow through her heart. “I-I’ve never seen Camilo look like that, Tio. And Isabela didn’t even cry, it was like she was a statue.”

Her tio’s face tightened slightly. “It's like I said. Grief will make you do things you never expected yourself to do.”

Dolores wanted to argue how that doesn’t excuse what she did but found no energy in herself to do so. Instead, she turns her head to the bed where the vision lay glowing. “You did it,” she said, feeling strangely defeated.

Tio Bruno blinks before glancing back as if he forgot the vision was there. “Uh, yeah, yeah I did. I was able to look into every other possibility of something like this happening,” he continued saying, reaching over to pick up and hand the tablet to Dolores. “No one else gets hurt after-after what happened but…”

But then Dolores sees what will happen next. In the vision, there are the crumbled remains of a building. It takes a minute for her to register that this is Casita-will be Casita-broken in ways that terrifies her. Her family sits in front of their broken home, looking lost and terrified. Then Dolores squints and realizes not all of them are there.

The terror hits her hard when she notices someone is missing. “Where is Camilo?” she asks harshly. “Why-Why isn’t he here? Why isn’t Abuela here?” It feels like the walls are closing in, giving her little room to breathe. “You said no one else would be hurt. You said-”

Tio Bruno places two hands on her shoulders and the weight of them grounds Dolores. “I did! I promise no one else gets hurt. See, the vision changes like the last one. Look.” He tilts it to the right, and suddenly Camilo and Abuela are standing nearby with a large horse. Relief washes away the terror Dolores had felt earlier. “I-I’ve no idea why it changes,” Tio Bruno continued. “But it's because there are too many chances.”

“Too many chances?” Dolores asks, tilting the vision left and right, left and right. The family and Casita are in despair, then Camilo and Abuela appear.

“Yeah. Chances that it goes one way, chances that it goes another. It took me a while to even find a specific future where we’re all safe and this was the best I could do. But-But, even this future changes and that's because there are tiny factors that can change the outcomes. And even though they’re tiny they can still change.”

Dolores rolls her tio’s words around in her head, tightening her grip on the vision. Even though they had the future in their hands, there was still a chance it could happen. That meant there would be a moment where someone would end up just like Mirabel or worse.

Dolores grit her teeth, the dry rubbing sound sending a shiver down her spine. No, she refused to let that happen. Not while she could still hear a pin drop from a mile away. Not while Tio Bruno could still do visions-

Somewhere, in her head, the gears stop. They inch back a bit before slowly moving again. “You said like the last one,” Dolores said, furrowing her brow in confusion. “What last one are you talking about?”

Tio Bruno’s heart speeds up. Saliva swirls down in his throat in a disgusting trickle. “What-There is no 'last one.' I mean, I assume you meant another vision but I never did one before-”

His heartbeat skips. “You’re lying,” Dolores points out, consternation filling her. This was the tio who trusted her with his biggest secret. Why was he lying? “Tio, we can’t lie to each other. Not while the house is in danger.”

The look in Tio Bruno’s wide dismayed eyes is painful. Finally, he lets his shoulders drop. “It was the night Mirabel didn’t get her gift,” he began and the air slowly left Dolore’s lungs; she felt dizzy. “Your abuela worried about the magic so she begged me to look into the future. See what it meant. And I saw the magic in danger. Our house, breaking.” His voice cracked at the end and Dolores could understand. She had heard the sharp noises of cracks for so long (at ten, at twelve, at fourteen, at twenty-one) and it frightened her.

“And-And I saw Mirabel,” Tio Bruno continued. He stared past Dolores, as if remembering that night. “But the vision was different-it would change. And there was no clear answer, no clear fate. Like her future was undecided. I’ve never seen anything like that!” His jaw clenched. “But I knew how it was going to look. I knew what everyone would think because I’m Bruno and everyone always assumes the worst. So…”

“You left for Mirabel,” Dolores finished the sentence for him, head spinning. Finally, the truth about the man they don’t talk about was laid down before her. How many times had she slipped notes to him through the slit on the family mural asking why he left? How many times had she stared up at his dark door, imagining herself climbing those stairs because the answers must be up there? If it had been any other time Dolores would have been delighted. Except it is her prima’s funeral and the family has failed her-Dolores has failed her-in the worst possible way.

“I should have looked,” Tio Bruno said, looking older than he usually did. “If I knew that something like this would happen, I would have gone to my vision cave and looked. Now, Mirabel is…” The sentence seemed too painful for him to finish. 

If, if, if. Dolores has been turning over the idea that if she had stepped back and noticed then all of this would have been prevented. Except no one has the gift of time-traveling so they must now content themselves with the empty room in the house.

Dolores’s throat tightens. There is something rolling around under her skin and she’s certain that if she doesn’t let it out it will kill her. “Leave me alone, tio,” she manages to say and sits down on her bed.

Tio Bruno hesitates. “Are you-Are you sure? Dolores, I don’t want you to-”

“Please, can you just go!” Dolores wanted her voice to come out strong and yet it quivered, threatening to shatter. She just wanted to be alone and for everything to be quiet.

Tio Bruno falls silent before nodding. He gives Dolores one last hug before walking out, slowly closing the door behind him. Dolores counts to one hundred before forcing herself to stand.

The vision is shoved underneath a pile of blankets in her closet. Her wet clothes land on the ground with a squish that makes her cringe. She pulls on another black dress except this one has colorful thread shining at the hem. Mirabel would have wanted someone to throw in a splash of color against the sea of black.

The thing under her skin climbs it's way out. Breathing heavily, Dolores turned and landed a harsh kick against the wall. And then again and again until the vibrations rumble in her chest. The wooden chair with the maroon cushion in the corner was pushed onto its side. The sound of it clattering to the ground filled Dolores with grim satisfaction.

Then, that crushing feeling bore down upon her. She sat down on her bed again and placed her head in her hands. What was the point of that? What was to gain for that? Some sort of release? ‘Idiot,’ a venomous voice hissed in Dolores’s mind. 

The doorknob to the bedroom turning made her head shoot up. But instead of it being Tio Bruno like he expected, it was Papa accompanied by Camilo and Antonio. All three of them had changed out of their funeral clothes as well and wore simple white button ups; Camilo’s ruana was nowhere to be seen.

“Hola, amor,” Papa greeted, walking over to sit beside Dolores. “Everyone’s home except for your tia and her family. They’re-They’re still there.”

Camilo settled down next to her on her other side. Antonio simply walked over and held his arms up, a clear sign he wanted to be picked up. Dolores obliged, settling him on her lap and tucking his head under her chin. The weight of her younger brother, and the warmth of her family on both sides was a welcoming feeling. 

Silence descended on all four of them, thick and heavy. What could anyone say? Mirabel was dead, ripped away from them, Casita will crumble, and there’s a chance two more members of their family might get hurt as well.

Camilo sniffed, leaning against Dolores’s side. “I hate this,” he whispered in a croaky voice. 

Dolores reached over and wrapped an arm around her brother. “Me too,” she whispered.

Antonio shifted in her lap. “Lola,” he began in a tiny voice. “Do you-Do you think the candle can bring Mirabel back? It has to, right?”

Is it really possible for words to break a heart? “I don’t think it can, Tonito,” Dolores whispers as tears slide down her face once again. 

Someone inhaled sharply. Looking to her right, Dolores saw tears sliding down her papa’s face as well. He looked so much older and younger at the same time.

“Papa?” Antonio asked hesitantly. Their papa’s arms wrapped around them and Dolores allowed herself to be wrapped in his embrace.

“I never thought-” A sob was carving into Papa’s usual joyful voice. “That my worst fear would come true. I-I never thought we would have to bury our Mirabel.”

When you think about it, there's not much to do after a funeral except hold the people you love tightly and break.

With a hiss, a crack grows underneath the portrait of Abuela Pedro. Upstairs, tiny cracks crawl out from a wooden door where a girl who waited patiently for a miracle used to sleep in. The cracks are only visible if you squint at it.

No one does. They are too busy wiping tears from their eyes.

Chapter Text

Alma wants to give them all the time in the world to heal. She is forced to give them two weeks

Two weeks of storms that drown the crops and turn the roads into a muddy swamp. Two weeks of Julieta not being able to get out of bed, and Agustín forgetting that Mirabel is not coming back. Two weeks of this awful stillness in Casita. Two weeks of Alma kneeling before the candle and begging for it to give them another miracle and bring Mirabel back. Her absence has torn a hole in this family’s tapestry and left loose threads. Only she, the sole sewer of the family, could mend it.

(The candle was silent when she begged for her old home, her Pedro, and her son. It is silent when she begs for her nieta.)

All Alma can do is comfort her family. She and Pepa bring trays of food to Julieta every day, coax her into coming out of her room. Sometimes she obeys, moving like a ghost through the halls. Sometimes she yells at them to leave her alone and the sound of her harsh voice leaves Alma rattled.

Alma expects Pepa to thunder. Instead, she watches her daughter hug her sister who sobs furiously. Alma joins their hug as well because she understands. Even today the loss of the people she loved make it difficult to even breathe. 

Agustín is doing no better. When he is not laying in bed with his wife-both of them in tears-he forgets. Forgets that Mirabel can’t eat an arepa. Forgets that the nursery will no longer be filled with the sound of a sewing machine. Forgets his daughter will no longer wake them all up for another day. Alma will turn a corner and find Agustín on his knees in front of the door of the nursery, harsh sobs wracking his body. “ Regresa,” Agustín would cry out, voice cracking. “Por favor, Dios, devuélvemela. Llévame en su lugar, solo tráeme de vuelta a mi hija-”

Félix is always the one to drag him away. Alma watches them pour out a bottle of wine into tall glasses and resists the urge to drink with them. Alcohol isn’t good when she’s this old and she’s scared that a loose tongue will spill what she is feeling.

(There is a hole in her chest and it aches with regret. Every second since Mirabel died, Alma tries to remember their last moment. All she can conjure up is her nieta walking Antonio to his door, face carefully arranged so that it didn’t show any extreme emotion. But there was still worry and Alma wishes she had asked Mirabel why she was worrying. She wishes she had found her before blood was spilled or at the very least hug her before she died.)

Luisa tries to convince her mama to eat as well but even she is crumbling. It is jarring for Alma to watch this strong girl cry into her papa and hermana’s arms. Jarring to see Isabela’s blank face with it’s tired eyes and shaking hands. 

The quietness of a usual cheerful Casita, the sobs and wails, the hushed conversations, the nightly prayers to bring Mirabel back (let me bring her home, let me bring her back to safety) press down against Alma until it is too hard to breathe. Alma wants to wrap her family into her arms and shield them away from every painful thing in the world. But once again she is powerless.

The villagers arrive bearing food. A bowl of mondongo , plates of natilla y buñuelos, baskets of obleas . Alma thanks them all and tries not to feel uncomfortable because it should be the other way around. She should be the one giving food and being understanding. After all, she’s the matriarch and the care-taker of the candle. Alma must be strong because if she isn’t then their very foundation will crumble. For now, she accepts the food from their neighbors and Rosa Guzmán’s hugs; they still leave her cold. 

Losing someone stops your entire world but the world never stops turning. When Alma had to run from her burning home and the dead body of her husband, the violence continued. Last she heard, the Conservatives had halted their enemy at Palonegro. After the mountains of the Encanto grew around them, Alma turned to the only things that matter: her children and the people who had managed to escape the violence. There were opportunities in front of them that they could not ignore even after going through something horrible. 

(Just push down the sight of Pedro’s body being cut with swords, of horses screaming into the bitterly cold night, the scent of blood, the broken body of someone you know that was trampled in everyone’s mad dash to run to safety. 

Push it down. You cannot falter.)

So when she sees Julieta slowly coming back to life and hears the storms fading away to a drizzle, Alma knows its time. “Familia,” she begins, rising from her chair at dinner. Félix had managed to convince everyone to eat together. No one has spoken at all. 

When all eyes turn to her, Alma clears her throat and straightens her shoulders. “We have all lost someone dearly to our hearts,” she says, ignoring the growing cloud above Pepa’s head. “We are all grieving and we might always grieve. Mirabel was a kind girl who was too young when she died. Everyday I miss her. But she would not want to see us like this.”

Alma thinks about Mirabel walking into a room and everyone sitting up straighter. About how she would play any and every instrument to bring a smile to Antonio’s face or wash the dishes after every meal, oftentimes roping Camilo into doing so with the promise of extra food. Alma swallows against the growing knot in her throat and continues.

“What has happened has happened. Of course, we will always mourn for our Mirabel but we must move forward. I wish,” Alma continues because she must be strong for them and herself, she must. “That the world could give us more time but it won’t. Now, we must get back to how life used to be. We all have a duty and must not let anything keep us away from it."

Alma isn’t expecting a reaction from anyone at this moment but she wishes someone would say something. They all stare at her with unreadable looks in her eyes and the silence drags on. Eventually, Alma sits down and continues her meal. Utensils scrape against plates.

A tired voice cuts through the quiet. “Of course,” Julieta  muttered, gripping her water tightly. “Of course you would say that.”

“Julieta?” Alma asked, feeling relieved that her daughter is speaking even though her voice sounds ragged. 

Julieta’s face twitches into something before she fixes her expression into a cool, indifferent look. She stands, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I’m going to bed,” Julieta declared even though it was still early in the night; only Agustín followed after her. Luisa began to rise out of her seat, froze after glancing over to Alma, and sat back down with a downtrodden look. 

Alma does not expect anyone to jump right back into their lives but at the same time she does. 

Luisa wakes up crying the next day.

Before, she rarely ever cried. There were those days that happened once a month where she grabbed the raggedy unicorn plushie she’s had ever since she was a child and silently cried into its mane (always silent because Dolores might hear and she can’t be weak infront of her, she can’t). The days where she did want to bawl because there’s just so many were the days but nothing came out. As if someone had put a cork on all of her emotions.

It took Mirabel's death to pop that cork off.

Luisa had never thought she could cry this much. For the past days, it was like the tears didn’t stop. She would be doing something normal and then it would hit her that Mirabel was gone. The feeling would press down onto her chest until she’s gasping and then she’s crying and it hurts because she wants her hermana menor back but she’s been buried-

Luisa should have been the one who had taken whatever injury Mirabel had gotten that night. She should have been faster instead of taking her sweet damn time walking down those stairs. It should have been her because the strongest are always at the front, ready to lay down their life for what they fought for.

Except she had failed. Disappointment was too small of a word to describe how Luisa felt about herself.

When Abuela said that they must return to their duties, Luisa didn’t know what to feel. On one hand, they do need to go back to their duties. The people in Encanto do not have any gifts and because of that they lack that advantage in life. Which is why it falls on the Madrigals to help their community.

On the other hand, Luisa feels furious. Why is Abuela so quick to move past Mirabel’s death? Why can’t they have more time to grapple with the loss the family just had? All Luisa wants is to collapse in her bed and try to sleep, dreams filled with different scenarios of her saving Mirabel from tall men with guns and swords. In every dream, Mirabel throws her arms around Luisa and declares that she’s saved her, that she’s done good, that Mirabel is proud to have a sister like her.

Except her dreams are filled with the limp body of her sister and those awful, empty eyes. 

Maybe going back to work will help. So, Luisa woke up just when the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon and went about her usual routine. Brushed her teeth (Mirabel’s purple toothbrush sits right next to hers), did her hair (sometimes Mirabel would catch her to braid gladiolus flowers in her hair), and begin her work-out routine. Twenty push-ups, twenty sit-ups, three minute plank. Then, thirty minutes on Casita’s moving tiles with weights. It helps with the awful pain in Luisa’s chest that throbs anytime she sees anything that reminds her of Mirabel.

(She is everywhere. Running down the halls, sliding down the stairs. Knocking on everyone’s doors, smiling even early in the morning. Luisa wants to reach out and touch her and drag her back from the dead.)

‘No. Stop. Push it down. Don’t think about it. If it's out of sight, it can’t hurt you.’

Downstairs, there are four people already up. Abuela sits at the head drinking coffee, Tia Pepa and Tio Félix set out plates, and Mama is already cooking. No one is talking, and the only sounds are the sizzling from the stove; Luisa recognizes scrambled eggs for huevos pericos.

“Buenos días a todos,” Luisa greets, walking over to give Mama a hug and a kiss. If their hug lasts a bit longer than that's their business. 

“Buenos días, mi amor,” Mama says with a tired smile. Everything about her is tired ever since Mirabel’s funeral. Her slow movements, the bags under her eyes, how it takes a lot more to get her to smile. Luisa wants to take everything Mama has on her shoulder and place it onto hers (but she also wants to stay in her mama’s arms forever).

“Buenos días, Luisa,” Abuela says with a smile. “Could you go wake up the rest of our familia? We must start today off early, and it's been so long since we’ve had breakfast together.”

‘But, I’m starving and I want to sit down.’

Luisa just manages a smile at her abuela and nods. She makes her way upstairs and tries to ignore the burning sensation in her legs. Did she overdue it? Hopefully not since there’s so much to do today.

The way Mirabel would wake everyone up is by using different knocks. That's all Luisa would hear, but she never saw her sister knocking on everyone’s door. She wishes she did because what if Mirabel had special knocks for everyone in the family? She would because this is the same girl who once stayed up all night sewing personal handkerchiefs for everyone in the family. 

Luisa settled on three sharp raps on the doors, saying loudly that breakfast was ready. She was just done knocking on Dolores’s door when it opened suddenly. Her prima mayor stood there, scowling slightly and still wearing her nightgown; the look on her face made her look like Tia Pepa. “You didn’t have to knock so loudly,” Dolores said, folding her arms. 

Luisa couldn’t help but hunch over. “Sorry,” she muttered, feeling her face heat up with embarrassment.

Dolores sighed, her face relaxing. “No, it's fine. Just next time knock only once on my door. That's how Mirabel-” Her eyes widened and her mouth shut with a sharp clack. 

Feeling as if there are ants under her skin and a pressure behind her eyes, Luisa turns. “I’m going to go wake up my Pa,” she informs Dolores and hurries along before the other woman could get out another word.

Luisa pauses when she stands in front of her Mama’s door. She has a feeling that three sharp raps won’t be enough for her papa. Swallowing, Luisa slowly opened the door.

Her mama’s room consists of two floors. The first floor is a cozy wooden living room with a large sofa, and a couple of armchairs scattered around. Two walls have shelves built into them that hold pictures, knicknacks, and books. A large kitchen similar to the one in Casita is tucked into the right corner. A set of winding stairs took Luisa to another sitting room where she knew her parents would spend hours simply just sitting, drinking tea, and reading.  There’s a wooden door to the right of Luisa where her parent’s actual bedroom is with its circular bed and two large dressers. She heads towards there and knocks. 

No answer. “Pa?” Luisa said, raising her voice a bit. “Breakfast is ready? Abuela wants everyone to eat together.”

No answer. 

“Pa, are you awake?” When she did not hear anything, Luisa simply opened the door to her parents room which consisted of a cozy bed, a large dresser and vanity, and two armchairs. She remembers spendin days here sleeping with her parents and Isabela before-

‘Don’t think about that day.’

Luisa’s papa was sitting up in his bed wearing just his usual pants and white button up. His shoulders were trembling and Luisa could hear his breath hitch at the sound of the door opening.

“Luisa!” Papa quickly wiped at his face that had been wet with tears and stood with a wobbly smile. “I-I’ll come down soon. I just need to get ready. Don’t worry about me.”

‘I can’t help but worry.’ Luisa just bit her lip before hurrying forward and wrapping her arms around her papa. Carefully, of course, because Papa didn’t look like he needed a tight squeeze. For a brief moment before he even knew Luisa was in the room, Papa looked ready to topple over and break. 

Mirabel had always been the one who knew what to say to make their parents smile even after a long day of work. Now, it fell on Luisa to do the same except she’s not good with words. So, she’ll settle with gentle hugs.

For a while, they both stand there savoring this tiny moment; Papa gave her a tight hug, so tight that Luisa believed she would not be able to move. Finally, Papa stepped back and gave her a small smile. “I’ll be down soon, LuLu. Just let me find my vest.”

“Okay, Pa. I’ll make your plate for you,” Luisa said, satisfied with the nod from her papa.

As she left her parents bedroom and walked downstairs, Luisa couldn't help but think about what Abuela said. She wanted everyone to be there for breakfast. Would she be bothered if someone was missing? Would she blame Luisa and give her that disappointed look Mirabel got-

At the thought of her sister (dead dead dead, she’s gone, she’s gone), Luisa’s thoughts shifted. Who cared what Abuela thought after the worst had happened? 

‘You do, you useless coward. You cared about her that night when you stayed to help move something and wasn’t fast enough to save-

'Don’t think about it.’

Work. That will distract Luisa. Immediately after breakfast.

As soon as she sat down after making two plates for her and Papa, Luisa notices something off. The usual chatter that filled every morning was absent. Soon, the sound of utensils scratching at plates and chewing became irritating. Luisa tried to find something to say but came up with nothing.

‘Useless.’

“Now,” Abuela began saying as she stood up and Papa finally sat down. “I’m sure all of you are aware of the chores we must do today. Pepa, before you go to the fields to water them I’d like to speak to you and Antonio about putting his new gift to good use.”

Tia Pepa simply smiled and nodded despite the thick cloud above her.

The action seemed to satisfy Abuela although Luisa saw her eyes linger on the cloud before turning back to address the rest of the family. “You have a cloud, Pepa,” she said shortly before again addressing the table. “Remember, we must never take our miracle for granted so we must work twice as hard today.”

Good. That's good. Extra work will distract Luisa from these howling bitter awful pain distracting thoughts she was having. 

“Finally, an announcement,” Abuela says as she makes her way over to where Isabela and Dolores were sitting. “I’ve spoken to the Guzmáns about Mariano’s proposal to Isabela. Dolores, do we have a date?”

Dolores did not even look up from where she was cutting her food to reply “In three days at dinner. He wants five babies.”

At the last comment, small white flowers blossomed in Isabela’s hair as her eyes grew wide. 

For the first time in a while, Abuela’s face beamed. “Wonderful!” she said, picking out a pink flower from Isabela’s hair. “Such a fine young man with our perfect Isabela will bring a new generation of magical blessings and make both of our families stronger.”

Luisa watched Isabela straighten her back and smile contently, and felt a surge of irritability rise up inside of her. It seemed as if her older sister had cried all the grief she had felt after Mirabel’s death. She was back in her old lilac dress, and seemed ready to spend a day growing flowers and spending time with their abuela. Meanwhile, Luisa had to actually work.

‘Why do you sound so bitter? You should be happy to work. You’re helping your community.’

She is happy to work, she is! It's just annoying and a little unnerving to watch Isabela be able to bounce back into her old self with a smile on her face and flowers blooming everywhere she went. Did she not feel what Luisa is still feeling after that day-

‘Don’t think about it.’

Abuela’s voice breaks Luisa out from her thoughts. “Our community is counting on us,” she says and Luisa squares her shoulders (they were not trembling, they were not shaking). “¡La familia Madrigal!”

“¡La familia Madrigal!”

Here, there was familiarity. Answering people's calls for requests, creating a mental to-do list in her head, feeling her muscles burn as she lifted and moved this and that. Her routine was simple and it dealt with problems effectively. Perhaps her work will lift some of the pressure from her family’s shoulders, especially her parents.

‘What about me?’

Heave the wagon to its destination. Shove a leaning house back. Stand straight, hold your head high because you represent the Madrigals and if they see you slip up then they know something bad is happening-

But something bad has happened and it's the worst thing possible. Mirabel’s grave is just a walk away and that's wrong. Her hermana shouldn’t be in a grave nor should she be gone in the worst possible way.

‘Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it-’

“Luisa!”

“Nothings wrong!” she shouted, whirling around to reassure the person calling her name and-

Andres Delgado stood there staring at her with wide eyes. He had recently taken over the family business of watching over the livestock and other animals needed in the Encanto. His inexperience meant that Luisa had lost count of how many times she had been called to fetch wandering donkeys.

Luisa felt face heat up, embarrassment churning in her gut. “I-I am so sorry, Señor! I’ll fetch those donkeys right away-”

“No, I don’t need you to fetch the donkeys, Luisa,” Señor Delgado interrupted, waving his hands around. “They’re all in their pen.”

Luisa blinked, wondering if she heard right. “They’re…not out?”

Señor Delgado smiled widely. “Nope! I figured since your family is going through something difficult that I should help out in a way.”

Surprise filled her. Never in her entire life has Luisa ever heard anyone in the village talk about helping the Madrigals out. It was always the other way around. Did the villagers see the cracks in Luisa’s skin? Have they already decided she isn’t wanted?

Before Luisa could say anything, Señor Delgado gave a start. “Oh! My papa also sent me to take you to our porch. He wants to give you something. Follow me.” 

Finding that she had no escape in this situation, Luisa tucked away the mental to-do list in her head and followed.

The Delgado’s owned two large houses; one for half of the livestock in the Encanto and the other was for the family. That house was a handsome red with the windows always open and people rushing in and out of it. At the front of the house were small steps that led to the large porch with squat chairs and sofas. The older Delgado family members would often be seen here with their friends, sipping on their drinks and simply chatting amongst themselves.

As Luisa and Señor Delgado neared the steps to the porch, she could see who was sitting there. Señor Delgado was Andres’s abuelo, a squat man with a nose similar to his nieto. Around him sat men Luisa recognized as the designated construction crew. All six of them were burly men with short cropped hair and mustaches that twitched anytime they spoke. Luisa had known them ever since she was ten, and was finally allowed to help out with large tasks in the Encanto.

“Abuelo! I’ve brought Luisa,” Señor Delgado-the younger one-said, gesturing to Luisa. She quickly glanced down to check if her clothes were orderly and hoped she did not smell sweaty.

The older man’s eyes lit up and everyone else around him said their greetings. “Ah, thank you, Andres. Your tia is calling you upstairs.”

“Listo.” Soon, Luisa was alone with Señor Delgado-the older one-and the construction crew.

“Sit by me, Luisa,” one of the men said, patting towards an armchair right next to him. Luisa sat down, internally sighing with relief; her feet had been aching.

“Give this girl a glass,” Señor Delgado said, gesturing towards a tall pitcher of lemonade. “Luisa, mija, I don’t think you’ve tried my nuera’s limonada. One sip and you’ll be asking for more.”

“One sip and you’ll consider stealing the whole thing,” the man on Luisa’s right joked. His comment made everyone erupt into chuckles. Luisa simply smiled and tried to stomp down the urge to ask why she was called her. Instead, she took a sip of her glass and hummed at the sweet taste.

Señor Delgado waited until everyone went quiet before speaking. “But, we are not here to talk about la limonada ,” he began. “Mija, how have you been?”

The question threw Luisa off for a second. “Uh, I’ve been fine,” she said, giving them her best smile. “I mean, the magic is fine, it's a great day. What more can a girl ask for, you know?”

“...Your eye is-uh-twitching,” the man across from her pointed out tentatively.

Luisa swiftly clamped a hand over her right eye. “Spasms!” she said loudly, trying to cover up. “It's a genetic thing. Same with how my mama can’t heal my papa’s eyesight or even Mirabel’s-”

‘Why would you think about it?’

It felt as if everything was too quiet and too loud. There was a heaviness weighing her down and all Luisa wanted was to curl up on the ground. To go back to her room with her unicorn plushie, but home has Papa crying and Mama practically living in the kitchen and Isabela distant.

Silence stretched on for too long until Señor Delgado spoke. “When los guerrilleros came for us,” he began, voice suddenly somber. “They didn’t come suddenly. No, they were cruel and would target the defenseless. The innocent. Mi hermana mayor was one of them. We lived on the outskirts of the village in a simple house.”

No one moved as if they believed even shifting would disturb the hush that had fallen upon the porch. Luisa was violently reminded that the candle was not born just out of miracles, but was born on the night Abuela was forced to leave behind not only her home but the body of her husband as well. 

There are two graves for two Madrigals. Both were too young to die. 

“All she wanted was to see the fireworks.” Señor Delgado’s eyes look so old and pained just by talking about his sister. “So, she and her friends went just a bit farther from the house. I was just about to go to bed when I realized the fireworks were done and she hadn’t come home. What those men did to her… how anyone could have such a sick mind…she was just thirteen…” His voice cracked and beneath it Luisa could see a young boy, worried to death over his hermana menor who promised to come home after the fireworks.

Luisa thinks about how when she was thirteen when Mama had sat her, Isabela, and Dolores down for a talk. She told them about how there were bad men who would take advantage of you. That they would touch you in your private places or worse. Mama said that these were the same bad men that chased Abuela and Abuelo away from home. That they must train their gifts in order to protect themselves. It took another year for Luisa to finally understand.

(Her mama and tia had been nine when Abuela sat them down for a talk.)

Luisa lifted her head and made eye-contact with Señor Delgado’s. In those eyes, she saw pure anguish even after fifty years. She wondered if her eyes held the same.

“You become the eldest,” Señor Delgado continued. “You realize that your hermana is going to get hurt easily. So, you promise no matter what to do anything to keep her safe. Failure isn’t an option but that night it was a reality. That night I couldn’t even recognize her because those cabrons mutilated her and her friends. How could I call myself an hermano mayor if I couldn’t protect her? How could I forgive myself?”

“Did you ever?” Luisa asked, her voice a whisper.

“No. But, I learned that what happened wasn’t my fault. It could have been prevented but it wasn’t my fault.”

It seemed too much. The rawness in his voice, the way everyone was hardly breathing, the pressure building inside of Luisa.

“It wasn’t my fault. It took me so long to realize that, but it was my mama who convinced me. Before she died, she told me to stop beating myself so harshly. Told me that you can’t keep trying to be impossibly human and that your hermana is fine with how human you are.”

Luisa didn’t move. A chill swept down the porch, goosebumps appearing on everyone’s skin. Then, the man on Luisa’s right placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “In the end,” he said in a soft voice. “Mirabel was always proud of you. She would talk about how you were the best hermana mayor there was to anyone.”

And only then did Luisa let it all out with a pop.

No one said anything about the sniffles escaping her or the tears sliding down her face. They just sat with her and squeezed her shoulder tightly. Not enough to make it uncomfortable, but enough to help ground her before this mess of emotions threatens to drown her. Señor Delgado sat and watched her with sad, understanding eyes; here was a protector who failed, who still didn’t forgive himself and maybe won’t be able to. Here was someone who never got to see his hermana grow up. Here is someone who dreamt of what-ifs every night. 

It was only because of their presence that Luisa felt comfortable to let go.

Afterwards, she stands up. She had not even finished her lemonade. But Señor Delgado simply stood and gave her a side hug. “Cuidarse,” he said gruffly and it was repeated around the group. “Cuidarse…cuidarse…cuidarse.”

“Cuidarse,” Luisa couldn’t help but say back because all she ever knew was to take care of people.

Luisa doesn’t feel better but she feels like she’s made progress. It's strange, Luisa mused as she walked away from the Delgado house. In her house, no one really spoke about the bad things such as arguments or incidents that had happened. Instead they simply referenced them and even that created tensions. 

“Luisa.”

She jumped and turned sharply to see Dolores regarding her with wide eyes that always seemed a bit too critical. How much had she heard?

“Yeah, what's up,” Luisa said, trying to appear nonchalant and not as if she had a breakdown out in public.

“I just wanted to ask you if you heard anything weird happening in Casita,” Dolores said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Because I’ve been hearing something that's been worrying me.”

Luisa frowned, unease growing inside of her. “Really? You haven’t figured out what it is?”

Dolores shook her head, frowning as well. “No, not yet. But, I can’t help but feel that you know something.”

Luisa hesitated. On one hand, Dolores had a history of reporting anything wrong to Abuela; she was not only her ears but her eyes. The last thing Luisa wanted was upset Abuela or anyone. But on the other hand, if there was something happening to Casita that caused even the usually composed Dolores Madrigal to act, then action must be taken. Besides, it's not like she could lie to her prima who could tell you weren't telling the truth just by your heartbeat about the cracks.

(Cracks that snaked up the walls. Cracks that vanished as soon as Luisa could blink. Cracks that disappeared just like Mirabel. Cracks that could kill.)

“I-” Luisa pauses, bites her lip, then musters up the courage to continue. “I did see cracks that-that night. And lately I’ve been feeling…I’ve been feeling weak.” There. The harsh truth is out and Dolores will ask what's wrong with her and look so scared and disappointed and decided Luisa isn’t needed and she won’t be able to protect her-

A warm hand on her arm. Dolores’s wide eyes that-that didn’t glare but looked up at her with nothing but concern. “Really?” her prima said softly. “I-I had no idea. That must have been terrifying.”

Luisa nodded slowly, relieved with this reaction. “Yeah, it was. And it didn’t help that I remembered the grown-ups talking about-”

Then it hit her. How could she have been so blind. There had always been one person in the family who was so anxious, so superstitious that he would look into the future to ensure everyone’s safety. 

“I-I gotta’ go!” Luisa stuttered out, something buzzing underneath her skin as she hurriedly walked away from Dolores, ignoring the call of her name. She had more important things to do.

Like going into Tio Bruno’s off-limits room.

Someone was knocking at his door.

Camilo should get up and answer except he just can’t. There’s not a single blanket on him to weigh him down but his body won’t move. It's like he’s been weighed down by rocks. It's been like this ever since Mirabel died.

At the thought of her, tears unwittingly sprung up. Camilo found that he couldn’t even wipe them away. He can’t get the image of her still body out of his head; nor can he forget how cold she was when he had touched her palm. Those memories play over and over like a record stuck in a loop. He wants it to stop, but again he doesn’t seem to have the energy to move.

So Camilo laid curled up in his bed, staring at the wall, and listening to the polite knocking on his door change into pounding. 

Then, he heard the door open.

Casita must have done that. Camilo sighed through his nose, not even bothering to look at who it was entering his room. Maybe it was Papa coming to try to coax him out of bed. Or Dolores with a worried frown on her face. Camilo hoped it wasn’t Abuela.

It turns out it was none of the three. Rather, a familiar voice echoed in his theater-like room. “Camilo?” a boy’s voice asked, slightly reedy. “It's us, Alvaro and Nicolas.”

Alvaro Alvervas Jr. and Nicolas Moreno were two of Camilo’s closest friends. He had met them when he was seven, and could not imagine a life without them along with their other three friends. Camilo rolled over in his bed, and could see both of his friend’s lanky forms; Alvaro’s hair was as curly as ever while Nicolas’s own were covered with his usual wide-brimmed hat. 

Alvaro’s eyes lit up when he saw Camilo and he waved. “Camilo! Hey, good to see you.” Usually, Alvaro’s voice made Camilo feel excited because it promised fun in the future. Today, all he wanted was his friend to shut up.

Immediately, Camilo felt sickened with himself. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be normal or atleast act normal? Acting was his area for crying out loud! 

Alvaro’s smile faltered slightly. “We-We know that you’re going through it but-”

“Staying up in your room isn’t healthy, bro,” Nicolas interrupted, frowning up at where Camilo’s bed was in the upper wing. “We’re worried about you. Me, Alvaro, and the rest of the guys. Por favor, hable con nosotros.” 

For some reason, it was those last words that struck Camilo. “Talk?” His voice sounded rough, like the surface of a boulder. “What is there to talk about? My prima is dead and you think talking is gonna’-gonna’ make me feel better?!”

His voice had risen into a shout, sharp and grating even to his own words. The walls sent that shout back and only then did Camilo realize he had stood up from his bed. He sat back down, shame welling up inside of him. ‘What is wrong with me?’

Here were his two closest friends taking the time out of their day to visit him, and all Camilo could offer was himself.

When he opened his eyes, Alvaro and Nicolas were nowhere to be found. Camilo felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Just his luck that he blew up on two people who were worried. He lets himself fall back onto the bed and swallows down the urge to yell in frustration. 

The sound of footsteps made Camilo lift his head. From the entrance of his bedroom emerged Alvaro and Nicolas, both looking unbothered.

Camilo starred at them, flabbergasted. “Wha-?”

Nicolas practically launched himself onto Camilo’s left side, making the bed shake. “What happened was shitty,” he said, blunt as ever. “And awful. I’m not going to pretend to understand but we won’t leave you like this.”

“The guys were worried that visiting you would bother you,” Alvaro said. He had lowered himself on Camilo’s right. “But, they said they wanted a full report on how you were when we said we were going to visit you. So, here we are.”

“You always bother us almost every day, bro,” Niclolas said fondly, nudging Camilo’s hand. “Now, it's our turn.”

Maybe it was the warmth of two people for the first time in weeks. Maybe it was the words from his friends who, despite being yelled at, still stayed. Maybe it was hearing that his other friends were demanding a full report. Or maybe it was all of them combined that made Camilo sit up, wrap both his arms around his two friends, and hug them tightly.

(He should have hugged Mirabel tightly.)

All three of them ignored the steady stream of tears running down his face.

Isabela let her smile dip just slightly when Abuela steps away to go to her room as they stepped into Casita. Her day had consisted of reassuring the villagers of Encanto that yes, she was still in mourning but she was getting back to her usual life. A single marigold was tucked behind her hair, a reminder more to herself than others about the hole in her soul. 

But she was still Isabela Madrigal and she had her duties. While accompanying Abuela to complete a few errands, Isabela ensured that every house they passed blossomed with flor de mayo and roses, held her head high while the sky shifted from cloudy to just a hint of sky blue, and accepted every condolence that came her way. The people of the Encanto are united by their history and daily life, and Isabela is grateful. It's nice to hear people talk about Mirabel when Abuela has clearly stated that she wants the family to move past her death.

Oh, Abuela didn't say it out loud but her message was clear. The Madrigals must be as flawless and beautiful as the glass painted windows in church; something for people to look up to for reassurance. They cannot grieve for too long.

(But Isabela wants to scream at the world for taking her hermana away. She wants to find whoever dared to hurt Mirabel and make them suffer so much that they'll beg for death. She wants to reach deep, deep into the Earth and tug Mirabel free and force the candle to grant them another miracle. She wants to crawl into her parent's arms and never move. She wants to see Luisa, to touch and hug and kiss her forehead and never, ever let her out of sight. She wants to break the glass painted window of their family and force everyone to look, look. Julieta cooks the favorite meals of her dead mija, Agustín knocks on an empty room, no one has seen Camilo or Dolores, and Antonio never stops crying. Here, here Pepa doesn't bother to shoo away her cloud and Félix does not dance carelessly anymore. See, see that the matriarch of the Madrigals avoid the spot where Mirabel's body stained the tiles red. 

Look at Isabela. She has not slept properly since the night Mirabel died; her dreams show her hermana with hollow eyes and bloody mouth, asking her did I help, Isabela, did I help enough? Every flower she has grown has almost always died, and Isabela had spent all night perfecting them. She uses vines to stitch her skin together and thorns to pin a smile on her face. She is a paper doll that is water stained.

But Isabela Madrigal cannot want. No, she must serve and symbolize their hope, dreams, and comfort. Hers come last.)

Isabela sighed, rolling her shoulders and heading to the kitchen. Hopefully there is a pitcher of water or jugo de mango somewhere. What she found instead was her mama, papa, and Luisa. Mama as always was at the stove cooking what smelled like was papas rellenas, Papa sipped from a glass of water, and Luisa hunched over a book. All three of them looked up when Isabela entered and she internally squirmed as their gaze settled onto her. She's so tired of people always looking scrutinizing, judging at her.

"Tarde, flor," Papa greeted, raising his glass to her. 

"Tarde, Papa, Mama," Isabela said, making her way to sit across from her hermana. "Luisa."

Luisa did not look up; her nose was almost touching the pages of the book she was reading with a vigor Isabela had never seen. 

"Luisa," Isabela said again forcefully.

"Hm?" Luisa grunted, glancing up. "Oh. Hey, sis."

"Hi," Isabela said, quickly drinking in the sight of her hermana menor's face. "I guess your book is really interesting."

Luisa nodded, finally shutting the book close. "Yeah, it's about Greek philosophy on time. I was trying to focus really hard on it because today was kinda' tiring."

Isabela could not stop the small chuckle that escaped her. It's just that the idea of anything tiring Lusia out was amusing. "You," she began saying in a teasing tone. "Having a tiring day? Please, you always have easy days. They can't be that tiring." It was true; oftentimes Luisa could still be seen ready to help out even after a long day of chores.

A frown tugged at Luisa's features. "Just because I make my days look easy doesn't mean I'm tired," she said.

"You don't make your days look easy, your days are easy," Isabela said slowly. Where did Luisa get that type of interpretation? "Unlike my day-"

"Don't make my day sound like that," Luisa interrupted. Her voice was sharper than it usually was.

"Sound like what?" Isabela asked.

"Like I don't get tired after a long day."

"But you don't."

"I do, but you wouldn't know because you just move past me and never ask."

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Why are you focusing on how I talk and not on what I'm saying?"

"Listen, I've had a long day and don't want to-"

"Oh, you've had a long day? You?"

"Stop talking to me like that!" Isabela snapped because for a brief moment Luisa looked just like-

"Basta!"

Their mama's sharp voice caused both of them to snap their heads towards her. Mama leveled both of them a stern look over her should that told them if they continue there would be consequences. Isabela squashed down the small rows of petunias that had grown underneath her feet. Her face flushed and she glanced down at her tightly clasped hands. When did she loose control like that?

For a while, no one spoke. Papa finished his glass of water and quietly left. Mama pulled out a dish to place the papas rellenas in them. Isabela practiced breathing exercises Tia Pepa had taught her. 

She should try again. She wanted to try again because this rigidity between her and Luisa felt wrong. "Can...Can you show me what you're reading?"

To answer, Luisa simply lifted the book to show her the title. Isabela didn't bother to read it as she quickly fell into vexation. "Just tell me what you're reading!" she snapped. 

"Why?" Luisa slammed the book down on the table, making it shudder with the force. "Why? I showed you. Isn't that enough?"

"What is your problem?"

"Just don't talk to me, Isabela," Luisa roughly said and opened her book up so forcefully Isabela expected to see pages ripped out.

"Chicas!" Mama had turned around, brow furrowed. "What is going on between you two?"

Isabela didn't trust herself to answer that. She simply stood and hurried out of the room, feeling as if a great beast was seething inside of her.

No, Isabela Madrigal cannot want. Not even with her own family.

His room is too big.

It is cool with a treehouse and vines to swing on and rivers to splash in, but Antonio feels like he doesn't fit it in. No matter how often Parce snuggles against him and the capybaras give him nuzzles, he still feels out of place. That means he can't feel comfortable in his new hammock and can't sleep.

Antonio has also been feeling awful. He's been feeling awful ever since Papa and Abuela told him that Mirabel was gone. He always feels so, so sad all of the time but he also feels angry. Antonio knew why he was angry, and it was because Mirabel had always promised to be there for him. Now, she wouldn't be able to give him hugs or use him as a model for clothes or always get him water even when it was nighttime. The bad emotions would go away if Antonio played with Parce Sr, the stuffed jaguar Mirabel had given him but only for a bit.

Antonio could not help but think that this was his fault. Did him getting his gift also cause Mirabel to leave? He knew he should have hidden somewhere better so that no one would find him and Abuela would have to not have the gift ceremony. Abuela always said that getting a gift was a blessing from God, and that life would be better. But now Mirabel was gone, everyone was sad, the animals were noisy, Abuela wanted him to use his gift to do work, and Antonio feels like crying again-

Finally, Antonio made a decision. He quickly grabbed his blanket and Parce Sr., told his animal friends where he was going, and quietly walked out of his room. It was so dark in Casita but the glow from the doors helped Antonio find his way.

Antonio quickly opened the door to the nurser and slipped inside. When he looked around, he was surprised to see that nothing had changed since the last time he saw it; that was the day of his birthday, his gift ceremony. Same boxes of toys, same drawings hanging on the walls, same beds. His old bed didn't have any blanket while Mirabel's bed did.

Antonio quickly climbed into Mirabel's bed, tucking himself in. But it felt empty without Mirabel there to hug him and sing lullabies or whisper stories. He crept out to retrieve an extra pillow from underneath his old bed, shuffled back underneath the blanket, and placed Parce Sr. and the pillow right next to him. If he squeezed it tightly enough, he could imagine it was Mirabel. She would giggle and mess with his hair and say "Dulces sueños, Antonio."

"Dulces sueños, Mira," Antonio whispered, trying not to cry. 

Did he mention that he had never, ever felt like he had missed anyone so much in his entire life? 

Chapter Text

Agustín spends every morning like this.

He wakes up, kisses Julieta as she cooks, sets out the table, and eats breakfast. As soon as Alma is done talking about what needs to be done he helps clear the table. Then, he pulls Isabela to the side and asks for a simple bouquet of hydrangeas.

He cradles the bouquet tenderly as he walks past the vendors and the villagers and the occasional donkey. Past the school and local boutique and the only school building in the Encanto. Past the church where Padre Ceaser gives him a nod of acknowledgment. 

He keeps walking until he reaches the grave of his hija. He’s already crying.

“Buenos días, Miraboo,” Agustín says as he kneels before the gravestone. “I’ve brought the usual.” A weak chuckle escapes him as he imagines Mirabel rolling her eyes at the silly joke from her silly papa. 

Agustín spends every morning like this. He wakes up feeling numb, reaches for Julieta, who is also crying, and somehow manages to eat breakfast. He tunes out the words of his suegra because he has no patience for it. He then asks his eldest hija to give him flowers when both of them know their meaning and where he is going. Agustín holds them like how he held Isabela, Luisa, and Mirabel for the first time; gently and terrified of dropping them. The world around him is white noise as he makes his way to the cemetery. 

Agustín does not wipe away his tears as he talk. “Y-Your mama is going through it, Miraboo. It's so hard for but she keeps working. And working and working until everyone's gone to bed. I try to tell her to rest, but it's hard. It's so hard without you.”

It had reminded Agustín of the first few days after Bruno left. Julieta had been so distant, alternating between cooking and searching for her hermano. They had all held on to the hope that Bruno would show up one morning and make his door glow again; that morning never came. 

He remembers trying his best and a hurricane raging outside as Pepa almost worried herself to death over Bruno’s disappearance (or death because how else would you explain the dim door). How he had watched Alma practically erase her son from the family not by name but by memory. He remembers staying with a young Mirabel who was inconsolable after her failed gift ceremony for a month, and realizing that she’ll need more support than ever. 

(Now, Agustín wonders how Alma can erase Bruno. That was her son, her youngest, and all he had done to deserve to be shunned was what-tell what was already going to happen? Dare to actually be upset about how he was treated by the village?)

Agustín sucked in a deep breath, feeling a sharp pain in his chest that rippled across his body. “And-And your hermanas haven’t been the same. It's funny ‘cause I rarely see them interact but when they do they fight. It's actually not funny, it's awful and I don’t know what to do. Luisa needs support but then Isabella needs someone to explain to her…” The raised voices from his hijas were not something he wanted to hear, but Augustín had a feeling there would be more fights in the future. 

“Ay, Mirabel,” Agustín choked out, realizing he was full-on crying. “We need you.”

Agustín spends every morning like this. He wakes up from a nightmare of Mirabel’s limp body going cold. The kiss he gives Julieta is instinctive, well-practiced over the years of marriage; she barely reacts besides humming. He resists the urge to ask Alma how she could bury her son because it feels as if everything reminds Agustín of Mirabel; the small group of laughing children, the band playing at their usual spot, and the faces of his wife and hijas. Isabela’s eyes are knowing as flowers bloom between them. 

Agustín will never heal. This broken, invisible pain will plague him more than the aches from all the injuries he gets. Perhaps he will refuse to heal, always stumbling and drawing blood.

“Um, Señor?”

Agustín twisted around to find two young girls-Mirabel had been young, too young, achingly young-standing a couple feet away from them. It took a moment for him to recognize them.

“Allana,” Agustín said to the squat girl with long curly hair and wearing a maroon dress. “Daniella.” The other girl was taller, with a long braid, square glasses, and a light blue skirt. With a clench of his chest, Agustín recognised silver clowns stitched at the hem of the skirt. Of course, Mirabel would do that for her friend.

Allana Guerrero and Daniella Sanchez stood side by side. Usually, the two could be seen with either Mirabel or themselves, sitting at the fountain in the center of the village and peeling the skin of mangoes to snack on them. Agustín remembers when it was a party thrown at the Guzmán’s and how his hija had practically run over to the girls, throwing her arms around both of them. 

There was no sign of their usual cheeriness. Agustín took in Daniella’s exhaustive eyes and how Allana was sniffling, and realized that he was not the only one who was suffering.

“We’re sorry if we’re bothering you, Señor,” Allana said, shuffling her feet. She was carrying a small basket in her hands. “We can-We can leave you alone-”

“No.” Agustín hastily stood, wincing at how his knees ached from kneeling for so long. “No, please, don’t let me keep you from-” Then he shut his mouth tight because the words'  pay your respects'  just hurt. 

Allana’s chin quivered as she walked forward. Daniella’s face was stony but her left eyebrow would twitch occasionally. She kept a tight grip on her shorter friend, either to offer support or support herself. Fury flared up inside of Agustín because these girls should not have lost their friend like that. Not when they were so young. 

From the basket, Allana pulled out a necklace with a turquoise pendant and a gold chain. Her hands shook as she tenderly laid it in front of the gravestone. Next came a grave basket with papavers in them and the red in them-

-Laying in Luisa’s lap is his hija del bebe who stares blankly at the ceiling. There is red on the tiles, red smearing Luisa’s snow-white top, red smeared against Mirabel’s curls, and Agustín feels like his world is crumbling-

Agustín blinked, and then it was Daniella’s turn. She also placed jewelry on the gravestone, a bracelet made of light brown straw with a purple knitted butterfly sewn in the center. The two girls simply sat there on their haunches, as if trying to see if what they had offered was acceptable. 

Agustín stood behind them and all three of them let their grief simply soak in. Here, in the ground, lay someone’s hija. Here, in the ground, lay someone’s friend.

Daniella’s quiet voice quivered in the air. “Ay, Mirabel,” she muttered, shoulders shaking. “We miss you so much.”

Agustín’s breath caught in his throat.

“I-I can’t live properly because everything reminds me of you,” Daniella continued. Her eyes were wide and her face was twisted down into a downtrodden scowl. “Can you believe that we were walking one afternoon before your primo’s ceremony? If-If I had known-If I had known that would be the last time I saw you-” With a shuddering gasp, Daniella curled in on herself and keened. It echoed off of the gravestones around them and curled around Augustín’s ribs, squeezing it painfully. 

He’s moving before he’s thinking, dropping to his knees and hugging Allana and Daniella. Daniella seems to collapse against him, furiously sobbing while Allana has become a statue. Only the hitch of her breath gives away how she, too, is grieving.

Agustín spends every morning like this. But after today, he doesn’t always spend it alone.

Dana Sanchez worries behind her stern face and thick hair tied up in a bun.

She worries if her appearance is well kept, she worries if Pepa Madrigal will create a storm that will bring houses down again; she worries about the future. Right now, she’s worried about Daniella, her only child.

Dana pressed her lips together. It had been almost three weeks since Antonio Madrigal’s gift ceremony. Almost three weeks have passed since Mirabel Madrigal was found dead in Casita. Horror had been stuck in Dana’s throat because she had seen the girl being carried away. The sight of a dangling arm-was that the same arm that walked little Antonio to his door-was seared into her mind.

Dana is a mother and ever since she became one, she shared the same fear every God-fearing mother had: their child dying. The very idea of Daniella limp and lifeless, bleeding and Dana helpless to save her hija kept her up at night. On those nights, her husband is there with steady hands and comforting eyes because he understands as well. She can’t help but wonder if Julieta Madrigal’s husband also comforts her. Surely, he is succumbing to grief as well.

“Of course,” Señora Sierra said when Dana dared to voice that thought. She was taller than Dana, also wore her dark hair in a bun but had broader shoulders. Señora Sierra was one of the few people in the Encanto who dared to climb the mountains surrounding them. “I for one, feel much better knowing Julieta has people to go to for comfort. Like her own mama when she lost Br-”

“We don’t talk about Bruno,” Dana said sharply. Dolores Madrigal could hear a pin drop after all. Even if they were standing at one of the wells near the outskirts of the village.

Señora Sierra rolled her eyes at the chubby black woman sitting next to her-Señorita Pezmuerto-just sent her a look. “Oh, I forgot,” Señora Sierra drawled. “About your hermana’s fish.”

“My hermanita has attachment issues,” Señorita Pezmuerto deadpanned, shaking her head so that her dreadlocks swished side to side. “We’re working on it.”

Señora Avila, wearing a new white blouse and yellow skirt, pushed her long hair back. “Oh, but it still must be hard for them,” she softly said, frowning. 

“It's been hard for my Daniella,” Dana said, thinking about how her hija has been acting. “When I told her, I don’t think I’ve seen her cry that much. Now, she insists she’s doing better, but she’s been going to the cemetery.”

“To bring flowers?” asked Señora Avila.

Dana nodded. “But also other things like this bracelet Mirabel made for her on her eleventh birthday.” Daniella had met Mirabel when she was seven, and their friendship had blossomed quickly. Small trinkets such as handmade jewelry and tiny dolls made their home in a small wooden box Daniella dutifully dusts. “I know she’s grieving, but it isn’t healthy to just be shut up in your room. Or go to the cemetery only.”

Señorita Pezmuerto sighed heavily. “I still can’t believe she died so young,” she said. “You think that the Encanto is the safest until-”

“-Until something like this happens,” Señora Sierra interjected. “Didn’t Mirabel have her quinceanera not too long ago?”

“I remember,” said Señora Avila, adjusting her hold on a large basket she was carrying. “Such a kind girl. Always so helpful and just bringing a smile to everyone's face.”

Dana pressed her lips together and adjusted the blue shawl around her shoulders. Was it not Señora Avila who had whispered that she felt awful for young Mirabel Madrigal? How brave of her to still be able to show her face in public even after falling from Dona Madrigal’s grace? That Mirabel ought to have some sense of shame every year on her birthday when a grand party was thrown. No one needed a reminder of her gift ceremony. 

Mirabel Madrigal was the name everyone associated with condolences. Condolences on not getting a gift. Condolences on being scolded in public after knocking over a display of flowers. Condolences for her awkwardness. Now, condolences for her family. Dana herself couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl before Daniella became friends with her. The only member of a magical family without any magic. Slowly, however, she found herself looking after her like she was her own child.

Feeling suddenly cold, Dana tightened her grip on her shawl.

Señorita Pezmuerto nodded, eyes glanced down as if she were in church. “I remember my new dress had a hole in it and was complaining about it outloud when Mirabel came out of nowhere.'' A soft chuckle escaped the shorter woman. “Who knew she carried around her own sewing kit?”

“Oh, that happened with me, too!” Señora Sierra said, snapping her fingers. “Always so crafty.”

“Well,” Señorita Pezmuerto began with a knowing glint in her eyes; Dana’s heart sank. “I would imagine she would have had enough time on her hands to just play around. No gift meant that Doña Abuela can’t put her to work.”

“You’re right,” Señora Avila said, leaning forward. “I heard she’s already got little Antonio walking around talking to all the animals about who-knows-what.”

“Or Antonio volunteered on his own accord,” Dana said, trying not to scowl. It felt shameful to even discuss such things. Didn’t all of them learn Psalm 34:13? 

“No, no, that's not how Doña works,” Señorita Pezmuerto, who had never so much as said more than five words to Doña Madrigal, insisted. “All the Madrigals must work, even the husbands. I’m not surprised that Mirabel didn’t come out of Casita after her gift ceremony.”

Señora Sierra’s brow pulled down in thought. “Hey, wasn’t there some rumor about Mirabel not being Julieta Madrigal’s actual child? It must have been trustworthy enough because I remember someone asking the girl who her actual papa was.”

“I was there!” Señora Avila declared, looking delighted. “It was just two young ninos , but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a young girl go red in the face like that. Although she never answered the question,” she added slyly. 

Dana felt something inside of her snap slightly. “Las señoras, may I offer a bit of advice?” she asked and continued on without even waiting for an answer. “Just something I heard during a sermon.”

“Of course, it's from a sermon,” said Señora Sierra, rolling her eyes.

Dana made sure her smile was petal-soft and sweet. “1 Timothy 5:13: ‘they learn to be idlers, going about from house to house, and not only idlers but gossips and busybodies as well, talking about things that ought not to be mentioned.’ ”

Señora Avila’s face went pink and her lips thinned into a disapproving line. Señora Sierra and Señorita Pezmuerto suddenly found the stone walls of the well extremely interesting.

“ Piensa en mis palabras ,” said Dana. She was no longer smiling.

His papa, Señor Damian Santiago Perez, was the other healer in the village.

No, sixteen-year-old Oscar felt that the word “healer” didn’t suit his papa. Señor Perez was a doctor in the sense that he used medicine, tools, and his hands to nurse people to health. He did not have the ability to heal people with a meal.

When Julieta Madrigal showed that her burnt arepas could heal everything-made by a seven-year-old still new to cooking-people slowly accepted the new change. They found that it was much more simple to eat a meal than the hassle of scheduling an appointment with a man who had experience. “They said it took too much time,” Oscar’s abuelo would always say as he retold the story of how the family slowly lost the business.

The Perez’s didn’t lose all of their business. There were times when a neighbor would come in complaining of aches and the likes. But Oscar, along with his hermanito were all told that there was a time the Perez’s barely had any days off since they were the only doctors in town. That was until they had to flee, chased by los guerrilleros. 

Even though only five people visited their clinic, Abuela still taught his twins-Damian and Diego-what his own papa taught him; only Damian had latched onto the idea of being a doctor. Then, it was Oscar’s turn as his papa stealthily snuck books about the body and muscles into his bookbag. Oscar would whine and squirm at his desk as he studied the books, but would later enjoy all the knowledge he would learn and the pride in his parent’s eyes. He did not enjoy it when his hermano , Antonio, spilled paint on the page depicting the human respiratory system.

He also didn’t enjoy the question he asked at dinner.

“Papa,” Antonio began, frowning. “How did Mirabel die?”

Abuela let out a gasp. “Antonio! That is not something a young man should discuss.”

“Yeah, why would you even ask that?” Oscar asked, more curious than annoyed. Was he reading a dark novel from the library?

Antonio shrugged and fidgeted with the tablecloth. “It's just that I heard Señora Avila ask Mama that earlier today.” Mama, who was taking a sip of water, huffed in her glass; she barely tolerated Señora Avila except when it came to exchanging clothes for the other woman to borrow.

Papa cleared his throat. At forty-five, Oscar thought he still looked youthful, with a neat goatee and short curls. “Well, I’d rather not go into detail at dinner, but it seemed something hit her head very hard. Hard enough that she lost her life.”

“But what hit her?” Antonio asked, tone more forceful. “Casita and the Encanto are supposed to be safe. What if whatever killed Mirabel is still out there?” His voice had risen slightly and panic was poking through the fabric of his demanding tone.

A knot grew in Oscar’s stomach at his hermano’s words. He had to admit that he had a point.

Papa looked slightly alarmed, but it was Mama who stepped in to save the day. “Nothing like that will happen, Antonio,” she said sternly. “As long as the candle is burning, we’re all safe. Besides, your papa found it was just a roof tile from Casita. Now, I don’t want to hear about such things…”

Mama’s voice faded away as Oscar’s mind buzzed. A roof tile from Casita? The same house that stood against hurricanes and tornadoes and that one awful blizzard bought by Pepa Madrigal? ‘Yo llama mierda.’ Also, why would Casita start breaking now? 

The sound of his name being called brought Oscar back to the present. His family was staring at him, Mama with an exasperated look on her face. Oscar felt his face flush as he sat up straight to show he was listening this time.

Mama huffed again. “I was just asking if you were close to Mirabel before she..” The mention of death seemed too much for Mama as she simply gestured with one hand.

Oscar shook his head. “Uh, no. I just had class with her, but that was it.” Mirabel Madrigal was-had been annoyingly smart; her hand was constantly in the air for almost every single question. “But she was also pretty nice. Whenever anyone was hurt, it was like she knew and just had an obleas from her mama,” Oscar added, suddenly remembering a bespectacled girl handing him something because of a sudden headache.

Mirabel Madrigal was not as popular as her primo, Camilo. With Camilo, he had his own large group of friends who were often seen playing football or plotting a series of pranks to disrupt someone’s peaceful day. He never had to deal with rumors that he was an illegitimate child, that he was slow in the mind, asked out as a joke, or that he was as ugly as a boar. But in the end, Mirabel was nice, kind even.

Somehow, Mirabel had ignored all the nasty comments and got-not friends, since she only had two real ones but acquaintances. She did this by stitching up tears in the girl’s skirts, handing out obleas from her mochila, and sliding the answers for last night’s homework to the people who forgot to do it; Oscar had stared at her handwriting and worded her answer differently. There would be days where Mirabel would walk into class and greet everyone good morning, and people returned enthusiastically.

(Sometimes, Mirabel’s grin and excitement turned into something else. Whatever it was, it felt as if pure lightning in Oscar’s veins. As if he could do anything. As if he could live without a care in the world because he was safe. Sometimes, Mirabel would sing instead of speaking about long hours of schoolwork and mean girls and chalk dust, and here’s the part that Oscar thinks about: everyone sings along to a rhythm no one has rehearsed. It's strange and confusing in so many ways, but it's not like Oscar can ask Mirabel about it now.)

“But,” Oscar continued because everyone was looking at him. “I only saw her with two friends.”

“I can’t imagine what they’re going through,” Mama said, biting her lip. Papa placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Or her family.”

“The best thing we can do is help them,” Abuelo said gruffly. “Death-especially when that person is so young-is not easy. It probably never will be.”

That is why Oscar wants to follow in his papa’s footsteps. When news hit that Mirabel had died surrounded by family and a pool of blood, Oscar felt disoriented. How could someone who always seemed to be there be gone? How could the world be cruel enough to take away someone’s sibling?

(It could have been Antonio.)

One day, Julieta Madrigal’s arepas-perfected after years of cooking-will not be enough. One day, it will fall on Oscar and he will be ready.

The accordion case had a thin layer of dust.

Juan is standing in the backroom of the music shop. He had wanted to clean the room after noticing the amount of cobwebs and dust bunnies that were popping up. Juan had just moved a couple of crates when his eyes caught something familiar: a leather accordion case in a handsome brown. A sloppily painted butterfly rested on the right corner of the case.

Usually, it would be sitting in someone else's room. Usually, it would be placed on the table in the room. Usually, Juan would be able to pick it up and set it aside. But he just stands there and blames the tears in his eyes as a result of all the dust in the room.

Juan sucks in a sharp breath and rubs at his mustache, feeling the stale air in his lungs. It clings to the back of his mouth in the worst ways possible. There’s this empty feeling inside of him that seems to expand and suck all of his emotions in like quicksand.

The sound of a door opening causes him to spin around. The familiar shape of Andrés entered the room, a frown making the lines in his face deeper. He had looked so much older than he should at sixty-one after the night of Antonio Madrigal’s gift ceremony.

(Juan will only refer to that night as just that. He can only refer to that night like that.)

“Need help cleaning up?” Andrés asked, tucking his hands into the pocket of his pants. His gaze seemed to pierce a bit deeper into Juan’s to the point where he had to turn away. A stack of papers for sheet music caught his eyes.

Juan shook his head. “No-No. It's all good here.” He actually liked it if his friend stayed a bit more because this cold was seeping in and the dust was driving him mad. It covered everything from the carpet-plumes of dust puffed up when you stepped on it-to the cases that Sofía should have dusted-

“Sofía,” Juan suddenly said, realizing he had not seen his other friend since this morning. “Where is she?”

“She had to run an errand for her mama.” Andrés had made his way over to where Juan was and stood next to him. “Turns out she got sent on a wild goose chase.”

Juan couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped from him. He’ll get Sofía coffee when she gets back since it always made her feel better. It's why she was the second person to buy it in bulk; lately, she’s been drinking more than she usually should.

Neither of them spoke. Juan really should get started on the cleaning but to do that would be to move the-

“That accordion was the first thing Mirabel grabbed,” Andrés whispered as if they were in church. Juan felt like there was ice under his skin.

“Remember when she first came up to us?” Andrés continued in a murmur. The lines in his face had deepened. “She was so nervous that you tried to lighten the mood and crack a joke. Something about a hole in a wall-”

“-and a fat mouse,” Juan cut in. His voice sounded like what rough animal pelt felt.

“Yeah. Suddenly, she looked so unimpressed. The joke was awful. But then I came out with the accordion and her face lit up. Asked if she was gonna’ play that soon. And then I asked her-”

“-is she even strong enough to lift those drums-”

“-and that girl tried so hard.” Andrés let out his usual rumble of a laugh. “Got it an inch off the ground. Then we taught her how to play drums.”

“Sofía taught her,” Juan corrected. “You showed her the guitars, and I showed her the accordion.” Perhaps it was because of Andrés unearthing the memory of a shy but determined nine-year-old that had Juan bending down to lift the accordion case off of the ground. Setting it on the table, he flipped the lid open.

Originally, the accordion had been a simple lime green. While Andrés and Sofía were reluctant to allow Mirabel to paint it since it was unofficially hers, Juan had argued that a proper musician always had their own special instrument. That was enough for an orange butterfly to settle in the middle of the accordion, matching Mirabel’s clothes. It was Sofía who cooed mariposa to the young girl and the name stuck. Juan would call Mirabel this every time she came for Sunday practice. 

Suddenly, there were tears as Juan remembered the last time he saw Mirabel. She had been playing with young children, laughing and free in the way only teenagers are in their youths. She had been walking her primo to his door. She had been his student.

“It just-It just feels so wrong,” Juan began to say. Andrés put a hand on his shoulder for comfort but it did not work. “The fact that she’s dead. Remember when she played that one song she was having trouble with for your birthday?”

Andrés was silent for a moment. “I do,” he said softly, voice strained. “I was so proud. I-I wish I had the chance to tell her that. I wish we had more time.”

It starts a day after the funeral. The only teacher in the Encanto places a simple desk in front of the mural depicting the Madrigal family; more specifically, in front of a vibrantly painted Mirabel Madrigal. The balding man lays a bouquet of marigolds on the desk and a graded paper; the high score shined from its position on the desk.

Next, her two closest friends came with flower crowns ranging from roses to poppies. Two rested on top of the graded paper. If the wind ever blew them away, someone was quick to catch it and place it back on the desk.

(Mirabel’s hermana could grow flowers in her hair with a wave of her hand but it is the crown weaved Alana she wears. Lifting her head up high and for a moment she looked like Isabela: proud and regal.)

Then, her classmates placed plates of pandebono or arepas.

 (These were not her friends. Half of them taunted her the minute the adult’s backs were turned. Yet her bag had food from her mama wrapped in linen napkins, and every morning she asked them for updates on their lives. Did you ask him out? Did you get the new dress? Do you have a party coming up and a shirt that needed to be patched up?

The plates of food were a warm apology.)

The children she babysat and their parents replaced the bouquet if they ever withered.

(She will never know how hard they fought to reject the very idea of her being dead. How their parents rushed to shield them away from the pool of red staining Casita’s tiles. How they, for the first time in their young life, are forced to mourn.

Mirabel used to talk to them like they were on equal grounds. She used to listen eagerly to their fantasies and dreams and plans for the future. She drew upon her mama’s gentleness and generosity, her Tia’s protectiveness and playfulness so that these children grew up cherished. (Mirabel never truly felt cherished.)

Babies do not understand peek-a-boo.They believe once you’ve stepped out of your line of vision you’ve abandoned them. Five year olds only understand death in the sense that the wicked witch and evil wolves are dead; not their playful babysitter whom they called big sister.)

“Juancho’s been drinking more coffee,” his papa sighed, throwing out a pile of dead roses and replacing them with fresh ones. “He only does that when he’s stressed. At this point, he’s gonna’ become an addict.”

The squat woman next to him sighed as well. “And Cecelia’s been upset ever since that day. She keeps asking me why Mirabel left and why the magic won’t bring her back.”

“Do you think they’ll ever move past this?” the tall black man next to her asked them. Alejandra had sobbed for days when she found out Mirabel Madrigal was dead. Had demanded her papa fix this because Mirabel was the coolest person ever and always knew how to braid people’s hair and she wanted Mirabel-! But Alejandra’s papa was a carpenter, not God.

The somber looks on the other parent’s faces was enough of an answer. Instead, they replaced the flowers on the desk that belonged to a girl with sunshine in her smile and the gentleness of her mama (of her abuelo and prima) in her hands. Those same hands that took care of their children.

The Guzmán’s placed a small candle with flowers and butterflies carved into them on the desk, and taller ones followed. Some on the ground and some on the desk. At night, it illuminated Mirabel’s face and made her glow. 

There were small treats from the boutique. A spool of gold and silver thread, buttons that gleamed in the sun. Lastly, the first instrument she ever played-a flute. 

Mariano Guzmán took it upon himself to periodically check on the gifts in front of the mural. He carefully re-lit the candles when the girl’s friends could not. He does not do this for his betrothed but because he is furious. Furious at the world for making his home ugly with this death. Furious for hurting a family that has done so much for everyone. Furious for not letting him tell Mirabel how he admired her energy and playfulness that day in the village. In retaliation, he makes the world as vibrant and beautiful as his mama with poems tucked into the small space of the desk. Poems about dancing and great cities in Colombia and rivers with flowers swimming in them. Poems about life.

(The minute Doña Madrigal said “She is no more” the villagers grieved. Fifty years ago, violence was stopped by great mountains acting as stony shields for them. Fifty years ago, nearly all of the husbands of the older women in the Encanto were slaughtered, and their daughters were taken. Fifty years ago, this had been the safest place in the world.

And then Mirabel Madrigal died. 

Did that mean they weren’t safe? Would violence break down their great shields? Would they also lose their own daughters?

How could the magic not save one of its own? Was it because Mirabel had no gift or was it dimming? How could the world be so cruel to kill someone so young?

(They had known Mirabel. Known her since before she was born, still growing in her mama. Had felt connected to this girl who bore no gift and saw her as a bridge between mortals and demigods. But when Mirabel sang and spun into a dance, they’re feet moved as well. They sang like nightingales and Mirabel the indigo of the hour of darkness. 

“You didn’t get a gift?” a little girl asked because how do you explain the music that grew when Mirabel burst into a performance? When the flowers and butterflies and candle flickered on her clothes?)

What did all of this mean?)

“It means we help them,” Mariano says and the grip he had on a fountain pen tightened. “Because they’ve done more than help us.”)

Somewhere, her legs burning from pushing herself, Luisa pieces together emerald that shows her hermana menor. The vision cave and herself crumble.

Chapter Text

There’s a door hidden behind Luisa’s closet.

It’s a simple plain one, gray just like the stone walls of her room. Gray floors, gray furniture with purple cushions, gray sheets for her large bed. A good portion of the room is dedicated to weights and other workout equipment. When people step in, they think ‘The strong one’s room.’

But, if you shove her closet aside and open the door you’d see something different. The sky is an eternal sunset with flamingo pink and soft orange painted in streaks across the sky. Large cushions of various shades of purple and blue lay here and there. Walk a bit further, and you’ll find a circular bed with all of Luisa’s stuffed animals sitting there; Uni the Unicorn, the Buzzing Bee Triplets, hand me down dolls worn out from Isabela and Dolores. 

If anyone were to see this room, they would be shocked. Let down because isn’t Luisa Madrigal supposed to be a pillar? What is with these pink and stuffed animals? So girly, too soft, so childish. 

Luisa tried not to think about that as she squeezed Uni the Unicorn to her chest. The glowing emerald spread in front of her served as a perfect distraction.

She had been nine when Tio Bruno disappeared that night. Luisa is ashamed to admit that she couldn’t be bothered to worry about her tio because Mirabel needed her. That night, her hermana had sobbed the hardest she’s seen her and it left Luisa floundering. No amount of offers of piggybacks or Toss Around (a game where Luisa would toss her hermanas and primos high into the air) helped. Neither did her hugs. In the end, Mirabel cried herself to sleep.

Luisa and Isabela slept with her that night, curled up around her. They stayed in Mama’s room that night with both their parents on either side. Mirabel had been surrounded by family on all sides.

(She was alone when she died.)

The next morning, Tia Pepa’s screams echoed across Casita at the sight of her hermano’s dark door. There were at least three hurricanes and two more snowstorms that month.

As much as everyone insisted on not talking about Bruno and forgetting him, Luisa never did. How can you forget the man who cheered you on during a football game? How can you forget the man who sat through tea parties and make-up sessions, and pretended to be an evil dragon for Princess Warrior Luisa and Isabela to slay? How can you call the man who held his ruana above your head anytime there was rain bad luck? Luisa had mourned for that man and will still mourn for him.

Maybe Luisa resents the community. Just a little.

Out of all the memories she had of him, Luisa remembers the visions. How Tio Bruno would hesitantly venture outside to give visions only to come back exhausted. How people would glare anytime her tio would take them outside to buy some treats. The whispers that weren’t really whispers as a neighbor voiced his or her own desires to knock down el demonio a few pegs down. After what had happened with Isabela and Dolores, Luisa wisely avoided asking Tio Bruno if the Encanto will forever be safe.

(Because it pounds at her head that the wolves are outside, thirsty for blood. Ready to plunder and burn. Ready to kill her family. They stand tall, too tall and carry machetes ready to kill. Sometimes they have wicked rifles and sometimes they just have their cruel, cold hands dragging away your parents, your friends, your hermanas. 

Luisa had been ready to hunt down whoever dared to hurt Mirabel. How else would she have died? But, then she remembered the cracks and broken roof tiles and what Señor Perez said, and felt lost. She supposed it would have been easier to blame it all on someone or a force, but there was nothing.)

Mirabel's face was painfully blank (like that night) as she stands almost defiantly in front of Casita. Cracks seem to have grown from her and across their home. When Luisa shifted the plate the vision layed in, it showed the same thing except the cracks were gone.

Tio Bruno’s visions had been painfully blunt. The future can’t play tricks with you otherwise it turns into a guessing game. To have a vision where there were two possible outcomes tore away all the norm that was Bruno’s vision. 

Was Mirabel meant to break Casita? That didn’t make any sense. Mirabel had loved Casita, and was often caught in the middle of a conversation with its tiles and windows. She and Abuela seemed to be the only ones who were deeply connected to their own. In comparison, Luisa could just simply ask Casita to do certain tasks but never truly connect with it.

(“It's like understanding words that weren’t really spoken, but you know they were spoken, Luisa. Actually, that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe ask Abuela?”

Mirabel. Thirteen. A new pink butterfly on her right shoulder. Bright, slightly awkward, always graceful in her own way. Used to be alive, used to be able to wake up every morning but you weren’t there-

No. Stop. Stop beating yourself up so harshly. You’re only human. Right?)

Maybe Casita was breaking and Mirabel was supposed to do something to save it? Or was she saving the magic itself? Both? Was this showing Mirabel’s actual gift, being able to control the very structure of Casita? Or was this vision showing Mirabel’s death, killed by her own house?

If so, why didn’t Tio Bruno say something? Why has he simply disappeared and left them with this mess?

Well, the vision did capture what life felt like in the family. It seemed everyone was off by one beat, faltering in placing down plates or laundry because no one knew how to do such things except Mirabel. Luisa felt like she had to walk quietly around the grown-ups, especially her parents who seemed so much duller after what  had happened. Conversations were like fake leather: too thin to be true and already cracking under the pressure of trying to get back to life. 

Mirabel would have been able to understand this vision. She had been an excellent student, coming home with high marks and praises. Puzzles and riddles were her expertise, and she thrived in them. This would have been so easy for her.

“If only you were here,” Luisa whispered and hugged Uni tighter. 

“What do you think, Julieta?”

Isabela tears her gaze from outside of the kitchen window to glance at her mama. She and Abuela had found her in the kitchen searching for vanilla extract. 

Abuela had stepped forward, exchanged pleasantries before cutting to the chase. She wanted a portrait of Mirabel to be hung besides Abuela Pedro’s painting. Or anywhere in the Casita, she wasn’t picky. All she wanted was Julieta’s opinion.

Isabela’s mama simply stood there, listening to Abuela with a hard set in her jaw. There were dark circles under her eyes and Isabela wondered if she too couldn’t sleep properly at night.  Finally, Mama sighed through her nose and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

Abuela’s expectant gaze shifted to a softer one. “That’s good to hear. Is now a good time to look at some photos?”

“Let me just wash my hands, Mama. Did you already pull out the boxes?” asked Mama. She was referring to the two large boxes that held all of the photos albums they had. Tia Pepa had insisted on ordering different books for different specific events. Isabela believed they were the only family in the Encanto with that many photo albums.

“I did. We’ll be in the sitting room closest to Isabela’s room,” Abuela said, turning as she talked. Isabela follows after her, her mind racing.

Was it really good for Mama to look at pictures of Mirabel? Isabela had no doubt in mind that her mama was one of the strongest women she knew. It just seemed that after Mirabel’s death she had resembled a store filled with glass figurines; any mention of Mirabel seemed to be the bull barreling into the store. It’s why Isabela talked to Mama about anything else when they had the chance.

Isabela followed Abuela to one of the sitting rooms that also had a balcony. It was an average sized space with a large sofa, two chairs, and a stout coffee table. Pots of fern and aloe Vera sat in the corners, standing at attention for Abuela.

“Isabela,” Abuela began saying as she lowered herself on the sofa. “For the dinner with the Guzmán’s that’s coming up, it would be better for you to wear your usual dress. No need for anything too flashy. Also, could you add flowers to the pillars in the courtyard? It would make our Casita even more lively.”

“Of course, Abuela,” said Isabela, keeping her voice smooth and pleasant. “What kind of flowers?”

“Any as long as they match with your dress. You know, your abuelo brought me a bouquet of them when he was courting me.” Abuela’s pleasant smile dipped down slightly, weighed by sadness that seemed so vast to Isabela.

Her mind flashed to Abuelo Pedro’s portrait, and the idea of Mirabel also having one. Isabela had been attempting to distract herself from what happened to her hermana by doing her usual duties in the village and practicing poses in her room. A large painting of Mirabel that would greet her every time she walked downstairs would just hurt too much. It would be a reminder that she failed to save her hermana.

(It still hurts every single morning because Isabela expects a series of loud knocking on her door to wake her up. Instead, it’s Luisa who’s been knocking on everyone’s door. Each time, Isabela would wonder why Mirabel was not waking them up before a douse of painful realization reminded her that she was gone.

No one tells you that you’ll see the person you love in everything after they have died. No one tells you how it feels like you’re off-beat because the base of a song is missing. No one tells you that you’ll be muffling your cries late at night, and that it feels impossible to live on after what happened. No one tells you how you realize your hermana was still a child before they buried her. No one tells you about the guilt that you have to choke and spit out in the bathroom sink in order to pretend you’re fine. 

But, Isabela Madrigal must be composed as a fresh rose. Her time of grieving is up.)

Isabela’s mama finally walks into the sitting room. Soon, piles of books were stacked onto the coffee table and all three of them took a stroll down memory lane. Isabela picked up one of the earliest books, knowing that they only contained photographs of various angles of Casita and the family doing mundane activities. Abuela and Mama, on the other hand, dove right into the albums containing holidays and parties.

Isabela kept glancing at her mama out of the corner of her eye, expecting her to become tearful. Instead, Mama’s small smile grew with every photograph she picked up. Occasionally, she and Abuela would laugh over a picture. The sound of it helped loosen the tense knot in Isabela’s chest.

“Oh, Isabela, look!” Mama suddenly exclaimed, leaning over to show her a picture. “It’s me and your tia when we were pregnant for the first time.” Indeed, the picture showed both Mama and Tia Pepa as young mothers with round bellies. Both of them were holding two familiar items: Tia Pepa held a red headband with a bow while Mama held a pair of familiar earrings.

“ Tia Pepa got me these earrings?” asked Isabela, lightly touching her own.

Mama nodded. “It was almost impossible to find these, but your tia can barter well. I made the headband myself with your papa.”

“Yes, I’m sure his blood also blends in with the color,” Abuela said dryly, picking up another book.

Mama chuckled as she set the picture down. “You better be ready to get gifts when you have kids one day, Isa. The amount of things I got each time I was pregnant was crazy.”

Isabela felt something cold slide under her veins. There was a rush and she knew that flowers had blossomed in her head, giving away how she actually felt. She longed to tell everyone she didn’t want to have kids. That she felt irritated anytime talks of marriage sprung up which was almost all the time. Was there really nothing people can talk about when it comes to her? Will it only be about how beautiful she was or her marriage or how her children would look? 

Also, why was everyone agreeing on the fact that Isabela wanted children? She had nothing against them and enjoyed entertaining the little ones in the village. But Isabela had been around to see every accident, tantrum, and hear ear-rendering screams from the nursery. Children were not flowers one could plant in the sun; they needed so many things that Isabela could not provide because it seemed out of reach. 

What if she was an awful mama? What if Abuela forbid Mama and Papa from helping her? Would she end up making a long-lasting mistake? Would she allow her own child to be drawn into the glitz and grammar of being the perfect child, the role model? Or would it be Isabela pressing flowers into her child’s skin, forcing down the mission of being the golden child on another unfortunate soul.

Any girl would have been ecstatic over something like this. But, Isabela felt like she had grown up too fast, skin stretched to create the perfect woman for the family. A woman who did not complain, and made her family proud even if it meant doing whatever they said. ‘God, I’m a coward.’

“Ah, here are the photos for the grandchildren!” Abuela’s voice pierced through Isabela’s thoughts and she quickly relaxed her features. Against her better judgment, Isabela craned her head to look.

The Madrigal adored taking pictures for any occasions they threw, so it did not surprise Isabela to see three large books opened. She saw family pictures of old parties, the frozen smiles of her parents along with her tia and tio , and solo pictures of all the grandkids. Mama had opened up one of the three books, flipping through the pages with a small smile; Abuela was busy with another book.

“Come here, Isa,” said Mama, gesturing with one hand. “Look, this is you at that one baby shower!”

Isabela scooted forward and explained the picture of her posing amidst a wall of sunflowers. Yes, it had been for the Delgados. She remembered being eighteen, and practicing the night before different aerobatic moves, determined to awe the crowd.

“Yes, I remember. Their kid should be three years old by now,” said Isabela, giving a practiced smile to her mama.

Abuela let out a nostalgic sigh. “Ah, so many good memories. I’m grateful we have a camera to capture these moments. Have either of you found a good photo yet?”

Isabela turned towards Mama, expecting her to answer. Concern shot through her at the tight expression on her mama’s face. “Mama, is everything alright?” asked Isabela. ‘This all must be too much for her. Abuela and I should have just done it. I don’t want her to start crying again.’

But, Mama did not seem ready to cry. If anything, something akin to distraught grew on her face as she frantically flipped through the photo album. “She-Mirabel isn’t in here,” Mama finally said.

Isabela blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that there’s hardly any pictures of her. Look,” Mama says as she tilts the book over so that Isabela and Abuela could get a better view. “All of the kids have their own pictures of them in the village, but Mirabel only has two or three at best! And the group pictures-Haven’t you noticed how she’s only in half of them?”

Trying to prevent her fingers from shaking, Isabela picked up one of the books and studied the pictures inside. There was Mama and Tia Pepa’s forty-ninth birthday party with all of them posed in the courtyard. It had been another large party where the entire village was invited to celebrate. Isabela searched for the familiar sight of an embroidered skirt or even curls of hair but found nothing. 

That icy feeling was back, demanding for her to curl up and shake. Isabela ignored it and looked through more of the photos.

Abuela’s seventieth birthday in the courtyard of Casita. All of them arranged so that blue faded into lilac and magenta into bright yellow. No Mirabel.

A picture of the family in front of the church. No Mirabel.

The Madrigals with the Guzmán’s at the latter's house late at night for dinner. No Mirabel.

Posing in front of one of the large mills, all of them were pleased over helping with a large harvest. No Mirabel.

Isabela searched through each photograph, scanning them all for a sign of Mirabel. She should have been right next to Luisa like how she always was in every other picture they’ve taken. But, there was nothing.

“Why isn’t she in here?” Mama’s voice was wobbling as she too looked at the other photographs. “How could I have not noticed?! This-This looks like it started when she was twelve!”

How could Mama not have noticed? Or anyone for the matter? Of course, there had been times when Mirabel stayed at home while the rest of the family helped out in the village. But, everyone was included in family pictures for every major celebration. Abuela insisted on it. How could Mirabel be missing from nearly half of their group photos?

“Julieta, don’t become so stressed out,” Abuela was saying, laying a hand gently on Mama’s shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a reason as to why…Mirabel isn’t in the photos.” Her tone was placating and her words should have helped.

But, Mama jerked back and shook her head. Her face had taken on an anguished look. “I don’t care about any reason. I care about how long this has been going on? Why is my baby not in these photos?!” 

Isabela could not help but flinch as Mama raised her voice. She hung her head, trying to become smaller. Then, a certain photograph caught her and she lifted it up to examine it. 

It was taken the night of Antonio’s gift ceremony. Isabela remembered the pride and relief she felt for her primo that night. The family was beaming wildly at the camera, looking so lively and perfect-

And Isabela could not see even a hint of her hermana.

“She-She wasn’t in Antonio’s photo?” The words were croaked out rather than spoken. They were quiet but seemed to scream in the room as both Mama and Abuela fell silent. “But I saw her…” Yes, everyone had seen Mirabel walk Antonio to his door. Isabela had felt irritated and concerned, preparing herself for the glowing door to fade away because this was Mirabel and she always ruined everything. Of course, she’d be so overcome with jealousy at Antonio getting what she wished she had that she’d sabotage the gift ceremony. 

‘You think about her like that? Your own hermana?’

A hand tugged the photograph from Isabela’s hand. Abuela’s eyes were wide and bewildered as she stared down. “I don’t-”

“Did you tell her to stay away?”

Forget Isabela’s previous words that screamed in this room. Mama’s own words draped everyone in silence so thick Isabela could not form a single thought. 

 Mama’s next words were cold, like small pebbles plucked from a river. “Did you tell Mirabel to stay out of the family photos?” she demanded from Abuela, a scowl quickly forming on her face.

Abuela practically jumped at the question. “What? Of course not!” she said, indignation thick in her voice. “How could you-”

“No, I have every reason to ask you this, Mama. I know how you are. How many times did I ever see you shouting at Mirabel because she was “in the way” or “not doing anything useful-“ “

“Because Mirabel was in the way. At least I assigned her any available chores.”

Isabela’s mama ruefully chuckled, eyes smoldering. “No, you’d forget to assign her anything because my daughter was never that important to you!”

With a swoosh, Abuela stood up and glared down at her own daughter. “Julieta, that is enough! I don’t know where you are getting this-this idea-”

“You were always too hard on her!” Mama had stood up as well and rounded on Abuela. Both their voices rose like great waves.

“And you were never strict enough to her!” Abuela barked back. “Mirabel needed a firm hand from time to time, not to be coddled by you with every mistake she made!”

The wave gained height, kissing up to the clouds as a shadow cast down on the singular victim. 

“All you saw were mistakes from her! Every! Single! Time! No matter what she did!” 

Isabela’s mama took in a shuddering breath before settling on a scathing glare. “Do you know what she said to me after her gift ceremony?” she said in a forced, soft tone that was still dangerous. “She asked me, “Does Abuela hate me?” And I almost said yes because of the way you looked at her, talked to her after her ceremony. But I had to lie so my mija would stop crying for one night. Just one.” 

And the wave did not just fall down upon them, it made sure it's bitter cold seeped into your skin and wrapped around your bones. 

No one spoke. No one moved. Finally, Mama reached down and picked up something from the table. “I want this photo,” she said, jaw set as she showed Isabela and Abuela a photograph of Mirabel at her quinceanera. Here, at last was a solo, more recent picture of Mirabel. In it, a beaming girl glowed in her gold and teal dress. Gold earrings shined from her ears and several strands of her curls had been pulled back.  

(“Isa, can you do my hair like this? And can I have one of your hair pins? Thanks. I can’t wait until tonight! Did you already grow the flowers for the staircase?”)

Isabela wanted to snatch that photograph from her mama’s hands, and try to climb right back in that moment. That singular moment where there was no animosity between her and her hermana . When she had carefully slipped a gold pin with leaves into Mirabel’s chosen hair style for her quinceanera, pride bloomed inside of her because her hermanita was a woman now. That special, easily forgettable moment when the air was warm and drove away this stubborn cold.

Instead, she just numbly watches as her mama storms out. Behind her, she had left a scattered mess of memories.

“I am going to go drink a glass of water,” Abuela finally spoke, tone still furious. “Isabela, clean this up.”

“Yes, Abuela,” Isabela automatically replied, immediately organizing the photographs on the table. As soon as the older woman was out of the room, she let her shoulders droop. The entire fight between Mama and Abuela had been awful. Isabela could not remember a time when she ever saw the two women argue so loudly.

She turns her mind to the photographs of almost the entire family. Moments that captured them being fantastical and magical in front of the village, a reminder of who they are. Isabela took pride in how perfect she looked in each and every one of them, a smile on her face that hid everything. Now, these pictures felt ruined because one of the most important members of their family was missing in almost all of them. 

(“Can’t you just stay out of our way while we actually do useful things?!”

“You’re in the way, Mirabel.”

“If you weren’t always trying so hard you wouldn’t be in the way.”

You said that to her. You snapped at her. You pushed her away. That was all you.)

She finds a single photograph. In it, Mirabel is staring out one of the windows. The gentle glow of a sunset paints her into a more prominent figure. Mirabel looks slightly woeful and wistful, her eyes searching for something. She looks so real, so peaceful that Isabela almost runs up to her mama and begs her to switch pictures. 

But she doesn’t because Isabela Madrigal cannot want.

“I wish you were here,” she whispers and smiles because it always helps push back the tears.

Pepa closes her eyes and breathes. Wills the clouds away. Parts them to let the cerulean sky be seen. She needs to do this.

(Except there is a rattling inside of her and a hurricane brewing and snow, snow, bitter snow threatening to dance in the air and-)

No! Clear skies, no rain, just shine. She has to do this.

Except the task is so daunting that Pepa might as well be preparing to push a boulder up one of the mountains in the Encanto.

The door of the nursery stares back at her, keeping Pepa frozen in its gaze. She had been putting off going into that room ever since the funeral that day. Excuses after excuses had piled up in her mind, and Pepa invited them in. Except Antonio was missing several pairs of his socks and shorts. Now, Pepa can’t make up anymore excuses.

Tiles clicked under her feet, jostling her slightly. “I’m fine, Casita,” Pepa said, silently appreciating her home’s concern. “I-I just need to get the last of Antonio’s things. It’ll be quick.”

(This is the room where your sobrina was laid, a silken and hypnotizing voice hissed to her. This is where your sobrina sewed you gifts and painted small pictures with your youngest child. This is a room made for children, bubbling and giggling and laughing. 

Are you ready, the voice chuckled. To let reality hit you? Are you-)

“Clear skies,” Pepa whispered to herself, trying to stop her fingers from shaking as she gripped the doorknob. “No rain. Just shine.”

With a twist, the door flew open and banged against the wall.

Pepa did not flinch because of the sound. She flinched because of a rush of memories from that night. Running into the nursery to comfort her mama who was sobbing and kneeling on the floor. Leading Señor Perez to the nursery so that he could examine Mirabel’s body. 

(The sight of her sobrina’s still body killed something inside of her. God, she had been fifteen with baby fat stubbornly clinging to her face. But, it was Félix who had to carry her here. It was Félix who wrapped bandages around the wound of the same girl he helped raise. 

Some nights, Félix tosses and turns in their bed. He whispered a mesh of words Pepa can’t untangle. Each time, she wakes him gently. Every time, he’s crying.

“She was so cold,” he would whisper into her shoulder, a vice-like grip on her. “She was so small. God, that was one of our babies, Pepa.”

“I know,” Pepa whispers. “I know.”

“I-I had to clean her head,” Félix sobs. “And tell-tell Antonio-She was just here and-“ His next words simply dissolved into shuddering sobs as he clung to Pepa as if fearing she would disappear as well. 

People often look at Felix and believe he has it under control. That he’s ready to do any chores for the day, look after his children, and control his wife. But, after years of being in love with him, Pepa found that her husband was just like her hermana . Too optimistic for his own good, too selfless to the point where he had more than once sacrificed his own happiness for others, and too wound up to realize he needs comfort as well. It took Pepa too long to figure that out, but now she was determined to be there for Felix like how he was always, always there for her.)

Pepa remembers not quite understanding as the doctor explained how several roof tiles seemed to have hit Mirabel’s head hard enough to kill her. 

(She had shut herself in her room and seethed. Moments when Mirabel used to converse with Casita and play with the house as a young girl flashed through her mind. How dare their very home fail one of their youngest. How dare this house allow it’s own child to bleed out on the floor. How dare Casita not save Mirabel.

And to hell with the candle. It gave them all these traitorous gifts, and took away their own miracle.)

Pepa flinches because this room was meant for the children, not a place to keep their bodies after they’ve passed.

(Rain is a constant, and it threatens to push out. Down her eyes, down her face, down onto the ground that will drown. The wind must wail and the trees must be ripped from their roots and the animals must be sent fleeing-)

“Oye, oye,” Pepa muttered to herself, tugging on her braid. The sharp pain from pulling her hair helped ground her. If not, then she’ll be thundering; a thunder will lead to a drizzle and a drizzle will lead to a sprinkle. “Clear skies.”

Spying several of Antonio’s toys, Pepa kneeled down and began picking them up. Just as she was done there was movement out of the corner of her eye. For a brief, hopeful moment Pepa believed that Mirabel was back and simply reading a book on her bed, content and safe.

Except the movement came from under Mirabel’s old bed. Puzzled, Pepa peered under and found a familiar face. “Antonio?!” she exclaimed.

Her hijo had adopted a look of guilt on his face, eyes wide and shoulders tense. Antonio was curled up under the bed, clutching at something yellow.

“Antonio, what are you doing? Come out of there,” Pepa said. What if there were spiders or rats under that bed? Or dust strong enough to give Antonio a cough.

Pepa eventually stood as soon as she saw Antonio army crawling out from under the bed. He finally stood, head hung low and squeezing a stuffed jaguar to his chest; that was the yellow object he had been holding. 

Squashing down the urge to smooth over the sad look on her hijo’s face, Pepa folded her arms. “Antonio, you didn’t answer my question. What were you doing under there? It was dirty and could have had spiders.”

“I was just-I just,” Antonio seemed to be struggling finding the right words. He bit his lip and Pepa watched with concern as his scrunched up shoulders rose higher.

She kneeled down before Antonio and tapped her fingers under his chin. “Hey, look at me,” Pepa said softly. Something inside her ached seeing the downcasted face on her youngest. “Take a deep breath through your nose.” Pepa demonstrated, exaggerating her movements by puffing out her chest and leaning back. Antonio copied her, inhaling as well.

“Now, breathe out of your nose.” As soon as Antonio let out the breath he was holding, Pepa lifted one hand to pinch her own nose. “Goodness, Tonito! What bad breath you have! I bet people all across town can smell it.”

That managed to bring a small smile to Antonio’s face, and Pepa internally danced with victory. But, back to the matter at hand. “Now, do you think you can explain why I found you under the bed.”

The smile and eye-contact was gone. “Sometimes when things get too loud I hide under here,” he muttered, kicking at the floor. “I’d get sad. But-But Mirabel always knew I was down here, and she’d make sure I wasn’t sad. But, now she’s dead. Mama,” Antonio continued, looking up at her. “Is Mirabel dead because of me?”

There were a lot of moments that felt like an invisible fist had punched Pepa in the chest. This was one of them. “No!” she could not help but shout. Gathering Antonio in her arms and settling him in her lap, Pepa spoke quickly to dispel such a notion from her hijo’s mind.

“What happened to Mirabel was awful and hurt all of us, Tonito. But, her death was an accident. Some deaths are like that. We don’t have any role in that, meaning you had nothing to do with what happened to Mirabel. Understand?” Pepa pressed a kiss onto Antonio’s forehead, praying that her words were taking effect. “What makes you think that way, amor?”

“B-B-Because-” Antonio had to suck in a deep breath before continuing. “M-Mirabel was always sad about not getting a gift-”

“Let's not talk about Mirabel right now, okay,” Pepa interrupted, the ache spreading inside of her. “Let's talk about you first.”

Antonio nodded before speaking. “I-I think that way because I got a gift and a cool room, and Mirabel didn’t. Then, s-she d-d-died and the candle won’t bring her back and it's because it used up all its magic to get me a gift! If it hadn’t used up all its magic, it could have saved Mirabel!” He was bawling at this point, burying her face into Pepa’s shoulder.

When the rain came, Pepa could not stop it like how she could not stop her own child’s pain.

(But, listen carefully. She was not raised to allow the clouds to pass by. As a child, she overturned every single rock because of a fire as bright as her hair.)

“Antonio Madrigal,” Pepa began, fighting to keep her voice steady. “None of this is your fault. None of it. I wish that the candle could bring Mirabel back, too, more than anything. But, life doesn’t work like that and that's the worst. It will always be the worst, but it's the people in our lives that make living in it easier. So, here I am and I’m going to make life easier for you no matter what.”

Camilo is doing better.

He’s not completely fine. There are days when basic tasks such as brushing his teeth is too much, and he feels ready to yell at everyone for asking him to do things. But, Alvaro and Nicolas are patient with him. They drop by everyday, waking him up by throwing a pillow at his face. Nicolas’s firm words blend in perfectly with Alvaro’s enthusiasm to seize the day. That blend helps Camilo struggle against what seems like thick sludge that has halted not only his movements but his mind.

Camilo is still ashamed about how he had snapped at his friends who had been nothing but patient with him. It makes him cringe and wonder if the sludge is making him into this horrible person. But, apologies were made and sweets were shared that patched up that incident. 

It's been three weeks ever since Mirabel’s funeral and while Camilo feels like he’s been improving-getting back to his babysitting duties, helping around Casita-he can’t say that the stifling atmosphere at home has changed at all. It still felt like a heavy lift placed on everyone’s shoulders, a reminder that this tragedy was not finished. Not until Tia Julieta and Tio Agustin stop looking so downtrodden, the tension between Isabela and Luisa disappears, and Dolores stops cracking her door open to listen to everyone to ensure she can still hear them all.

That heavy lift is still there even at the dinner table. It's the night before the engagement dinner when the Guzmán’s will come over so that Mariano can propose to Isabela. Personally, Camilo believed that the proposal should have been done sooner and not be supervised but Abuela ran the show. Hence, the current topic at the table.

“The Guzmán’s will be arriving early in the evening tomorrow?” Papa was asking Abuela, taking a bite out of his dish of arroz atollado.

“Yes, so everyone must help with cleaning up Casita. Except for Luisa as she has her own chores in town.” Abuela’s eyes suddenly met Camilo, sharpening. “I also expect you to contribute as well, Camilo.”

Camilo blinked. What had he done to be singled out?

Abuela seemed to take his silence as an indicator to Camilo. “You have done nothing, but stay in your room almost all day and avoid your own family. I only allow your friends to come in every morning because they seem to be the only thing that gets you up. It isn’t like you to be so lazy, Camilo, and I expect better of you in the future. From now on, I want to see you working harder.”

Mama nods at those words. “She’s right, Camilo. You usually don’t act like this. And that's not starting on how your hair is a mess right now.” The scrutinizing gaze she gives Camilo makes his stomach roll uncomfortably.

Everything about what was said makes him uncomfortable. Didn’t he have a proper reason as to why he was acting like this? Or was he really just using the death of his prima as an excuse to be lazy. Also, Camilo had been working hard ever since he had gotten his gift. It's not easy to shift into so many people every day, their personalities and his own blending together until he finds himself adopting someone’s sense of humor or certain quirks they have. But, was his own work that hard or was Camilo over exaggerating? 

‘You’re too dramatic to be serious,’ a snide voice remarked in his head. ‘Of course, you’re over exaggerating. Forget what your friends say. They’re probably tired of you being a lazy ass. Better step it up.’

Abuela and Mama were still staring at him expectantly. Everyone else was ignoring the conversation. Camilo tugged his lips up into the best grin he could muster. “I’ll do better,” he swears, pleased to hear that his voice did not wobble. “I promise.” 

“I better see it,” Abuela said before turning to her right. “Luisa, how are your chores going?”

“They’re going good,” Luisa answered, reaching for her glass of water. “Today went a lot easier because there weren’t that many things to do. How was your day, Abuela?”

“Well, I decided that a portrait of Mirabel would be appropriate so that we can all remember her when she was at her very best. Julieta chose the most beautiful picture of-”

Suddenly, a loud voice sounded out. “Abuela!” Antonio exclaimed, leaning forward with wide eyes. “We don’t talk about Mirabel!”

For a moment, Camilo simply stared at his hermano who would never dare to interrupt their abuela in such a way. The words Antonio had spoken repeated over and over in his head, and it seemed difficult to breath. Camilo registered that everyone had stopped talking.

It was Abuela who dared to speak first. “What?” she asked faintly, eyes wide at Antonio. 

The young boy simply straightened his back. “We don’t talk about Mirabel!” he said again and he might as well have slapped Camilo. “Mama said so when we-”

Camilo had been five when he was ordered to never, ever talk about Bruno. Any attempts were met with stern glares and lectures. Over the years, he had forgotten why they ever stopped talking about his tio and simply focused on reinforcing the rule. He remembered Abuela being the most vocal, declaring it at breakfast one cloudy morning. Camilo wondered if his mama felt this so lost and stunned that he could not form any other emotion. He wondered if there were any arguments like the one happening right now. 

“You said what?!” Tio Agustín, a normally calm man, shouted as he stood from his chair. Tia Julieta had become a statue, staring at her sister with wide eyes from across the table.

Mama raised both her hands in a placating manner, a cloud rapidly growing above her head.  “Agustin, let me explain-”

But, Tio Agustín was shaking his head and looked incensed. “You-Why would-What’s wrong with you?!” he finally said, gesturing widely. 

“Hey-” Camilo’s papa began to say in a warning tone. 

“You want me to stop talking about my own daughter?” Tio Agustín asked Mama, aghast. “Stop Isabela and Luisa from talking about their own sister?!”

“It’s not like that!” Wind was swirling around the room, as cold as Camilo’s insides at the moment. 

“Everyone-” Abuela began saying, trying to maintain the peace.

Antonio interrupted her again. “A-Abuela, what did I do wrong?” he asked, turning wide eyes towards her. “Why is everyone mad?”

‘Because of you,’ Camilo screamed in his mind. But, then he reminded himself that Antonio was only five and still had so much to learn. It would be unfair to blame this entire mess on Antonio who was only parroting what he had been hearing all his life. 

Dolores was quickly making her way over to Antonio, who had quickly began crying. The sight of his hermano in tears sent a pang through Camilo. “You did nothing wrong,” Dolores said firmly, hastily picking Antonio up. “Let’s go to my room, okay? It's going to be fine, Tonito…”

The sound of Antonio tearfully apologizing was drowned out by the raised voices at the dinner table. Camilo found himself firmly staring down at his plate of food, convinced that one wrong move will make everything worse.

Mama’s voice was strained, a wet paper threatening to crumble up. “I found Antonio in the nursery crying about Mirabel,” she was explaining. “I wanted to talk about how he was feeling so I said “Let's not talk about Mirabel right now-” “

“You know what, I’m not surprised you would say that.” Tio Agustín’s voice sounded frigid. 

“Pa-” Luisa began saying desperately and Camilo shot her a look. Couldn’t she see that they had to keep quiet so as not to escalate the situation?

“Don’t talk as if I don’t want to talk about her!” snapped Mama. “I miss her every single day! But I only said that because I wanted to know how Antonio was feeling! He’s only five!”

“I get that, but forgive me for getting stuck on the fact that you just want to erase anyone who doesn’t meet up to the standards of this family!”

Papa had jumped into the middle of the storm, trying to calm both parties down. “Agustín, no one is thinking that! Let's stop fighting in front of the kids.”

Abuela’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. “No one is erasing anyone!”

“Then, what does “We don’t talk about Bruno” mean?” Tio Agustín yelled right back, voice as sharp as a knife. Camilo tensed up at the sound of the forbidden name. “Huh?! That rule you made. Where everyone was so ready to forget about someone in our family because he-”

It was drizzling, icy rain curling under Camilo’s skin. “Stop it, Agustín!” Mama cried out, hugging herself. She looked as if she were in pain. “Stop it! I’m sorry, okay!”

“No!” snarled Tio Agustín. “Someone tell me when did it become acceptable to stop talking about one of their own kids!”

“I won’t have you questioning the decisions I’ve made for this family-” Abuela was raising her voice, adding to the mounting pressure that seemed to pile on top of Camilo and everything was so loud-

“You think the decisions you’ve made helped us? You think these decisions were for us and not for yourself?”

And suddenly they were in the eye of the hurricane where everything is quiet and comes to a resting point and the swirling mess is still there. There is quiet as soon as Tia Julieta is done speaking in a frigid, bitter voice that does not bother to hide the raw fury in her voice. Her eyes are smoldering and want to burn into her hermana’s own eyes.

Camilo turns his gaze down to his food and does not move. Not when a chair is pushed to the ground, not when Mama rushes out of the room following Tia Julieta, not when Papa places a warm hand on his shoulder, not when Abuela sits back down roughly and jostles the table. He makes no move to stop the stream of tears that run down his face as he finishes a cold meal in a cold room.

“Julieta! Juli, wait. I’m sorry. I never, ever in a million years would do that to Mirabel. Please, you have to believe me.”

“Get away from me.”

“Please, just let me explain-”

“I’m fine–”

“You’re not! Listen, no one in this family would try to-to erase Mirabel-”

“I thought that too but look what happened to our own hermano. You seemed eager to not talk about him for a fucking decade. So, I really shouldn’t be surprised that the same thing would happen to my own hija . Now, leave me alone. “

In a room with green walls (a forbidden color in this family) cracks break the walls apart. Outside, a family presses their fingers against their own wounds and do not scream. No one notices. 

(Oh, but the eldest who guards the miracle with every shuddering breath despite her weak and weary bones had seen them. They appear in her dreams, curving into a crooked and crumbling smile.

The fearless one, the strong one, the one who is willing to lay down her life for the simplest of people sees them as the body of her hermana grows cold. She feels them inside as a new weight is added and another and another and another and another and-

The child of Mother Nature sees them over the shoulder of her youngest. She squints to see fractures peeking behind her sobrina’s bed, and imagines snow.

Her own hija , the all-knowing one (except when it’s too late) has heard them for years. She was the first. She is closed mouth smiles and soft footsteps and a thirst for so many things. She is the unwanted truth pushed into her hands. She is a woman of balancing her place in every event. 

(And past the wood and plaster and gaps is a man who walks hand-in-hand with time. He lights a pile of dead leaves from a tree he had climbed as a child; an offering of better days to the very motions of the universe for a glimpse into what could happen and what could be. He feels these cracks and slathers them in spackle that dries under his nails. The man grits his teeth, pushes himself up to squeeze the gaps of the walls of his home back together, and knocks.

Knock for good luck. Knock for protection. Knock to announce your wanted and unwanted presence. Knock on the door of time to see the after. Knock because your mama, terrified even after all these years, did it first; it's hereditary.)

Still, a family presses their fingers against their own wounds and does not scream.)

The cracks grow.

Chapter Text

Arguments at the dinner table weren’t new to the Madrigal family.

Dolores longed for the days when she walked around with her head in the clouds with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. Those days where the world had corners and nooks filled with discoveries ready to be uncovered by a dangerously curious girl. Those days where the world was simple because as a child you were simple; a clean slate, an eager mind still developing, an easily satisfied person.

Then, Dolores got her gift. Here is what she learned:

Every single word that is spoken in hushed tones must be filed away carefully in her mind in different sections; what to say, what not to say, what to say to someone in private, what must be said. Padre Ceaser swears every time he bumps into a table when he’s alone. Some of the families who are friends with Dolores’s parents hiss gossip to each other as they walk home after a night of drinking. There are parents who beat their own loved ones (Abuela personally sees that they’re punished; Dolores never knows what the punishment is). Her gift has smashed every corner and nook in the world, and bared its grim nature with a crooked smile. 

‘You wanted to learn about me,’ the world snarled, wrenching her hands away from her ears. ‘Here, take in everything, you foolish child.’

So, Dolores has to take in the awful sounds of smacking lips at every meal. She must ignore the headaches caused by the everyday sounds as people shout, laugh, cry, stomp, and breathe much too loudly. She has to weigh the outcome of every nasty situation-whether telling the truth will benefit either party or not. She is not given the pleasure of ignorance for every callous remark, every muffled sob, every argument in Casita.

(She is not privy to the muffled cries of her tio in the walls. Some days, Dolores is more than tempted to physically drag the man out of his hiding spot because he is hurting, a deep kind of pain that will never truly go away. But, that would open up a whole chest of unwanted feelings and tears and possibly create more cracks in their already crumbling family.)

Dolores just wishes that Antonio could be spared from the mess everyone has made.

They’re both sitting in her room, curled up in one of the coziest armchairs. Dolores managed to sneak out and grab Antonio’s favorite book-Waiting for the Biblioburro.

( ... when did it become acceptable to stop talking about one of their own kids!)

(The harsh sound of wood on wood.)

(The pittering sound of tears landing on the table. Isabela’s heart was beating rapidly.)

(The hissing sound of plaster.)

(Listen, no one in this family would try to-to erase Mirabel-)

(I thought that too but look what happened to our own hermano.)

“ ‘When Ana looks down the hill below her house,’ “ Dolores reads out loud, keeping her voice light and animated. “ ‘She sees a man with a sign that reads Biblioburro. With the man, there are two burros. What are they carrying?’ “

“Libros.” Even though it is his favorite story, Antonio’s voice is still too quiet. Usually, he would be happily exclaiming each upcoming sentence. Dolores glances down and feels an ache in her chest at the sight of her hermanito’s slightly red eyes. 

“Hey, hombrecito,” Dolores said gently. “You know what happened at dinner isn’t your fault, right?”

“But, I made Tio Agustín upset,” said Antonio, curling in on himself.

Dolores pursues her lips, trying to find the right words. “Tio was upset,” she began saying slowly. “But, him and the grown-ups shouldn’t have fought like that.”

Now, Antonio lifted his head to look up and frowned at her. “But, grown-ups do it all the time.”

“Not all the time,” said Dolores, who wished that the miracle had given her hermanito the ability to stop hearing things. “But, they’re all adults. Yes, Tio Agustín was upset and, in my opinion, he had every right to be. Him and Tia Julieta. But, I would rather them argue somewhere private and not in front of you kids. It just makes everyone upset when they do argue in front of everyone.”

It took a while for Dolores to learn that a lot of families didn’t have Tense Days, times where it felt like you had to choose both your words and actions carefully. That some families actually took breaks, and played around, uncaring of the reputation they had to maintain. That some daughters weren’t always planning on what to do to keep their mama happy because sometimes her emotions became too much.

(She doesn’t want to come off as bitchy, but it is tiring making sure Mama is feeling good. How often has Dolores held her tongue from complaining because the last time she did Mama had a cloud? Abuela would then see the cloud, state the obvious, an argument would follow, and for severals day the wind would be frigid. How many times has Dolores advised her hermanitos to give their mama a break, and practically said that their problems aren’t as important as what Mama is going through?

Mama is constantly pushing a lid on a steaming pot that’s ready to explode. But, if someone takes her attention away from the pot, all of the messy things she has in it will come out too quickly. Dolores understands that it’s hard for her mama, but sometimes it’s hard for her too.)

Antonio’s voice tears Dolores away from her thoughts. “That makes sense,” he says slowly. “You’re so smart, Lola.” A pause in which his heart rate increases. The squishy sound of his lip being bitten anxiously. “We‘ll still be able to talk about Mirabel, right?”

“Of course we will,” Dolores answered immediately, inwardly flinching away from such an idea. “Because Mirabel is-was an unforgettable girl. It would be impossible to not talk about her.” If her vision gets blurry, that’s for her to know. 

A knock on her door. Both Dolores and Antonio looked up to see their parents cautiously stepping into the room; their clothes were still damp.

“You want to know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I thought she had killed herself.”

Daniella sits up from her lying position on Alana’s bed, staring hard at her friend. They’re both at Alana’s house, relaxing after completing their respective chores. “What?” Daniela couldn't help but ask. “Why would you say-”

“You remember,” Alana interrupts, voice soft and face tense. She’s sitting in her vanity, staring past her reflection. “That one sleepover we had with the bird.”

Despite the grim topic, a snort escaped Daniella.

Two years ago, after much begging from their respective families and promises to do well in school, all three of them-Mirabel, Alana, Daniella-had slept over at Alana’s house. It had been a wonderful night filled with games, snacks, an impromptu fashion show, and making plans for an elaborate four book series (all three of them knew they would never actually finish it).

Then, a bird appeared and flew into Alana’s window. It would have been fine except for the fact that Mirabel had been startled and spilled water on her nightgown. She had glowered at her two friends, who broke into laughter. Finally, after a minute of listening to the bird fly into the window again, Mirabel had stomped over, threw open the window, and reminded her friends how vast her colorful vocabulary was.

Daniella was impressed. The bird, however, was not. 

What followed next was a blur of events that involved screaming, feathers in Mirabel’s hair; a bird stubbornly refusing to leave Alana’s room, and Señor Guerrero barging into the room ready to fight any intruders.

What followed after was being ordered to bed, all three of them still giggling.

What followed after was a stream of conversations about the vastness and intricacy of life, the deepest and worst insecurities, the woes of a preteen and-

(“I don’t want to live anymore, guys.”)

What followed after that was Mirabel staring up at the ceiling with pain in her eyes. The breath knocked out of Daniella. 

(“What’s the point of me being around if all I’m doing is messing things up? When my own family thinks I'm just-just a disappointment?”)

What followed after was Daniella pushing herself up and lunging for Mirabel, loudly whispering to stop having such thoughts, to list all of the things worth living for, to hug her friend tightly and pour all of her love for this girl-this hermana she had chosen.

(“I-I can’t stop these thoughts. I can’t stop them!”)

What followed after was feeling so, so useless in the face of her friend’s struggle. 

What followed was both Daniella and Alana hugging Mirabel until they fell asleep, both of them vowing to never allow their friend to feel so alone that she would resort to-

“Alana,” Daniella began slowly, shaking away dark memories. “You know what Señor Perez said-“

“I know, I know! It’s just I’ve had this fear ever since M-Mirabel told us. I could never shake it off ‘cause I was so scared for her.” Alana had shrunken in on herself, her shoulders-broader than any other fifteen year old girl-up to her ears.”And the weird thing is that I’m relieved Mirabel didn’t-didn’t do it because no death is more horrible than that.”

Daniella bit her lip before rising from the bed and crossing the room. Words were never her area, so she settled for actions that hopefully spoke for her. She hugged Alana, pouring all the love she had into this motion the same way she did all so many years ago. 

Mirrors are a staple in Camilo’s room.

There is the large vanity by his bed; a whole wall dedicated to different handheld mirrors he collects, and a dresser for him backstage. If he wants, Camilo could will his room to become a mirror maze. Him and his friends would spend hours in there, spinning around and shrieking at seeing themselves multiplied in glass.

Camilo’s room is primarily a large theater room with a bedroom on the second level. But, if he taps into the desire to change-that sudden and burning urge to become something entirely new-his room shapeshifts in a way. It still retains its theater form, but shuffles through different backdrops for every play imaginable. Perfect for Camilo to practice roles in order to fully become a different person.

Standing in the left corner of the stage is a full length mirror complete with bright lights outlining it. Camilo had carefully dragged it to the center and stood there, growing at his reflection.

Let’s say Camilo wanted to look like his papa. It would be easy to just shapeshift into the other man after years of practice. Many people wonder what the feeling is like, but first you have to check off all of the boxes.

Every single person in the world is intricate and complex, even the simplest of people. They each have their own idiosyncrasies, routines, style, and mannerisms. They have their own place and time in life. The greatest performances played at the Teatro de Cristobal Colon are created through these simple phases: study, practice, and performance. 

Let’s get to studying. Félix Madrigal is a loud man; he laughs with his chest and his footsteps stomp and his voice rings out in the halls of Casita. Camilo’s papa has steady hands that always have a purpose when it comes to contact with everything. Papa just does things with a confidence that Camilo desperately replicates to the best of his ability. He’s been able to turn tears from sadness to mirth, made the sternest men in town hide a grin, and is able to scrape away dark paint to reveal the gold in everything. Félix Madrigal is a man of confidence, reliance, and buoyancy. 

After documenting everything from the curls of an afro to the way Papa trudges home after a long day, Camilo would practice in the privacy of his room. Raising his voice, copying his smile until his face hurt, trying to channel the very person of the person. Sweating after smoothly dancing with an imaginary partner. Practicing while everyone is asleep, and empty seats are his only audience.

 Then, it’s time to perform.

Shape shifting is a stretchy experience. It involves growing taller than you usually are, your face twitching into different features, and feeling the new texture of clothes you don’t own fall against your body. Camilo can even feel the way his fingernails grow, and his hair changes in both length and texture. 

In the beginning, it was an unsettling experience. Some days it still is. But Camilo delights in the sensation because it reminds him of a snake shedding its scales; revealing a new layer underneath. That means it’s easy for him to shift into the person he wants to see.

Camilo holds his breath. Looks towards the empty seats that gave him. Counted down to ten before looking at his reflection.

It is right and wrong at the same time. It is real but fake. It is everything he’s wanted, but he still feels so, so cold. It is indulging in fantasy.

That feeling of grief is something writers describe in their own different ways. Camilo would like to say a few lines. Grief is freezing up, your lungs refusing to breathe, but why should you continue to breathe while the person you loved has died? Grief is a broken and invisible pain that will haunt you forever. Grief is looking around for someone who was always there-walking down the halls of your home, sitting at a desk, dancing to their own rhythm, and finding nothing. Grief is forcing yourself to get up every morning to check on your family to make sure they’re not leaving you like how-

But the feeling of missing someone? That is an awful feeling, one that reminds you so violently it might as well have punched you. You do not just simply miss their entire person, but the details. The special pattern of knocking on his door every morning. Slanted handwriting on homework and notes passed during lectures. A knowing look that says so much. The way she walked and sang and argued and hid your favorite shoes and-

He knew that this wouldn’t help him, but after dinner and Antonio’s words ringing in his ears, he felt terrified. Terrified that one day he won't be able to talk about-

He takes one step forward, and his legs feel more free in the skirt. The frames that delicately touch his cheeks are a foreign feeling-he rarely shifted into her, didn’t feel the need to up until now. It’s like he’s viewing his reflection outside of his body as a hand raises and touches the green glasses.

“I’m okay,” Camilo says, and the wrong voice speaks. He’s never been able to perfect voice impressions; Mama is able to, raising and lowering her voice to imitate some of their neighbors. So, the fantasy is ruined, and Camilo is left with this awful, awful feeling. Dark sludge is dripping all over the script. He doesn’t know what to say or do next.

Then, the door opens.

Abuela is already walking in and opening her mouth to speak when she freezes at the sight of a dead girl in front of a mirror. Camilo feels like his veins are burning with an urge to flee, but the bones in his feet have locked up. The only motion he has made is whirling around, sending the teal skirt spinning and displaying the colorful stitching on it. 

For the briefest moment, there’s a flash of hope on Abuela’s face before he remembers that Mirabel was never given a magical room much less a glowing door. That the color scheme of this room is wrong. “Camilo,” Abuela says to Mirabel on the stage. There is fury in that simple name. 

His control slips and Camilo feels pants replacing the skirt, ruana draping over his shoulders, and the curls of his hair getting tighter. “I-” Words seem to escape and hide from him no matter how hard he tries to look. Besides, it was obvious what he was doing.

“What is this? Why were you-?” Abuela seems to grow larger as she stalks down the aisle where the seats are, climb up the stairs to the stage, and tower over Camilo. “ Explíquese!”

“I was scared!” The shout tore out of him, tugging at the hole in his chest. “I was scared I’d forget what Mirabel looked like so I-”

Abuela sharply lifted a hand and, for a brief moment, looked as if she was going to slap Camilo. Then, she stiffly lowered her arm and spoke in a cold voice quivering with anger. “You are lucky it was me who walked in. You are lucky. Had it been your mama or-or Julieta-” Abuela cut herself off, looking away.

Camilo was never born with the ability to sense when he had to stop pushing, which explains what he said next. “You’re going to make us stop talking about Mirabel, aren’t you?”

Those were the wrong words.

“Why is everyone accusing me of such things?!” Abuela yelled, eyes smoldering and fists clenched. “Why are you all jumping to that idea?! I loved Mirabel the second that nina was placed in my arms! I am hurting as well! Do none of you understand-?!”

“You know what I don’t understand,” Camilo yelled right back, realizing they were at the climax. “How did Mirabel die?! None of us know except you and the grown-ups! Explíquese!”

“She died because of Casita!” Abuela was actually shaking, the chatelaine belt making fairy like noises as it shook with her. “Casita’s roof broke and hit her on the head and killed her! Are you satisfied, Camilo?! Are you happy?!”

“Are you?!” Camilo shot back, head pounding from everything and-

Wait. Step back. Reevaluate. Look over the script. “Casita… is breaking?” he asked, surprised that those words even came out of his mouth. 

Camilo would have known something was wrong with Casita. This was his home after all. But, he supposed that this issue was too much for someone as childish and stupid as him to handle. 

Camilo searched his abuela’s face, hoping for a hint of something that will quell the sudden terror that is welling up inside of him. If their Casita breaks, will someone else in their family die? Will the gifts and magic fade? Are their gifts already fading? How long has this been happening?

(Will he not be able to see Mirabel using his gift?)

But, all he saw in Abuela’s face was guilt. 

After what seemed like ages, weathered hands reached down and flipped open the case of a pocket watch. “Time for dinner,” Abuela announced dully. She turned her attention to Camilo who forced himself to remain still as weathered hands adjusted his ruana and straightened his collar. “We will discuss this later, Camilo. Tonight, we can’t have any more problems. And whatever you were doing just now, stop doing it.” Her sharp lecture ended with an equally sharp glare.

All Camilo could do was numbly nod and follow after his abuela, mentally berating himself.

They both paused at his door with Abuela resting her hand on the doorknob. Camilo watched as the older woman inhaled deeply, rolled her shoulders back, and shifted. The harsh lines lessened, her eyes softened into a gentleness that Camilo rarely saw, and a welcoming smile blossomed on her face. Here was Doña Alma Madrigal, matriarch of the Madrigals, bearer of the Miracle, and leader of the Encanto village. She is stern, generous, and welcoming. She has her entire life in order, neatly arranged to her own taste.

Other people can shape shifts as well. Women paint their faces to appear as smooth as the surface of a pearl. Men cut away at their own beards, showing off a strong jawline. Clothes are a part of character; enhancing your waste, complimenting your skin, making you feel like you are a swan amongst ugly ducklings. Finally, there’s the mask people slip on before they walk out the door to keep up their appearances. They never remove it, not even with family or friends in fear that if everyone actually saw you, they would hate it, too. It never occured to Camilo that his own abuela could do that.

‘What do you not want them to see? How our family really is? How you’ve got a nasty temper? Are you cracking like our home, Abuela?’

Abuela glanced at Camilo at his side. Instinctively, he lifted his head and puffed out his chest just slightly. An easy-going smile was forced onto his face. The action earned an approving nod from his abuela.

Both Madrigals walked downstairs, masks firmly fastened onto their faces.

Luisa is currently having a staring contest with Dolores who is sitting across from her.

Everyone around them is chattering happily, eating their food and passing around dishes. Luisa tunes them all out as she attempts to stare down her prima who looks like a shocked bird with her wide eyes.

It had been Luisa who had not properly locked the door to her room earlier (she had been too busy crying because she was losing her gift, no no no-). It had been Luisa who had reassembled the vision containing Mirabel again, searching for any hint. Then, it had been her papa who walked in dancing only to freeze at the sight of the vision; Luisa had been too late to block it from view. She had also been too late to stop herself from crying again.

(“Dolores and I talked about weird things in the house and taking a break, I broke into Bruno’s room, stole the vision, saw Mirabel in it, and tried to understand it. Then, I felt really bad because I was slacking off on chores and was going to let everyone down. So, I’m grabbing all the donkeys, but when I went to throw the donkeys back into the barn they were-were-heavy!” With that, Luisa had thrown herself onto her bed and buried her face in a pillow, unable to contain the sobs coming out of her.)

But, Papa is an amazing, incredible, and wonderful papa. 

(“We say nothing.” Papa looked as panicked as Luisa as he frantically stuffed shards of the vision into his pocket, ignoring the small cut that formed on his hand at the action. “Abuela wants tonight to be perfect. Until the Guzmáns leave, you did not break into Bruno’s tower, the magic is not dying, the house is not breaking, your gift is not fading. No one will know.” He reached up and grabbed her by the shoulders to bring her eye level with him. “No one will know. Just act normal. No one has to know.”)

Luisa had felt her panic trickle away, going down the drain until-

(“Hm! I know.”)

‘Mierda de puta madre, maldito culo.’

Hence, the current staring contest.

Now, Luisa respected her prima. She had one of the heaviest gifts, forcing her to hear everything with acute awareness whether she wanted to or not. But, there were times when it seemed Dolores had to blurt out whatever she was holding in. It was as if secrets were hot coal in her mouth. Luisa was tempted to just shove an arepa into her prima’s mouth anytime she opened her mouth.

She is still maintaining prolonged eye-contact when a bowl fills her vision. Luisa barely registers Mariano offering avocado as she pushes the bowl away. Horror fills her at the sight of Dolores telling the most dangerous secret to the only person who can’t keep any secret to save his life: Camilo.

Camilo proved why he was the only person who couldn't keep any secret to save his life by promptly shape-shifting into Luisa herself and his version of Tio Bruno. Luisa may have been young when her tio left, but he did not have glowing eyes or sharp teeth.

It was like watching a cart rolling down a steep hill and down a cliff. After Camilo fixed his face, Tio Félix spat out his water in shock, a thundering cloud grew above their heads courtesy of Tia Pepa, and Mama was giving her such a concerned look Luisa has to look down.

Down where cracks were forming in the floor.

‘¡A la mierda toda mi vida! Tonight can’t get worse.’

Señora Guzmán’s voice ringed out. “Luisa, could you bring the piano?”

Luisa did not know why those words punched her in the gut. Maybe it was because the reality that Casita was cracking and the magic was fading was finally hitting her. Maybe it was because her hermanita was dead (gone gone gone, you didn’t save her, you awful bitch). Maybe it was because she had been feeling so useless and pitiful (she had been feeling like this all her life, why was it just hitting her now?). Maybe it was because she realizes how powerless she is to stop Dolores from telling the truth. Maybe it was because of this awful voice screaming in her head how pathetic and worthless she was, why wasn’t she working, she was nothing without her gift, just a loser-

“Okay,” Luisa managed out, trying to hold back tears. Disgust is too small of a word to describe what she feels for herself. 

‘My hermanita is not here.’

Those practice sessions with herself had paid off. Every smile, every flutter of eyelashes, every movement was graceful. Isabela felt like she was floating, drifting from the dinner table, and away from Abuela and Mariano.

Can no one see how Isabela is faking it? Did they really think she wants to marry this man? Oh, she has nothing against Mariano who has been his usual cheerful and poetic self. If anything, Isabela feels her throat close up with guilt with every smile her fiance sends her. Here is a good man who pours all his time and energy in writing poems for Isabela. Here is someone who purchased a book on flowers to “get to Isabela’s level.”

Then, here is Isabela. A fake, a paper doll, a woman who doesn’t even know who she is. Is she el ángel of the Encanto? Or Senorita Perfecta Isabela who snaps at her hermanitas and shies away from her parents' touch, terrified that if they look too closely they’ll see the fraud that she is. Maybe she’s just Isabela, frantically shoving every flower with a discolored spot on it’s petal into the corners of her room because that's not perfect, it needs to be perfect-

Abuela occasionally darts her eyes to Isabela, and she is glowing with happiness. There is a bright smile on her face as she pours wine for Señora Guzmán. The night is going smoothly with the entire family here.

‘My hermanita is not here.’

Wine is a bipolar woman; sometimes too tart, sometimes too sweet. People prefer the ones in burgundy, dark red, the deepest of oranges. Isabela is always fascinated by the paler colores. Anyone can peer into their glass, truly see the bottom of it, and still tip it back to drink. They can still accept the wine despite it not bearing elegant colors. Would they accept Isabela if they could truly see through her?

Luisa hands her a bowl of cream. Isabela takes it without thinking and hands it over to Mariano, making sure her gaze is loving and a little sultry. She lost count on how many times she’s practiced that look in the mirror.

‘My hermanita is not here.’

Mirabel should be sitting next to her, not Luisa. Mirabel should be accidentally elbowing Isabela as she reaches for a dish. Mirabel should be fighting down glaring, obviously annoyed at bearing witness to another perfect moment for Isabela. Mirabel should be here, breathing and eating and living except-

‘I never got to apologize or hug her or ask her to teach me how to sew. I'll never see her grow up or celebrate anything or watch her get married. I’ll never see her again. Why did you take her away, Dios? I needed Mirabel. I want Mirabel here. How dare you take her away from us.’

Perhaps this was punishment for being so awful for all these years. For every sharp remark made, Isabela must pay with each day without Mirabel.

Papa is turning her chair, rambling about speeding things up. Isabela meets Mariano’s eyes and prays that he can’t see the panic in them. There’s a vine looping around her chest, squeezing until it's becoming harder to breath. She wants her mama to stand up and realize her hija is drowning; that this is her last chance to save Isabela. At the same time, she wants this whole thing to be over so that the wedding can be done with.

(In her own book of flowers, Isabela doesn’t need to bookmark a page with an illustration of caesalpinia pulcherrima.  She knows how to brew it, and has done it with other herbs Mama needed. Hopefully, either Mama or Papa have a family member who’s infertile so that she has some evidence.)

There’s a sudden screeching noise. Luisa was bringing the piano, but instead of lifting it as usual, she was dragging it. When it seemed like the piano could not budge, Luisa let out a loud sob and collapsed on top of it.

Isabela had never felt more bewildered in her entire life. Shouldn’t Luisa be able to lift the piano? Was something wrong with her gift? Also, what had gotten her so upset? 

Then, Mariano is going down on one knee and she can’t think. Someone must have stuffed bees in her head because they are buzzing around, making her feel dizzy. This is her engagement dinner, the night where the life of her dreams is going to officially propose to her after courtship, and everyone will celebrate. Her tia and tio  will coo about how all grown-up Isabela is, her parents will get emotional, her primos will cheer, Abuela will be happy, and-

Isabela doesn’t know why she tilts her head to look back at Luisa. Was it for reassurance? To check on her? All she knows is that for a brief moment, Luisa with a wrinkled brow and downturned lips, had locked eyes with Isabela. At that moment, she was reminded that she now only had one hermanita who she had not been kind to either.

‘You deserve this life. Mirabel should be the one alive, not you.’

Noises are getting too loud, the gazes of everyone are getting too heavy, Isabela is cracking-

Wait. She isn’t the only one cracking. 

Both Luisa and Papa suddenly shouts, diving underneath the table. Chittering sounds fill the air, and Antonio’s toucan suddenly appears squawking loudly. Tia Pepa’s cloud had grown over time, and at last thunder was unleashed. The sound of it vibrated into Isabela’s teeth.

All in all, it was not a perfect night.

“What is happening?!” Señora Guzmán yelled, sounding very alarmed.

It was Dolores who answered, sounding panicked. “Luisa found Bruno’s vision, Mirabel’s in it, the magic is going to be destroyed, and now we’re all doomed!”

‘Pero qué carajo?!’

As if to prove Dolores was right, two coatis pull something emerald and glowing onto the table. It spins its way right up to Abuela, as if being delivered. Peering down, what Isabela saw made her gasp as a sudden cold feeling washed over her.

Mirabel, looking almost defiant, standing in front of a broken Casita.

“This is the worst night of my life!” Isabela can’t help but shout as she dashes away, dripping wet from the rain. Her perfect night-her perfect future-was ruined.

“We are the Madrigals!” Alma had to remind these people that she was still in control, had to ensure that they didn’t see any cracks, had to dispel any idea that something was amiss. Anything to stop the villagers from looking at her with concern like she’s about to break.

She slams the doors shut, enraged. Everything was falling apart today. 

First, the candle this morning. For years it has never shrunk like every other average candle. The miracle had stayed steadfast and steady, a reminder that Alma’s family and home were safe. But this morning the candle seemed so much smaller. 

(It had thrown Alma into a panic at seven in the morning. One that left her hunched over, gasping and feeling the walls pressing against her because the miracle was dying they were coming they were going to kill her children, her family, she can’t do this again she can't-)

Then, there were the usual day-to-day tasks where Alma checked in with the other village leaders. It was hours spent stopping herself from screaming in their foolish naive faces that their home was in danger, and that they should all prepare to flee. 

After that was the whole situation with Camilo. Alma will not lie that the sight of Mirabel standing on that stage-alive and well-had lifted every single burden off of her shoulders. For a moment, she truly believed Pedro and the miracle had answered her prayers, and brought her nieta home. That the family will finally, finally be whole again.

Except Mirabel never gotten a door. 

Camilo had looked like he was facing the entrance to el infierno when Alma walked in. Yet, he still managed to shout back how she was going to make the family stop talking about Mirabel like how she did with-

That very notion had made Alma see red, a feat she believed was impossible. Could everyone not see how she was struggling to go back to how life normally was? That the death of Mirabel has left her gutted and filled with regret? Why couldn’t anyone see? Every awful feeling Alma has let stew inside of her spilled over onto the floor of her nieto’s stage. 

She shouldn’t have told Camilo how Mirabel died. Alma and the other adults agreed that everyone except Luisa should know what really caused that death; the girl deserved to know as she was the one who found Mirabel’s body. Now, Camilo didn’t need any more convincing that Casita was cracking.

Dios, the cracks were starving. Feeding off of her family, growing stronger with every passing second. It won't be long until they cover every surface of Casita, circling Alma and her family until the very walls that protect them fall away. That's when la violencia will pounce on them. Soon, the Encanto will burn like Alma’s old home and everyone will be forced to flee; the husbands will turn around and walk straight into danger to hold them off even for a moment. 

(At the first sight of a bucket of water, Alma had sat down and scrubbed at her feet with a sponge. Mud had sunk into her slippers when she fled, and they caked the soles of her feet. Alma scrubbed and scrubbed, arms aching and fingers pruning. She refused to allow even a speck of that place be in her new life. Days turn into months into years. Alma still scrubs at her feet, uncaring to how the bristle sponge scratched at her skin.)

The vision was still sitting there at the dinner table, shining from the rain Pepa had caused. Alma made her way over, flinching slightly at the glow from the vision. It had been ten years since she’s seen a vision, and had nearly forgotten how they stubbornly glowed even after all these years.

(It had been ten years and she still mourns for Bruno.)

The vision is disturbing, there's no doubt about it. Luckily, it perfectly explains why everything is happening. Mirabel’s death was the cause of the miracle dying. The death of a Madrigal-even one who was not given a gift-had disrupted how things worked. Everyone must be present to play a part in the family. Everyone must stay here in order to ensure safety and happiness. Taking one of their own away was undoing the strongest stitch to a tapestry; the most important part was missing and suddenly all the threads were coming undone.

(They had been coming undone ever since Bruno disappeared. Alma remembers the terror blinding her for a month, the pale faces of her remaining children, and the awful snow.)

The miracle dying and Casita was cracking because of Mirabel’s death. Will crack if Alma did nothing, which is not something she intends to do. 

She built her home for her family with her bare hands. She'll be damned if both Pedro's and her own efforts were wasted. 

Chapter Text

Camilo has never seen a night go downhill. 

There was Mirabel’s gift ceremony, that one party at the Osvaldo’s, someone making an offhand comment about grills and fishes at Señora Pezmuerto’s birthday, and one where Camilo was not only caught by his mama but Abuela when he snuck back into Casita after a long hangout at a bonfire.

(He really should have taken the howling, whipping winds as a signal that his mama knew where he was.)

‘But,’ Camilo mused as he dashed out of the dining room, watching as Mariano escorted his own  abuela away from the rain.  ‘This takes the cake.’ 

The idea of dashing to his room, burrowing himself under the covers (while awful, awful thoughts stabbed at his eyes and weighed him down and made him want to howl), and ignore everyone sounded nice. Instead, Camilo immediately turned around to find the reason as to why the dinner took a turn for the worst.

Years ago, when she had just gotten her gift, Dolores was talkative. Babbling at an early age as a baby, chatting to anyone who would hear, excitedly telling stories during playtime. Camilo would not have believed that talkative girl was his hermana if it had not been for their own special bonding moments. Dolores knew how to create a wicked story; her words almost poetic. As a result, half of her tales had been Camilo’s and Antonio’s bedtime stories.

The arrival of her gift had changed her. Dolores explained how often she was scolded for rambling on about a secret that was supposed to be hidden away or for pointing out inappropriate things a man (who was married) did with another woman (who was also married with children) did. Mama and Papa quickly set three rules Dolores had to follow: do not say everything you hear, go to the adults for help, and be mindful.

As a result, years of conversations and secrets and confessions “piled onto her” as Dolores said. She said it in a nonchalant manner but Camilo could see the strain in her eyes, the way her jaw clenched. It was not from the pain of hearing everything at such a loud volume, but the sickly feeling of frustration. Dolores was meant to be a diary for everyone, ready to be locked tight to avoid spilling anything or to be pried open for any information. 

So, Dolores listened, but she almost never acted. “Almost” being the keyword. Sometimes, she had to say what was heard right there on the spot, laid bare for everyone to see. It's what she did when she was truly panicking, looking fretful as everything would explode. 

“Why would you say that?” People would demand Dolores, furious at being exposed.

“It was serious,” was the only answer Dolores could give.

That was the crux of it. If something was truly serious-usually life threatening-then Dolores would tell. There would be guilt hanging off of her for days before Camilo managed to slide in and make her snort with laughter.

(Lately, Camilo feels like he can’t make anyone so much as smile.)

He’s not trying to blame his older hermana. Camilo just wanted to check on her, and ask for more details about Luisa breaking into their tio’s forbidden room. He had just turned around when a glimmer of green caught his eye. Glancing down, Camilo watched as a train of rats darted past him carrying pieces of the vision.

He shouldn’t follow. Mama was storming and needed him, probably a cup of tea, too…

Wary, Camilo followed the rats. Past the loud adults scrambling to get the situation under control, up the stairs to the second floor, past the glowing doors (they were dimming) until he found himself standing in front of a large painting of a teacup on a wooden table. The tail of a rat disappeared under it.

‘Wait. Under it?’

Camilo poked at the frame of the painting. It drew back before slowly swinging back in place as if it were a door. Then, it was a door as Camilo curled his hands under the frame and drew it back. A dark hole yawned at him, big enough for a man to fit in. Or a fifteen year old boy who could shape shift.

‘Qué mierda, qué mierda, qué mierda? Ain’t no way I’m actually doing this.’

But, he did. Camilo tentatively stepped into the hole, relaxing when his foot met a wooden floor as lightning flashed behind him. His heart was in his throat and his insides had knotted together as the painting swung shut behind him. Darkness cloaked him, so heavy that it took much too long for Camilo to peer through it.

He was inside Casita. Inside its walls, plaster surrounding him and bamboo was pushed into the walls and beams stretched above his head. It smelled damp and earthy, similar to outside after it rained. Mixed into it was a musty scent and feeling, as if dust had already caked Camilo from head-to-toe. He rubbed his hands together, wincing at the moist feeling from his palms.

Suddenly, a snapping noise sounded to his right. Camilo turned his head and his stomach dropped at the sight of a crack snaking from behind a bamboo pole, crawling up the walls, and perching at a dizzying height.

“Casita’s roof broke and hit her on the head and killed her!”

It was one thing to finally learn the truth about how Mirabel died (after being kept in the dark). It was another thing to see Casita-Camilo’s home, home-buckling and breaking until it eventually hurt one of its members. Until it hurt Mirabel, a girl who was best friends with her own home. She was-had been intertwined with the way Casita was; somehow knew it’s mood, deciphered the jokes told through swinging windows, and in return Casita knew her.

Camilo along with the rest of the gifted Madrigals could feel their magic. Heavy in their gut and limbs, warm in the best ways possible, a constant that grounded you. As if to say ‘Here I am making you who you are.’ He wondered if Mirabel ever felt Casita and its magic, the two of them dancing around each other.

Something brushed by him; fur on his toes. Camilo almost shrieked as he looked down. A rat, illuminated by the broken shard of a glowing vision, ran past him and stopped. The shadows swallowed the animal until the emerald was the only thing left to see. Then, the emerald began to float, rising up much too quickly and just hovering there. 

There was a build-up happening. A tumble as thunder rolled and rolled and rolled until lightning stumbled out, quick and bright. In its light, a man stood there, hunched over with a cloak draped across his frame and face. He was like a statue, standing stonelike and unmoving.

Another flash. One blink and the man was staring at Camilo, looking enraged at the mere sight of the boy. Camilo’s blood has never felt as cold as it did at this moment, nor has he ever frozen up like this.

Bruno Madrigal was real and he was every inch the nightmare everyone said he was.

‘A nightmare-a plague-in my house!’

Camilo blinked, and the nightmare was gone. Gone in the walls, scuttling around and staring at everyone with eyes as green as his visions, ready to tear into this house’s occupants' dreams, and feast on their souls.

Camilo made probably the most idiotic decision he has ever made: he chased after a nightmare.

A nightmare who was dangerously fast. A nightmare who knew which way to turn, which steps to avoid, and how to throw its body up into the air to escape. Camilo found himself slamming into walls and his lungs burning as he tried to keep up.

“It's okay, Pepa,” Pepa whispered to herself in her room, a cup of tea clutched in her hand. She gingerly eased her way into a chair by the wall. “Remember your breathing exercise. Deep breath in, deep breath out…”

For a moment, it worked. Pepa felt her nerves finally begin to settle. She inhaled, savoring the comforting aroma from her tea-

A loud bang shot through the calm.

Pepa couldn’t contain the shriek that escaped her, that fear she had been trying to calm down, rearing its ugly head. She tasted ozone on her tongue as lightning shot up from her cloud. “WHAT?!” Pepa yelled, clutching her rapidly beating heart. “WHAT THE FU-?!”

“Hey, stop!” Camilo called out, ducking under a wooden board. The man was practically a blur at this point, skillfully dodging gaps in the floorboards. “Stop!”

Maybe this was also another thing Bruno La Bruja did. Tricking his victims into situations where you’re stuck, on a loop of trying to reach your goal as it dances out of reach. Camilo was starting to feel insane, chasing a shadow of a man, and his head was beginning to pound.

Low hanging floorboards cleared. The man leaped from perch to perch over a gaping hole in the ground, barely making any noise as he hit the other side and took off again.

Camilo sucked in a breath before focusing. Longer frame, cropped hair, bigger nose-One Jose coming up! 

He leaped, trusting that his new form would get him across so that he could find the nightmare and drive it out of his home.

Then, his skin tightened. It was as if invisible hands had grabbed at his body, and pinched it together, drawing the skin back. The sensation burned, making Camilo scream out as he felt himself shrink back to his short height. This was not a smooth transition, but a bumpy one where one hand was bigger than the other and his nose didn’t feel right even after Camilo reverted to his original form. It resulted in him only catching a loose floorboard and dangling in the air.

Panic nearly choked him as it climbed up his throat. “No, no, no, no. Help!” Camilo cried out because his palms were moist and were slipping from the wood he hung on to. “Help! Casita! Casita, help me!”

But, there was no familiar flutter of floorboards from his home. Has Casita finally given up? Did it no longer work? Has it joined Mirabel? 

‘I’m going to die here.’ Camilo thought numbly as he slipped even further. The hole yawned below him, ready to swallow him whole. ‘I should have never come here. What can Camilo do here? I’m nothing without my gift.’

“Help me,” Camilo croaked out was probably his last words as gravity looped it’s arms around him and pulled down, down, down-

A cold hand grasped his own hand.

Camilo looked up, scarcely believing what he was seeing. 

The nightmare he had been chasing, the personification of bad luck, Bruno La Bruja himself had come back for him. He was practically lying down on the floor in an attempt to reach Camilo, breathing heavily. Bruno Madrigal did have an unusual pallor to his skin, a large nose, curly hair, and a scraggly goatee. However, he did not have glowing eyes or fangs or even possess a malicious grin. Instead, he looked both concerned and terrified for Camilo, it seemed. 

Bruno let out a gasp before looking down at Camilo. “You scream pretty loudly,” he pointed out.

In response, Camilo screamed because this was a man who could make your future a living hell, oh God-

Bruno screamed as he fell forward. Instincts kicked in-angering a vengeful spirit was not ideal-and Camilo grabbed the older man’s wrist. They dangled in the air for a brief moment, both of them trying to grapple with what had just happened. 

Bruno lifted his head and bared a grin up at Camilo, more teeth than usual, as if he already knew what dastardly event would happen to Camilo-

Camilo decided he was in his right to release the man, another scream escaping him. Bruno’s startled scream blended in with his own shout as he dropped, disappearing into the cloud of dust below. 

For a brief moment, there was only silence. Before Camilo could peer into the clouds to check for a dead body, a head of curly hair popped up from the ground. Bruno Madrigal stood there, waving away the dust to reveal that the hole was not that deep at all. Anyone could jump in and out of it easily.

Camilo wondered if he was going to experience anything else that would make him gain gray hairs at fifteen. 

He should have just left that man in the hole. The opportunity to call for Dolores and alert the rest of the family was right there. Instead, Camilo thought back to the vision displayed on the dinner table. It raised too many questions that he doubted even Abuela could answer. No, the only person who could help was wringing his hands and glancing up at Camilo, silently asking for help.

Which is what Camilo did. The whole process of heaving a middle-aged man from a hole involved sweat, burning limbs, and cursing from both parties. Finally, Bruno was out of the hole and stood at the very edge of the floorboard in a manner that made Camilo nervous. 

Up close, Bruno La Bruja does not live up to the tales whispered about him. He was only an inch or two taller than Camilo, the large worn and green ruana he wore, making him look even smaller as it hung past his knees. Camilo noted the lines of hourglasses running down the fabric. Bruno’s face, slightly obscured by his messy hair, was lined with age and exhaustion; he looked as if he got at least three hours of sleep at best. This wasn’t the same man that gave young Camilo nightmares, but someone he would offer a glass of water and a chair.

‘He looks like Tia Julieta right now,’ Camilo noted. Yes, Bruno had that slightly calculating look on his face, just like Julieta when she was thinking carefully about her next words.

“...Bye,” said Bruno bluntly as he attempted to move past Camilo.

The only difference was that Tia Julieta said wise things. Imagining himself as the brave heroine in one of his plays, Camilo seized a fistful of green ruana and drew Bruno back to the point where he was leaned back towards the hole. “You’re not going anywhere!” Camilo spat out, feeling something burn in his veins after a long, long time.

This man was in his walls! Walls that surrounded Camilo’s family, who had no clue a madman was running around (oh, he may look innocent, but so do poisonous flowers). The same man who has predicted horrible futures that affect people to this day! Camilo could not even pretend to be surprised that Bruno La Bruja was a part of the chaos happening.

“You’re going to answer every question I ask,” said Camilo, scowling down at the older man. “Here’s the first one: what the hell are you doing in my house?”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Bruno’s arms spun around as he tried to regain balance. “Ah-Well-First, I can’t answer your question if I’m-I’m dangling like this. Second-”

“I will drop you!” snapped Camilo, purposely loosening his hold on the ruana.

“I live here!” shrieked Bruno, voice high with panic. “I live here in the walls! That’s why I’m still here!”

Out of all the answers Camilo was expecting, this was not one of them. Nor was he expecting such a frantic reaction from a man with a powerful gift. “What do you mean you live here?” Camilo asked, finally pulling the man away from the edge and towards the middle of the floor. “You-You left.”

Bruno’s shoulders dropped as if a large weight fell on them. His mouth twisted in displeasure as he side-stepped around Camilo. “Follow me,” he said, voice grave.

Camilo considered the situation he was in. Stuck in Casita’s walls, his house deteriorating, confronting his long lost tio, who was more of an urban legend than relative, and almost harming said tio to get answers. Now, he was supposed to follow this very short man to what was apparently the place where he lived. In the walls.

‘Even though he lives in the walls, he still can answer my questions.’

Camilo was following the other man before he knew it, firing question after question. “Hey! What do you mean you’ve been living here? Why did you leave? Why did your rats take the vision? What does it even mean? Does Dolores know you're here?”

As he talked, Bruno would do odd things. He would knock a series of patterns on wood, ending with rapping his knuckles on his head. His steps were odd as they were placed carefully on different parts of the floor. In doorways, Bruno would hold his breath until his cheeks bulged and crossed his fingers, unwinding when he crossed the thresholds. 

The dark image Camilo had painted of Bruno was rapidly melting away as he witnessed these idiosyncrasies. “Tio Bruno,” he groaned out, feeling exasperated. “Can you please talk to me?”

“You were never supposed to see that vision,” was his answer. “No one was.” Bruno hurriedly reached for a small wooden bowl resting on a crate and dug his fingers into it. When he threw his hand back over his shoulder, grains of something flew into Camilo’s face; more specifically, his eye.

Camilo cried out in pain, feeling his body shift into Tio Agustín, who was always getting hurt. But, that shouldn’t be possible because he has had control over his gift for years. But, apparently it was acting up now, the warm magic Camilo had always felt inside of him pushing against the walls of his body, that left him itchy.

Sugar hit him next, and Isabela’s hair swept down his back. Then, the local baker in the village with wild curls held back by a bandana.

After wiping his face clean, Camilo noticed the wall next to them. He could see what looked like dark sludge spread over certain parts of the wall. A ladder leaned against it, two buckets near it. “Wait,” began Camilo, almost hearing puzzle pieces click into place in his head. “You’ve been in here patching the cracks?”

Bruno spun around from where he had been hopping and glanced at the fixed wall. “Oh, that. No! No, no, no, I’m too scared to go near those things. All the patches are done by Hernando.’

Camilo furrowed his brow, confused. Hadn’t Bruno said he was the only one living here? “Who is Hernando-?”

“I’m Hernando and I’m scared of nothing!” Bruno declared suddenly in a much deeper and triumphant voice. He had pulled the hood of his ruana so that it covered his eyes, leaving the lower half of his face exposed. It was so sudden that all Camilo could do was stare.

It was only then that Camilo noticed he was still shifted in Tio Agustín’s body with the baker’s head still on, and hurriedly shifted back.

(That took too long to shift back, he usually did it in a second, why did it feel wrong? Why did he feel his gift turning and kicking around, making him feel uneasy?)

‘Wait… Why does that name sound familiar?’

When the silence stretched on for too long, Bruno sheepishly pushed his hood back. “It's actually me,” he explained, grinning crookedly. “I say my real gift was acting, but we all know it's yours, heh.” Then, he lifted one of the buckets off of the floor in a sudden hurried motion and stuck it on his head. “I’m Jorge. I make the spackle,” said a voice that was deeper and more deadpan than before.

“...Tio Bruno,” Camilo began slowly, not really sure what to feel. “Why?” 

Julieta was this close to losing it.

“You should have told me the second you found the vision,” thundered Mama at Agustín, glaring. “Think of the family!”

“I was thinking of my daughter!” shot back Agustín. He despised fighting, would rather draft peace treaties than recruitment posters, but for the kids he’d go to war. Especially if the enemy was a suegra who never, ever approved of him. 

Mama’s eyes flashed dangerously. She turns to direct her anger at Pepa, who only snows when she is terrified.

“Mama, you always overreact when it comes to things like this,” Julieta said firmly, fighting down the urge to step back as her own mama turned her furious gaze to her. “Luisa is having a difficult time right now, and she doesn’t need you to make it worse.”

Julieta could not remember a time when she saw her second oldest so distraught. It was always this fierce determination and joy every single day. Had Luisa always felt like she was about to breakdown, but could not for appearances sake?

Agustín placed a hand on her back, a silent encouragement because, Julieta was always anxious when it came to her mama. With Alma, she was stubborn and could be down-right cruel with her words, more than once rendering her own children to the brink of tears. Julieta never let anyone see her cry except Agustín who could only hold her tightly in his arms.

It takes a while to put meaning into your actions. Bumping knees with your cuñando at mealtimes to greet him. Pouring your whole being into every single meal from small snacks to extravagant dishes for the people you love. Tapping the nose of your children to remind them to laugh even when life is bleak. A firm hand on someone’s shoulder to remind them they are not alone.

(Brushing aside wild curls to look at beautiful brown eyes, folding kind words into her hands to remind her that she is enough.)

Right now, the hand on Julieta’s back says I am here at your side, I am your support. 

Julieta can’t help, but stare at her mama, who seems to be breathing heavily more than usual. Yes, there is that look of displeasure on her face, but something else. Her hands twitch and squeeze the skirt of her dress, an unsteady action. 

Mama loved control. She liked to arrange everything in her life neatly and in order. It took a while for Julieta to realize that it was because before the miracle, Mama’s life was spent trying to dodge a country ripping itself into shreds and attempting to maintain a normal life. It didn’t work out.

More cracks appear. Mama looks back at it and a flash of something crosses her face. “Look around you,” she says, gesturing. “We must protect our home, our Encanto. We cannot lose our home!”

Julieta agreed with her statement, but wanted to shake the older woman. Couldn’t she see that the family needed more help? That seeing the vision could help mend the cracks?

(That goddamn vision. Just seeing it had punched her in the chest. It reminded her that there’s a dark door in this house with an empty room.

Empty of it’s owner. Empty of an hermano. 

How could you bury your own child, Mama? How could you forget them?)

Someone from the village came to the door, asking for reassurance. Mama straightened her back and reached for her black shawl. “Mirabel was in that vision for a reason,” she began tersely as she strode over to the door. “Her death is the reason why Casita is being destroyed. We must find out how to stop it. Quickly.”

Julieta starred as she strode out of Casita. Her words made some sense given their situation. The cracks did start after Mirabel’s death. But, the way Mama had phrased it… Fury rose up in the back of Julieta’s throat at the idea of Alma blaming her youngest hija for being responsible for this.

Cold wind curled around her body, tearing through her clothes to bite at his skin. Julieta turned to Pepa, who had not dispelled the snow cloud above her head. She looked wide-eyed, glancing around her as if the very walls would crumble. Félix had given up on trying to wave away the cloud, and simply held his wife’s hand.

The cackling sound of the walls breaking, the rush of cold air, Luisa’s tears, Isabela’s night ruined, her hermano’s vision-

“A walk,” declared Julieta, in a voice that sounded surprisingly clear. “Let’s all go for a walk.”

“And maybe get a drink?” Felix suggested, always finding some humor in a tense situation.

“Oh, a drink sounds good right now,” said Agustín.

But, Julieta shook her head. If she takes one sip, she’ll grab three more bottles. “Just a walk, guys. Come on.” She was already making her way to the exit, reaching into the pocket of her apron to withdraw something large and black. The mourning shawls made her feel even more cold, a tremor wrapping around her.

Félix also stood but Pepa shook her head. “The last thing we want is for me to cause it to snow,” she said. “I’ll stay here to watch the kids.” To make sure they’re safe was left unsaid, but they all felt it. 

Even though there was still a bit of resentment towards Pepa about what she said about Mirable (“We don’t talk about Mirabel!”) Julieta felt grateful for her. She felt reassured with the knowledge that there won’t be another death in the family if Pepa is around.

Still, there was still this hissing, sweltering thing that wanted to snap at Pepa. Julieta doubted that olive branches could help with it’s hunger to scream at her hermanita. So, all she did was manage a small smile in Pepa’s direction and a nod before leaving, Agustín and Félix trailing behind her.

Julieta, Félix, and Agustín strode outside where the air had turned humid. They walked under a marble gray sky, the humidity sticking to their skin. They walked around the village where it’s inhabitants were walking cautiously around, skittish. They walked a familiar path that five people used to walk; it quickly dwindled down to four. Bushes of purple hyacinths surrounded them, soft things.  

Julieta knew that the graveyard was not far from here. That she could casually swing by to visit her hija’s grave the same way she used to stop by her room. That she could have a one-sided conversation surrounded by the dead, who would give her the same pitiful stares the villagers gave her and Agustín. They stare and speak as if they understand the anguish inside of Julieta, the hollowness in her chest, the inability to wake up every morning without tears. 

“As a child,” Julieta began saying softly, because the silence was becoming too much. “I always wondered how my mama could wear that shawl every day. Why would you want to be reminded that your husband is dead? Pepa once got in trouble for asking her to take it off for a party. Now-Now I think Mama doesn’t want to forget. She doesn’t want to forget how someone she loved is gone. She thinks she doesn’t deserve that luxury.” She clenched the black fabric, digging her nails into the skin of her palms.

“You just-” Julieta cut herself off, sucking in a deep breath. “You can’t move past that,” she finally managed out. “And I never understood that until she put this shawl on me. I’ll heal, but I cannot move past my hija’s death.” 

She can churn butter, roll out bread, boil soup, and cut the fat off of chicken at record speed. She can heal what is broken, push against the wave of pain that was heading towards someone. She can reach out and feel a person, note every bruise or cut they have, and push her food to heal. Even without food, it was Julieta who knew how to clean a cut or push someone's shoulder back into place or spy the signs of a fever. 

The healer. The fixer. The savior of the day.

Despite fifty years of experience, Julieta could not heal Mirabel, her youngest hija. One of the biggest failures that has ever happened. 

Every parent refuses to allow their children to die before them. It's the natural way of things; oldest goes first, youngest goes last. Julieta was prepared to greet her children at Heaven's gate the minute she was pregnant. She understood stories of mothers flinging themselves towards Death’s arm, doing everything to save their own children. Julieta wishes she never understood what it felt like to lose your own children, to fail them, to let the devil win in taking her hija’s soul.

This was life now. Wearing black to mourn, and watching Agustín talk to a grave every morning. He makes sure one of his socks has pom poms on it to remember Mirabel.

“Félix,” Julieta says as she turns to the other man. She rests a hand on his shoulder, attempting her best smile. “We never thanked you for-for carrying M-Mirabel to her room after that night.”

She might as well have struck Félix as he swung his head to her, eyes wide. Then, his face crumbled slightly and he blinked rapidly..

“I’m so sorry,” Félix whispered, and his voice was teetering, leaning back, ready to fall. “Juli, Gus-I’m so sorry that happened to you. If I could do anything, I’d trade my life for our Mira. All I could think about that night was that I couldn’t let that girl stay there in the rain.”

“And we’re grateful for that,” Agustín said, his voice hoarse and wobbly. “I should have done it-I was her papa-but you were just as much as a papa to her, too. That night-” The words were tumbling out, a bottle of grief uncorked. “It felt like the world died. And I’ve felt so-so-”

“Empty,” Julieta finished, voice dull. “Just… empty.”

They stood in silence, simply staring at the village. 

“You know Pepa didn’t mean what she said.”

‘Oh, what a way to break a moment of peace,’ Julieta though, tensing up.

“Félix-” Agustín began in a warning tone.

But his cuando plowed forward, determined to get the words out. “I get why you guys would think that,” Félix said, voice firm. “I get it. But, she just wanted to talk about how Antonio was feeling. She was scared because he blamed himself for what happened.”

Never had a sentence struck Julieta in such a way that she lost her breath. “What?!” she exclaimed. Agustin just gasped, at a loss for words.

Félix sighed deeply and pressed a hand to his forehead, looking older than ever. “Something about him getting a gift and Mirabel not getting one. We’ve been talking to him but just-I’m worried. My son is five and already has too much put on him. But, guys, Pepa would never dream of doing that to Mira.” A pleading tone had wormed its way into his words. “She was our, kid too.”

Julieya agreed. Both sides of the family had played their part in raising the children, lives intertwined and overlapping. Julieta knew there were some families who were never in contact with their other members, and found the idea strange. Having a tia and tio on standby along with la familia políticia to help with your kids was wonderful.

Bruno had been the best. Always having free time since the village was too terrified to ask for his gift, Bruno had been the main babysitter. The games and stories and snacks made for the children of Madrigal were because of a man who was more taboo than tio. 

“You can’t blame me for reacting the way I did, Félix,” said Agustín, frowning. “Not after what we did to Bruno. Not when his own mama practically erased him from our lives along with the rest of the family.”

That caused Julieta to start. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice louder than necessary.

Agustín cooly met her gaze. “Julieta, you and Pepa were so quick to just forget about him. That-He was your brother and her son, and when I heard “We don’t talk about Mirabel” I got so scared. If it was easy to forget Bruno, who was to stay, it was easy to forget Mirabel.”

“I would never have let that happen, Agustín,” hissed Julieta, rounding on him. That hissing creature was writhing under her skin, begging to be released.

“You let it happen with Bruno,” he shot back. 

“Agustín!” Félix exclaimed, shocked.

“You used Bruno like a warning,” Agustín continued, eyes dark. “You let him get erased. I get it, Abuela is harsh and she’s your mama. But, we never talk about him except to insult him! When he’s done nothing wrong, from what I can remember.”

There was an array of cruel words Julieta was ready to hurl at her husband. She wanted to shout about how Pepa and Félix had been the first ones to agree on the new rule, that since Agustin wanted things to stop, he should have said something, that Julieta herself had tried so goddamn hard. That she had other things to worry about besides Bruno disappearing-

That stops her. When did she move her hermanito to the bottom of her priority list? When he would reassure her he was fine after a long day of using his gift? When, after Pepa’s wedding, people began to glare at Bruno? When she started her own family, and agreed with her mama and hermanita that Bruno was a grown man who could take care of himself? 

Julieta had a front row seat to the shitshow that was Bruno’s fall from grace. Once, he had been God’s second child in a town filled with refugees. Then, people became hesitant to seek him out as the visions grew darker and Bruno picked up on that; he was skilled at reading someone’s emotions. Before anyone knew it, Julieta was leaving trays of food by his door and Pepa was coaxing him out of his room and Mama grew colder and colder. Sometimes, Mama would let her disappointment towards Bruno show through long lectures that always ended in shouting matches.

The whole process taught Julieta one thing: don’t do this if you want to stay in this family. She wished she could have taught Bruno. But, she could teach her hijas and she did. Just gentle reminders that, looking back, did worse to Bruno’s image than any rumor.

“... You’re right,” Julieta finally spoke, feeling feint. “You’re right and you should say it. I use my own hermano as a warning for my hijas. Their own tio. I don’t know when that began. I don’t know why I-” Julieta cut herself off, pressing her knuckles against her lips. Shame was too small of a word to slap on the mess of emotions inside of her.

Agustín reacted accordingly, reaching over to wrap an arm around her shoulder. Julieta leaned against him, taking in his warmth.

“How are we going to stop this?” Félix asked suddenly. “How are we supposed to save our Casita? If Mirabel dying is what caused this, then her being here would have solved it. But, it's just us.”

“That’s not the biggest question,” said Julieta, raising her head to stare in the direction where the graveyard was. “Why was Mirabel in that vision in the first place? It could have just shown Casita breaking, but it included her. Why didn’t Bruno tell us?”

No one could find an answer.

The room was tiny.

It felt cramped, with the scruffy red armchair and a single barrel and a table attached to the wall. Piles of books and pans and boxes were scattered here and there. The walls were lined with strange looking paths for rats that darted here and there, along with paintings of rats and dresses. On a clothesline hung some clothes; a pair of pants, a shirt with a whole mended. Lanterns illuminated the place and it threw shadows everywhere. The room looked like an oil painting filled with the strangest objects.

“Nice place,” Camilo said when the air between him and Bruno became too awkward. “Cozy. I mean, ya’ got your rats, and this cozy chair and-Are those Tio Agustín’s pants?” Indeed, a pair of light brown pants that Tio Agustin searched frantically for hung on the clothesline right next to-. “Is that Papa’s undershirt?”

“Agustín’s pants were getting short, they fit me better,” spoke Bruno, who stood in the middle of the room, wringing his hands. “And Félix’s shirts always fit me better.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you never left,” Camilo said slowly, spinning once again to look around this strange room. He stowed away the knowledge that Bruno somehow knew his papa and tio well enough to know that their clothes would fit him. He also noted how the older man hunched over to appear smaller, and seemed to warily watch Camilo. It was as if Bruno was waiting for a large impact to happen at the wrong step.

Bruno shifted, eyes going up-down-Camilo-down-up-side. “W-Well, I left my tower, which was, you know, a lot of stairs there.” He reached over to pick up a single arepa resting on the wall table. “And here? Kitchen adjacent!” Bruno visibly perked up, dropping the arepa as a smile took over his face. “Oh, oh, plus free entertainment!” He plucked a rat from somewhere and wandered over to a barrel where small cardboard pieces lay. Camilo walked over and saw that they were painted to display different scenes with small holes cut into them for the rats, which Bruno demonstrated.

“I know you like sports,” Bruno went on, sounding excited. “Or what about game shows? Or telenovelas?”

‘A what?’ Camilo thought, stuck on the last theme. Was a telenovela a future thing? Then, something else sprung up in his head. “How did you know I liked sports?” he asked, feeling suspicious as Bruno flopped back onto the red armchair. 

“I would hear Pepa yelling at you to not throw your ball around the house,” answered Bruno. His content expression shifted into a frantic one. “N-Not that I was spying on you guys or-or anything. It's just that the walls are thin, and Pepa’s always had a pretty loud voice-”

“Bro,” Camilo cut him off, already seeing the winding explanation ahead of them. “Why did you leave us but move in here? Why not just leave completely?”  

Bruno froze, his hand gestures stopping with him. Panic flitted across his face before it smoothed over with what might have been an easygoing grin. Bruno’s slightly timorous voice, however, easily shows how the question bothered him. “Oh,” he began, gesturing ahead of him. “Well-Because the mountains around the Encanto are pretty tall. And, uh.” He stood so suddenly from his chair Camilo stepped back in surprise. “Free food and everything!” Bruno continued, picking up a piece of bread as he turned to talk to his rats. 

Camilo had followed Bruno to where he was moving when he looked at the table attached to the wall. Behind it were boards of wood where a golden light shone. Camilo walked over and peered through the slit. He found himself viewing the dining room, the table devoid of the food for the engagement dinner. Camilo could see that Bruno’s own chair would be on Abuela’s right side up at the head of the table. He wondered how many nights Bruno spent, sitting at this small table without a plate-

Camilo glanced down and felt someone squeeze the air out of his lungs. Painted in the wood with wobbly designs of hourglasses was a plate with one name on it: BRUNO.

In the Madrigal family, everyone had their own customized plate. Camilo’s had patterns of squiggly lines, flowers, and chameleons. It was beautifully crafted by his mama, and was used for every meal with the family. 

Now, all Camilo could think of was Bruno trying to sneak out of the walls to find his own plate, only to find out it was shattered by Abuela (according to Dolores). Bruno finding some paints and trying his best to recreate that detailed design from his plate onto the wood. Bruno listening to his own family badmouth him, hissing how he was a liar and ruined weddings and people’s future. Bruno spending what must have been hours trying to fit in with the family.

“Yeah, my gift wasn’t helping the family,” Bruno spoke. Camilo turned to see him gazing at him, looking ashamed. “But, uh, I love my family, you know? I just don’t know how to… I just don’t know how to… “ The right words were not there, and with that Bruno trailed off.

Camilo just stared and realized Bruno looked like Mirabel at this very moment. The same shame curled in the shoulders, hunching over to appear invisible under someone’s gaze. The same tense posture as if waiting for an explosion to happen. The same wide eyes, looking for some reassurance.

(Camilo could clearly remember Mirabel needing help with something in the nursery. Whatever it was involved in moving things around. Somehow, Camilo had discovered a small blue book that he knew was his prima’s diary. Victory had coursed through him as he raced to his room, a furious Mirabel hot on his heels.

She was fast, but this was Camilo’s room. So, while Mirabel dealt with a spinning stage, he cracked open the book and flipped through the pages. Announcing snippets in a high, feminine voice, wearing Mirabel’s skin.

“Who knew some of the older boys could be sooo cute!”

“-I’m not saying Isabela is awful, just that she should yank the rosebush out of her-!”

“--ried to help! If only a certain annoying primo could stop being a bully-”

“-Abuelo Pedro would be ashamed if he were alive, I know I am-”

The laughter stopped. The words bounced off the walls. Camilo stared at pages of small doodles of doors where a carving of a curly-haired girl smiled in them. That same girl wasn’t laughing in real life.

Camilo had looked at Mirabel and found her silent, shoulders tense and shaking. Never had he seen his prima look so small, dispirited and obviously burning with shame at having such a secretive thing exposed. She looked like she wanted a hug, but flinched when Camilo took a step forward.

Flinched. Because of Camilo.

“I know I mess things up and make you guys annoyed. But-But, I want to help this family. It's just no one tells me how to and I know the reason.”

He had simply handed her back the diary, and followed her to the nursery to continue helping.)

Camilo blinked, and suddenly Bruno wanted him to leave, to walk away from this secret that no one in the family would dare whisper, and the answers to their problems. But, Camilo wanted to suddenly be there for his tio who was so similar to Mirabel it left his chest aching.

“Why was Mirabel in the vision, Tio Bruno?” Camilo asked softly, approaching the armchair.

But, Bruno sat there silently. He looked sullen and incredibly old and smaller than ever. However, Camilo had seen how this man talked freely about “telenovelas” so he knew he could talk freely about this. He just needed a push.

“Tio,” began Camilo, kneeling down. “I just want to know why it would show Mirabel like that and to stop the cracks. Mirabel-She-” He had to continue talking; he had to. “She would never hurt us in any way. She just wanted to make her family proud. She loved us so much. And she would love you, too, if she had met you.”

Bruno only stared before finally sighing. “I can’t tell you,” he said and Camilo felt disappointment surge into him until-”Because I don’t know.”

What followed was a story that explained everything:

Five-year-old Mirabel is at the center of the stage, looking so confused and scared as her door fades away. Then, a hurricane of people moved here and there, raising questions about why a Madrigal was not blessed with a gift. 

Enter stage left: Abuela. Worried about the magic fading, about the future of their family and their home.

Enter stage right: Tio Bruno who was also Bruno La Bruja who was also Bruno Madrigal. Gifted with the ability to see into the future, his mama asked him to see once again. To figure out why Mirabel didn’t get a gift. Bruno agrees, and as the lights dim and as the audience hushes each other because they were finally getting answers to the story-

The future showed Mirabel standing tall in front of Casita covered in cracks. No, it showed her in front of a whole Casita, unyielding. Cracked, whole, cracked, whole, cracked whole…

Bruno sees this vision and does not need his gift to know what his sobrina’s future will look like. Blame piled onto her shoulders, hate-filled glares, shunned again and again until Mirabel was left on the side. 

Bruno lifts the vision, drops it onto a stone, and watches apathetically as it shatters and is swept under sand. Then, he turns on heel and leaves not only the stage but the theater as a whole.

The entire story clicks in Camilo’s mind. “You left for Mirabel?” he asked, tentatively touching the emerald figure of his prima in the vision. 

Bruno looked as if he had aged further. “If I had stayed, things would have been worse for her. You know what it’s like without me being there. It-It was for the best.” His voice took on a more serious tone. “Then, Mirabel…”

Camilo felt a lump grow in his throat. Two weeks have passed since Mirabel dying, and it still hurt. He firmly believed it will always hurt; this great weight pressing down on his chest and squeezing his lungs.

“If I had known what would have happened, I would have come out and saved her.” Bruno’s voice wobbled as he blinked rapidly. “Instead, I was just stuck in here like a-like a coward." He sucked in a shuddering gasp that bordered on a sob. I was so scared that it would happen again, that one of you kids would die, so I had another vision the next day.”

“Well, what did you see?” asked Camilo. Something akin to sparks was flaring up inside of him, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Finally, some answers to this enormous problem.

Bruno’s gaze was pitiful as they stared up at Camilo. “The vision would change just like this one. There was Casita… in ruins. And it would either show you and Abuela or not. That was all I could see.”

His words were flung over the sparks, dousing them just as quickly as they appeared. Camilo felt like his childhood nightmare had come true; being in one of Bruno’s infamous visions. Except for one thing…

“I mean, the future's not set in stone,” he said, shrugging. “Vision said that Mirabel was either going to save or destroy Casita, and then she died-“

“Camilo!” Bruno exclaimed, gaping at him. 

“-so, that means this future can be changed!” he continued, trying not to laugh at the scandalized tone that sounded like his mama’s. An idea bloomed into his head, and the sparks came back.

“You’re grinning,” commented Bruno, sounding wary. “You’re grinning like Félix when he’s about to do something that will not end well. Stop grinning. Slam the brakes down on that grinning.”

“Tio Bruno,” Camilo says, still grinning and reminding himself to ask what “breaks” are later. “I know how to save Casita, the family, and the magic.” He spread his arms and spun, hair growing and nose dropping down. “You’re going to have a vision of our future!” he cried out, spinning to a stop as the real Bruno Madrigal, not the one who was seven-foot-frame and feasted on your screams.

The man across from him stared at himself and said a word that would have Mama thundering.

Apparently, getting Bruno to have another vision meant sneaking into Antonio’s room, of all places.

They had to go in there since Antonio talked to the rats with his gift, found his hermanito talking to their taboo tio, and decided that he wanted to tag along in this new adventure. While Camilo didn’t want his hermanito to be involved in this, it was the first time he had seen Antonio look excited.

“And it's the first time I saw Camilo out of bed all week,” piped up Antonio to Bruno as they entered his room. “Mama says he’s lazy.”

Camilo suddenly wished that Antonio would learn how to be tactful. “Thanks, Antonio,” he muttered, unconsciously hunching over. Now he would have another family member tell him to get his act together, to stop being so lazy, to get back to being normal-

“Really?” said Bruno, sounding delighted. “That-That’s great news. Good job, Camilo.”

‘What?’

“What?” Camilo asked, feeling like he skipped a few lines.

Bruno gave him a sad, knowing smile as Antonio walked a few spaces ahead of them. “I said good job on getting out of bed. It must’ve been tough.”

“... It's not that big of a deal,” Camilo said slowly, stepping over a tree trunk. “It's just me being lazy.”

“It's not just that, is it?” One of Bruno’s hands rose up to rub at his left wrist, scrunching up the green fabric of his ruan. “Look, I-I know I’ve been gone for ten years and you probably don’t care, but I went-I’m going through what you’re going through.”

“Ay, no.” Exasperation weighed down on Camilo, making his head flop back. “Don’t give me the “I-know-what-you’re-going-through” talk. Tia Julieta always gives me that talk. And how would you know anything about-”

“Feeling like everything is too big and you’re too small,” Bruno interrupted, voice firm. “Not being able to brush your teeth or comb your hair because it seems like it doesn’t even matter and you don’t have the energy to do it. Wondering why you should bother about anything, asking yourself why you’re like this. Being told by your own mama to get it together. Feeling frustrated that no one sees you're trying your best. Feeling like giving up every day-” He cut himself off, eyes growing wide as if realizing he had gone onto a long explanation.

Camilo felt the crystal-clear feeling of relief because that was what he felt. It did not start after Mirabel’s death, but one day on a good day. He had simply pushed it back, too focused on his own duties in the community. “You feel that way, too?” he could not help but ask, scarcely believing that there was someone like him that was so close.

The question made Bruno’s features drop. He had eyes that always seemed too exhausted and somber for everything. “I do. It doesn’t go away ‘cause I’ve had it for so long. Maybe when I was younger than you. My family didn’t know what to do, and I realized I didn’t know how to ask for help. Ended up making things worse.” Bitterness colored his words like the harsh purple of a bruise.

“Tio, you’re literally helping us with our already worse situation,” said Camilo as they finally reached their destination-the middle of Antonio’s room. “If anything, you’re making this situation better.”

That made the older man smile warmly at him, something that Camilo took pride in.

He sat down on the tiled floor, and watched as Bruno began pouring sand around them to form a circle. A tingle suddenly danced up his spine, and with a yelp Camilo felt himself shapeshift involuntarily. The too large frame of a man from the village should be comfortable, but they are not, not when he has a baby head. It feels like he’s choking on that champagne he snuck a quick swig out of his Papa’s drink at that one party. Such a bubbly drink should not burn down or rebel against the walls of his stomach or make him feel more and more empty.

‘This isn’t how it's supposed to go, this is wrong, this feels wrong-’

“Can you speed things up?” Camilo asked in a disturbingly high-pitched voice. He risks a glance at Antonio to find a disturbed look being directed at him and winces. At the same time, the room shakes with a rumble that raises the hair on Camilo’s arms.

Bruno, either unphased by this display or just not caring, chuckles. “You can’t hurry the future,” he says, adding a capybara to the circle. “What if I show you something worse? If I see something you don’t like you’re going to be all like “Oh, Bruno makes bad things happen! Oh, he’s creepy and his vision killed my goldfish!” “

But, Camilo shook his head, unnerved with the amount of self-deprecating comments his tio was making. “I swear I won’t do that, Tio. Just pretend you're that guy you were before. Hernando!” There it was again, that prickly feeling in the back of his head like he remembered something. “Hernando El Honorable!” An image of him using a broom as a sword and his ruana as a cape came to mind.

Bruno gasped, astonished. “You remember Hernando El Honorable?”

“Yeah!” said Camilo, eager to discuss this new memory. He felt himself slowly shift back to his original form. “I remember pretending to be this demigod who got stranded in Colombia, and decided to become some hero who went from town to town-”

“-And honored the memory of his dead father by defeating every evil he came across!” Bruno said, projecting his voice so that it ringed out like a king’s, puffing his chest out and raising his fist. “I helped you come up with the character and you took over! For Mirabel, I made Jorge 'cause he's craft.”

Flashes of yelling things, asking Casita to play along, running around and “borrowing” food to feed his hungry friends flashed through Camilo’s mind. “Yo!” he exclaimed, feeling whole. “I stopped when I was like, nine, but I can’t believe you were the one who played with me.” The new knowledge filled him with a sense of melancholy about what could have been had Bruno not left.

It must have shown on his face because the wide smile on Bruno’s face faded into a concerned look. He opened his mouth to speak, but cut off when another shake shuddered through Casita.

“Okay!” shouted Bruno, clapping his hands together, eyes darting around wildly. “Let’s-Let’s do this before it’s too late.”

Something yellow came into view. Both Camilo and Bruno looked over to find Antonio leaning against his new jaguar friend, holding out a jaguar plushie. Camilo’s heart broke when he realized it was the same one Mirabel had made for Antonio’s birthday.

“For the nerves,” explained Antonio, handing the jaguar toy to Bruno and mounting his actual jaguar to walk away.

It seemed to help. Bruno sucked in a deep breath through his nose and exhaled. “I can do this. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” he whispered repeatedly, reaching into his ruana for salt to throw over his shoulder. A single match was struck, and the piles of leaves and sticks Bruno had made were lit. An earthy scent flew through the air.

Bruno inhaled before exhaling, the wind growing stronger with every breath he took. Wayward leaves flew around both Camilo and Bruno. Something akin to electricity was on Camilo’s tongue, but this was not his mama’s lightning. No, this one carried something else.

Cracking his fingers, Bruno’s eyes opened and Camilo smothered a gasp. They were glowing a bright green similar to the visions. “You might want to hang out,” said Bruno and held out his hands.

The second Camilo grasped those hands, the world erupted. That electricity was everywhere, dancing on his skin and in the back of his throat that made him feel more alive than ever. The sand around them rose until it formed a swirling dome around them with flashes of green. It was an exhilarating and terrifying thing. ‘They eye of the hurricane,’ Camilo idly thought.

Bruno opened his eyes and seemed to stare beyond Camilo, beyond Antonio’s room, beyond the present, it seemed. He looked slightly surprised, as if the future was a gift he was not expecting. The grip on Camilo’s hand was slack, fingers occasionally slipping. Camilo held on, fearing what would happen if he let go.

Green sand swirled around, showing the future. A windowsill with a familiar candle breaking, a flame flickering out. A large crack snaking through a road in the Encanto and breaking open a mountain. The terrifying image of Antonio almost being crushed by something if not for Papa saving him. The figure of Mirabel staring hauntingly back at Camilo in front of their home. Finally, the family sits among the ruins of Casita.

Camilo had never felt so helpless and horrified in his life.

Bruno groaned, doubling over. “It's just the same thing,” he cried out miserably. “I gotta’ stop!”

“No!” The shout tore out of Camilo’s throat as he lunged to grab his tio’s hands again. “Tio, we have to stop this! We can’t let this happen!”

But, Bruno shook his head, face twisted into a grimace. “You’re looking at the same thing I am,” he tried to explain but Camilo’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

Up in the sand dome, something shone. A small golden thing, moving gently despite the erratic winds. It almost looked like-”A butterfly!” yelled Camilo, frantically pointing. “That’s-That’s gotta’ mean something.”

Apparently, it did. “Butterfly!” shouted Bruno, pointing as well. “Follow the butterfly!”

They did, Camilo tugging his tio up to watch as the butterfly fluttered down in front of them. It stilled and began to glow brighter, bright enough that it burned Camilo’s eyes. The butterfly landed on the curve of a tall grass in an unknown location. A green Camilo walked into view, leading someone into what looked like water. 

“Okay!” shouted Bruno over the rush of wind and the roaring in Camilo’s head. “You-You follow the butterfly to-a pond? A lake? Something with water!”

“Who am I with?” yelled Camilo, squinting through the sand.

Then, the image grew larger until it moved past Camilo and Bruno, showing them the windowsill where the candle sat. This time, it was flaring brighter.

Triumph flooded Camilo at the sight. He knew there was something else, he knew there was an answer.

A familiar figure stepped into view, smiling at the candle. “Luisa!” cried out Camilo.

“Luisa!” echoed Bruno, voice filled with joy. “Luisa is going to help the candle. See, it’s glowing brighter!”

“There’s someone there!” yelled Camilo, noticing the sand shifting into another figure of a person. However, the face was half-finished. 

“Someone helps Luisa with the candle!” Bruno cried out, tightening his grip on Camilo’s hand. “They-What are they doing? They’re hugging! No, they’re fighting?”

“Fighting or hugging?” Camilo would not mind the former.

“No, its-its an embrace!” Bruno threw his arms forward, framing the vision of Luisa hugging a shorter person. “To make the candle bright, she has to embrace her!”

“Embrace who?” asked Camilo.

But, the sand shifted. With words of encouragement from both parties, it moved and stilled to reveal the figure who had been hugging Luisa flipping her hair out of her face to reveal that it was-

“Isabela?!” cried out Camilo, incredulous.

“Perfect!” yelled Bruno, clearly not seeing the problem. 

Chapter Text

Every instinct was telling Bruno to run and hide.

He and Camilo were crouched behind large pots of plants, peering through the leaves to peer at Isabela’s door. His heart is bouncing off of the walls of his ribcage because he’s out in the open where his hermanas can catch him or worse, his mama-

Maybe a fifty-year-old should not be this terrified to be caught by his family. It's not that Bruno is truly scared of them (except for Mama). It's just that he doesn’t know if they’ll either welcome him or yell at him to actually leave. Bruno can imagine it: thunders that will shake his very soul, Julieta turning away in disbelief and disgust, Mama’s furious face-

“Why would the future involve Isabela and Luisa hugging?” Camilo’s voice drew Bruno back to the present (ha!). The younger boy was scowling at Isabela’s door. “Does Luisa have to hug Isabela? ‘Cause those two can’t stand each other."

Bruno blinked, puzzled. He rifled through memories of the past day. To be honest, it all was a blur filled with the painful stress of everything, hurling himself into his telenovelas, praying furiously at random intervals of the day and crossing his fingers and avoiding the number thirteen. “But Isabela and Luisa got along just fine,” he manages, keeping his voice low.

Camilo shook his head, his face becoming somber. “After-After Mirabel’s funeral, it's just been fights between them. It reminds me of how Isabela and Mirabel would argue, but meaner. I heard Luisa tell Isabela to stick her flowers up her-”

“Camilo!” Bruno snapped because his sobrino was way too young to be saying stuff like that. Did Félix’s own papa teach him that? He definitely taught him that. 

Oh. Wait.

Was Bruno’s voice too loud? Too scathing? Camilo looked bit startled. Oh, it was too much, it was! Bruno ducked his head sharply. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered.

'You messed up, you messed up. Something so simple and you ruined it.'

"We can't waste any time looking more into the future for any other possibilities," explained Bruno, clenching his jaw at the whole situation. "Not when everyone's gifts are acting weird."

Camilo scoffed and rolled his eyes. "My gift isn't acting weird-" A shudder went through his body and he shifted; the head of a baby ogled at Bruno while the large body of Osvaldo Orozco Ortiz replaced his own.

A familiar voice drifted from downstairs. "I can't hear anything!" Dolores was saying, pacing around the courtyard. Pepa-she looked so worn but still had that strength in her, by the Lord Bruno missed her-followed her. 

Dolores had started walking into a circle, hands cupped around her ears. "Abuela told me to find Luisa, and I almost had it, but then it faded. Is this what hearing is for other people? Querido Dios, I hate this! It just goes in and out, in and out, it comes and goes-"

"Dolores, querida," Pepa was saying, holding her hands out.

But Dolores was spiraling. 'Mood,' Bruno thought, stealing that funny and strange word from when he glimpsed into what teenagers were doing in the 21st century. 

"How do people live with just hearing normal things and knowing they can't hear everything and being fine, and I'm going insane!" Dolores's already high voice pitched even higher, laced with raw panic.

"Dolly, respirar!' Pepa tried to wrap her arms around her hija but snow began to fall from her cloud. "Oh, come on! Shoo, shoo!"

Both women disappeared, leaving the courtyard empty.

"...Okay," Camilo began slowly, his voice reedy and way too high. "I'll talk to Luisa. Lemme' just-" He shook himself and shifted back into Camilo, yellow ruana and all. He began to stand to walk over to his prima's door, but hesitated. 

"Tio," Camilo began slowly and Bruno's heart did something weird at hearing the same kid he used to babysit calling him tio once again. "Do you think I'll be able to convince Luisa? I mean, I know its just-just I-"

Camilo is the only fifteen-year-old who is the most confident and self-assured out of all the fifteen-year-olds Bruno knows. He is the quickest to speak, the first to stand, and walks with a plan in mind. At least, that's what Bruno thought. Now, he can see a boy who is, like everyone else, needs reassurance.

'No one would have given him that because they thought that he didn't need reassurance.'

Now, after hearing about Camilo being called moody and lazy and hearing his two friends coax him out of bed-

It brings backs memories from Bruno's mind. Memories that hit him like a punch to the gut because it's happening again.

"Camilo," Bruno began saying. "I-I know I haven't been around for a while. Maybe I don't have the-the-the right to say this. But believe me when I say that you-you're the best person for this. Not any other person, just you."

Camilo looked as if Bruno had returned a long-lost item to him. Was that the right thing to say? Did it overstep some boundaries? Did Bruno phrase it wrong?

Finally, Camilo's face softened into a smile. "Thanks, Tio," he said, voice thick. "I really needed that."

Oh! Oh, gracias a Dio. That's Bruno's que. "Great!" he said before dragging the plot of pant, shifting it so that it covered him as he retreated into his hole. Hopefully, Camilo can understand his actions.

"Wait, where are you going?! What about my support?"

Okay, apparently Camilo didn't understand his actions. Adopting his I-Am-An-All-Seeing-Prophet-Who-Will-Not-Take-Responsibility-Of-What-He-Just-Saw, Bruno spoke. "It was your vision, Camilo. Not mine."

"You're afraid Abuela will see you." Camilo did not sound impressed. Also, how did he know.

"Yes." The answer fell right out of Bruno's mouth. "I mean, yes, that too." He had just rested his hand on the picture frame/ door when a thought crossed his mind. 

"Hey," Bruno said, turning to look at Camilo. "After you save the miracle, come visit." He wants to talk to his theater-loving sobrino, wants to show him his ideas, and actually be there. Most of all, Bruno wants to help him in ways that no one helped himself when he was suffering.

Camilo smiled back. "After I save the miracle, I'm bringing you home." Just like Pepa, he is bright and determined.

"Camilo?"

It was Luisa who sounded like she was much closer than she should be. While he loved his sobrina to death, the sound of her voice nearly made Bruno shit his pants.

Casita, as always, saved the day by moving it's tiles up and shoving him through the hole. Bruno quickly held his breath and crossed his fingers, praying that Luisa had not noticed.

"Luisa!" Camilo was saying. Those plays at school payed off as he smoothed his voice over. "Hey, I was just looking for you."

"You were?" asked Luisa.

Bruno can imagine Camilo nodded, curls bouncing. "Yeah! It, uh, actually has something to do with you and Isabela."

Luisa heaved a sigh filled with exasperation. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm on my way to talk to her now."

'What?' Bruno mouthed, glancing at one of his rats that had suddenly popped up.

"What?" Camilo said, shocked. 

"Yeah," Luisa said. "I-I feel really guilty about tonight. Even though we've been mean to each other-"

Camilo snorted. "Mean? You guys have been vicious."

Bruno can imagine Luisa wincing. "We haven't been that bad. But, now we're changing things. Now, I'm going to talk to her. I'll even sing her a song. Yeah," she said, sounding more determined. "Sing her a song. Talk to her."

"And give her a hug!" Camilo added, sounding pleased.

"And give her a hug," Luisa repeated. Heavy footsteps passed the painting Bruno was hiding behind. "Thanks, Camilo."

"No problems," called Camilo. "You have my support. Unlike someone." That last part was added quietly and obviously meant for Bruno.

'El pedacito de mierda,' Bruno mouthed to himself, rolling his eyes. 'Just like Pepa.'

Isabela’s room has not changed at all. The walls and floor were still covered with flowers ranging from flamingo pink to ruby red. Pale pink chairs and sofas sat in the same places; a little way over revealed a gazebo with a curtain of flowers. The ceiling stretched to the heavens, sunlight falling down into a raised platform where Isabela’s bed hung.

Except it was nowhere in sight. Probably because Isabela had withdrawn it high above to retreat from her disaster of a night.

Luisa inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of flowers almost overwhelming. She put a steady hand on her nerves and stepped further into the room. “Hey, Isa?” she called. Her voice echoed, and despite her height, Luisa felt small in this great room. 

Still, she had to move forward. “I know we’ve been… distant,” Luisa said, sidestepping a large vase. “But I’m not here to argue or anything. I just want to come here to apologize for tonight. I-I never meant for the vision to show up or ruin your night. And,” she continued, feeling as if she was pushing her luck with this request. “Maybe get a hug too?”

Silence was the only response. Feeling that cloud of hope fade away, Luisa turned to leave. 

Then, the sound of rustling reached her ears. Luisa turned to see a circular bed descending from above slowly with the person she was expecting and dreading to see.

“A hug?” Isabela’s voice was far too soft for someone with her temper. It sounded like it was seconds away from cracking. “You can’t lift an empanada. Mariano’s nose looks like a smashed papaya.” A single rose was squashed, the fist enclosing around it shaking. “Mirabel is apparently dooming us all. And you’re in here asking for a hug? Have you lost your mind?!” The last question was practically screamed out, accompanied with wide rage filled eyes and a look of disbelief.

‘I definitely pushed it.’ 

Luisa was never raised to retreat at the sound of danger. With that, she squared her shoulders and march forward. “Isabela, I know things are a mess right now-“

“No, this isn’t a mess,” sneered Isabela, gesturing widely in the air with one arm. “This is a disaster! Now, get. Out.” As she spoke, two vines shot up violently in front of Luisa to form an X, cutting off her attempt to climb the stairs to Isabela.

‘It’s because she saw you be weak, she saw you being useless, she doesn’t want you, she doesn’t need you, this is your fault because you weren’t strong enough-‘

“Can you just hear me out-?” Luisa tried again, easily ripping the vines blocking her path away, only to have another set erupt from the ground. “Hey!”

“Everything was perfect,” Isabela was saying as she walked down the steps leading to her bed. “Abuela was happy, the family was happy.” Flinty eyes darted to Luisa, who could not help but shrink under them. “You know how you can help? Apologize for ruining my life!”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Isabela adopted an arrogant face, complete with a smug smile as she flicked her fingers at Luisa. “Go on,” she said softly in a sickly sweet tone. “Apologize.”

Once, Papa tried to cook for their mama. Just a simple man wanting to make a meal with his love for his wife. Luisa had been ten when she watched her papa rush to grab another pepper, slipped on a wet spoon on the ground, and suffered a broken finger. He had spent far too long trying to find some of Mama’s cooking to heal it, and in that amount of time, the stew he had been brewing began to boil. A shiny metal lid shuddered on top of the pot, shaking with the anticipation to-

“Explode!” ten-year-old Luisa had blurted out because she had been tired after a long day of rounding up donkeys to form a single sentence.

It seemed as if that single word gave the single to the lid to practically shoot up to the ceiling with a great crashing noise; the stew erupting from the pot to coat Papa with its contents and staining the walls.

When Isabela had said “apologize” , Luisa felt her own stew explode.

“I,” she began, feeling her face heat from the fury boiling inside of her. “Am not sorry because I have done nothing to ruin your perfect life!”

The smile dropped from Isabela’s face in a second. “Out,” she barked, and vines wrapped themselves around Luisa’s ankles, pulling her away. She let out a startled yell, automatically trying to wrench her legs free. Looking up, she saw her hermana walking away with her head turned as if Luisa wasn’t worth her goddamn time-

“I’ll admit, I’m sorry for ruining tonight. But I have done nothing to try to ruin your life!” yelled Luisa, walking even with the vines desperately trying to pull her back. 

Isabel whirled around, looking incensed. “Maybe if you used that dumb brain of yours, then you’ll remember! Always trying to one-up me with chores, always being in my way, always assuming that I have it easy-”

“Are you okay?” Luisa asked incredulously. “Like, are you mentally okay? I’m just doing what I do best! Actually working every single day of my life instead of lounging around throwing flowers and complaining about every single little thing and saying everything needs to be perfect-”

“Because everything needs to be perfect, you stupid pack mule-”

“Don’t call me that, you snake-”

“Not my fault you act like one!”

“Oh, sure. Let me just stop being useful and do what you do: be pretty and do nothing and be awful to Mirabel and assume things!”

“You’re the one who assumes things! You have no idea what is going on with me, and that's because you barely spend time with us-”

“Because! I need! To do! My! Duties!”

“I have duties too!”

“What? Getting married to some big dumb hunk?”

“I never wanted to marry that big dumb hunk! I was doing it for the family!”

Here is what it feels like for Isabela to use her powers:

It was like a surge through both arms, a hundred little waves rolling under her skin in the most sudden way possible. When she wanted to manipulate the trajectory of the flowers she grew, Isabela felt a tug. Like she had strings attached to each finger that were connected to everything she grew.

Isabela can feel the flowers in a distant way; a single rose being plucked, thorns and leaves being pruned, macrocarpaea apparata being stepped on by shoes. She always ignores it because there are more important things to focus on.

Like how her engagement dinner ruined. Which meant Abuela wasn’t happy, the Guzmáns weren’t happy, Mama wasn’t happy because all her cooking had gone to waste, the town wasn’t happy because they didn’t get to see the perfect union-

Luisa just couldn’t get it. Isabela did not resent her hermanita , but at this moment believed she truly hated her for not understanding the dizzyingly high expectations and duties and promises. Could not truly understand how Isabela is a symbol for the village filled with people who were once displaced.

As they both scream at each other, as the air boils over between them, as insults infused with poison are traded, Isabela feels that surge again and something in her stomach roll with everything she’s feeling; how all she wants is for someone to recognize how she tolerated years of being everyone’s doll-

Something green comes into view.

Luisa’s words fade away into a buzz that overtakes Isabela’s mind. The sensations she feels with flowers are always much too soft to properly articulate. This thing that had popped up, however, had more energy than any other flower Isabela had grown. It was like the twang of an old guitar.

It was round and a nice shade of green and did have one small flower on top of like a hat. Sharp yellow needles covered its entire surface, making it seem unapproachable. Yet, the vibrancy of its colors drew Isabela in. 

She knelt down, mind buzzing and scarcely breathing because- “I just made something unexpected,” she says, reaching out to poke at the needles. 

The pain was immediate. Press any further and she might be able to skewer her finger if she wanted to. The waves bubbled in her limbs, and the plant grew. “It's sharp and new,” muttered Isabela, thoughts racing.

Why did this plant-cactus, cactaceae-need to be covered in needles? What predator wanted to hunt it? Was it a defense mechanism? Were the flowers also a defense mechanism? What would be inside if Isabela cut it open? Would she find more discoveries?

“This isn’t symmetrical or perfect, but it’s beautiful and it's mine.” Isabela had to say this, had to announce it because this doesn’t fit. There are no smooth edges or ombres of sunset colors.There are no delicate structures of stems and the slight curl in petals. Instead, there is just this hypnotizing color with danger on its skin. It looks, in Isabela’s opinion, like every bitter emotion she has ever felt.

‘Mirabel would have loved this.’

“What else can I do?” Isabela asks herself and Luisa, grinning wilder than she ever has in years.

At five, Isabela conjured a field of flor de mayos that went on for miles when she touched her doorknob. Since then, that’s what everyone was looking for when they thought of her gift. Tall tulips, sharp heliconia birds of paradise, soothing and enchanting orchids of every color of the rainbow (except green). That had just been imagining what every flower would look like, and spending hours alone at night making sure even the roots were curled perfectly. 

This time Isabela was tapping into the emotions she’s rarely shown. That ugly part of her that was only shown to one person who didn’t deserve to see it.

Isabela waits until she hears the familiar footsteps of Luisa before walking towards a dome of acacallis cyanea orchid. “I hide so much behind my smile, you know,” she said, fighting down the urge to shut this whole conversation down because this was too vulnerable for her own liking. “I have my reasons, but if you really want to understand…"

With a twisting in her stomach, Isabela waved an arm and the orchids parted. She heard the sharp gasp from Luisa. 

Amidst the statues of Isabela when she was practicing her poses and posture stands more figures made out of the same flowers but in a more teal shade. It's Mirabel grinning awkwardly at them and twisting one of her curls, Mirabel spinning with her skin flying around her, Mirabel playing her accordion, Mirabel and Isabela hugging with tender looks on their faces…

Isabela dreams of what-ifs and different worlds where she and Mirabel are closer. Dreams of Mirabel listening to Isabela, encouraging her to stand up to their abuela, and getting rid of the frilly dress she wears almost every single day. Fantasies of teaching Mirabel which flower can give you a full meal if you’re alone in the forest, and being taught how to stitch. But, morning comes and there is no special knock on the door.

“Isa-” Luisa said, her voice quivering.

“I hide a lot,” interrupted Isabela, her insides curdling. “Because I’m afraid of you guys seeing who I really am. All this-this ugliness inside of me and not just the one I show sometimes. Just who I am. If you did, I knew you’d all be disappointed that I couldn’t be the perfect child for this family. So, I never explored a part of myself that wanted to change so badly.”

“But,” she continued, turning to Luisa, who was looking at her with wide eyes. “Now that I know I can do more things, I think I’m ready to explore that. I-I think Mirabel would have liked that.” Just saying her name is enough to bring tears to Isabela’s eyes.

Looking for a distraction, she turns on heel and sprints in a completely unladylike behavior. Running a hand against a wall of flowers, she imagines every color besides pink. Cobalt and teal, dark purple that borderlines black, sandstone orange and bright merigold, munsell yellow. Even more outrageously, deep greens for every plant.

And the plants! Not even just the flowers that practically sing as they sway. But plants that come with spindly limbs and thorns and tall stems and needles and spots and splashes of colors. Plants that almost whisper in her mind as they open and close their jaws. Plants that make Isabela proud because she created it.

Imagining a great palm tree taller than the mountains, Isabela leaps into the center of her own chaos that is all her making. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Luisa struggling to climb up onto the tree. Isabela pulls her up to avoid the sundew snapping.

“Careful,” Isabela says laughing, high on the rush of new opportunities. “Its carnivores.”

“Isa,” Luisa breathed, spinning around with wide eyes. “You could do this the entire time? It's amazing!” There was awe in her voice, something Isabela was not expecting.

Isabela nodded, thrusting forward a hand to create more sundews because a little just won’t do. “I know! Can you believe that I could have done this instead of the same flowers over and over?” She thinks about it for a while, her exuberant feeling dwindling a bit. “I-I can’t keep making this.”

Luisa furrowed her brows at her. “Why?”

“Because of Abuela. She would never approve of this.” Isabela ran a hand through her hair, feeling a pressure building in her head. “It feels like I’m just stuck with what she wants forever.”

It's not like she had to do whatever Abuela said or wanted. Isabela knows from an outsider’s point of view that she can break away from the candle waxing holding her in her current place. It's just that what Isabela is doing gives her abuela and the rest of the adults hope.

Hope that their hija will have a safe life. Hope that the next generation won’t have their once perfect lives ripped away. Hope that she will remind everyone of the good in the world. Hope that she won’t fail like how Tio Bruno and Mirabel did.

“It just seems like your life has been a dream,” said Luisa, resting a hand on Isabela’s shoulder. “At least Abuela is proud of whatever you do.”

The sorrowful tone in her hermanita’s voice startles Isabela. “What do you mean?” she asks.

Luisa looks exhausted, face pulled down by the sad twist of her mouth. “I get up every day and do everything everyone asks me to. I keep on waiting for a “Good job” or “Thank you” but Abuela says nothing. Everyone says nothing. It-It makes you think. Are you e-even doing enough? Are you even working hard enough?”

A cold sheet draped over Isabela as she listened to her hermanita talk about herself like this. ‘I thought she was okay. I should have asked if she was okay.’

Luisa was still talking, the words coming out faster and higher. “And you just keep doing what you do because that's the best thing to do. So, you do everything and try your best, but then it gets too much but it's fine you got it ‘cause you’re the strong one. Strong people are supposed to be able to handle it. Except things get too much and I feel like I’m in-in a circus and the pressure just gets bigger until it pops!”

‘No, no, you weren’t supposed to be hurt. It was just supposed to be me.’

“And,” Luisa sniffles, now freely crying. “You let it happen because you’re the oldest hermana and you want to make sure you’re hermanas and hermanos know that she can hang on just a little longer. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t bother me but-but-!” The look in her eyes is just one word: shattered. “I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service.”

Never have words horrified Isabela in a way that made her gasp. “No!” she shouted, feeling large leaves wilt around her. She surges forward and grabs Luisa’s face, forcing her to kneel alongside her. “You are not worthless! You are not a pack mule. You help us so much every day Luisa even when we’re ungrateful, and I’m sorry! I’m so sorry we never told you we were proud of you.”

Luisa opens her mouth but Isabela barrels on. “You never, ever had to prove your worth to us. You never disappointed us! We just want you here. And-And I’m so sorry, Luisa, that I didn’t notice how much you were carrying.”

“And I’m sorry for not asking you how you were!” Luisa cried out, wrapping her arms around Isabela and lifting her into a signature bear hug. Isabela felt her lungs protest, but ignored it in favor of savoring the embrace from her hermanita.

“You know what?” began Luisa after a moment of content silence. “I think Mirabel would be proud of you right now.”

Isabela did not stop the sob coming from her at the mention of their hermanita. She did stop the questions that sprung up in her mind at Luisa’s words:

‘Would she really be proud? Would she ever look for me like you have?’

Mirabel had always looked uncomfortable when Isabel was in the vicinity. Usually it would be annoyance or disinterest, but oftentimes she looked like she was desperately waiting for instructions on-what? How to hold a conversation with Isabela? How to react seeing Isabela using her gift freely while she has none? How to be an hermana to one who rebuffed her attempts every time?

Luisa’s voice sounded out suddenly. “Hey! I can pick you up easily! It’s like I’ve got my gift back!” To demonstrate, Luisa shifted her arms until she cradled Isabela.

‘Wait, why does this remind me of-‘ “Luisa-“ Isabela began saying in a warning. Her voice rose into a shout as she was tossed into the air, warm sunlight hugging her. For the first time, she felt boundless with the sounds of new plants singing in her mind and her hermanita’s laughter.

They laughed as they reached straight up to the sky, singing tunelessly and joyfully. They laughed as they danced on the roof, plants erupting around them, growing with every second. They laughed as pollen stained their clothes; Luisa kicked up more so that the lavender of Isabela’s dressed disappears behind dark purple and streaks of green and blue and orange and-

And everything was possible and safe and right as they embraced each other, feeling as if the cracks between them slowly healed.

“What is going on here?!” 

The shout makes Isabela straighten, fear shooting through her as she turns. Abuela was there, taking in the wild and ugly plants, the pollen staining Isabela’s clothes, her tangled hair, her wild state, her imperfect self.

Abuela had seen what Isabela truly is, she will be mad, she will be let down, Isabela herself let her and the family down-

“Abuela!” Luisa cried out, standing up rapidly. Her tone had changed from joyful to pleading. “This-This isn’t what it looks like! Listen, I-I was just trying to help-”

“Help?” interrupted Abuela, disbelief thick in her voice. “Look at what your help has done, Luisa. Look at what it's done to your sister!”

“I-I’m so sorry,” Luisa stammered out. Isabela wants to cry at the sight of her strong hermanita curling in on herself in shame. “I just wanted to help and-”

Abuela held up a hand sharply. She was looking away as if the sight of them-of Isabela-was too disgusting to even glance at. “Enough. I’ll deal with you later.” A flinty state shot up to Isabela, making her feel nauseous. “Isabela, when you left for your room I thought you needed a minute to compose yourself. Now I find you gallivanting around like a mad woman! Have I taught you nothing? It's bad enough that these cracks have started because of Mirabel’s-”

Usually, she would hold her tongue. It made things easier if she just stood there and accepted the tongue lashing. But there was still a buzz in her veins and the tangy taste of pollen on her tongue and the newfound excitement of growing more than flowers that loosened Isabela’s tongue. “What does Mirabel have to do with the cracks?!” she asked, voice louder than usual. 

‘You must compose yourself, you must compose yourself, you must compose yourself, you must-’

“Everything!“ Abuela practically yelled and-

Indignation was a familiar taste on Isabela’s tongue. She felt it now.

Spending almost your entire life being Abuela’s hopes and dreams meant seeing your hermanita try to be back in Abuela's good graces. Mirabel would practically badger the older woman for a list of chores that she’d complete to the best of her ability. She had tried so, so hard. You could see it from the sweat on her brow and the way her eyes burned.

It has irritated Isabela. Why couldn’t Mirabel see that she wasn’t helping? How hard was it to realize that she wasn’t needed to step aside? Now, after hearing what Luisa had said Isabela felt like she understood now. Mirabel had also felt like she was worthless if she wasn’t helping. 

Isabela had never bothered to understand. She had scorned Mirabel the same way Abuela scorned her. It was like a waterfall, the stream of water from the top touching every single stone all the way done. Passing down every droplet.

Abuela was still talking. Always taking, always lecturing, always ordering-

“I don’t know why this is all happening,” she was shouting. “But that is not an excuse to create more disorder and hurt this family! What will it take for you to understand?!”

The words were ready on Isabela’s tongue. “Bringing Mirabel back.”

She might as well have lifted off the needle of this family’s record. Every sound disappeared, even the creaking of Casita. Isabela felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, already feeling the swoop in her stomach as she peered down at the dizzying drop.

Abuela had gone pale. Her parents had shown up, looking concerned. Luisa was breathing deeply the way she did to stop herself from crying.

‘Well,’ Isabela thought faintly. ‘That’s that.’ She had said the final word, spoken the name everyone was stumbling over, and revealed her true nature. All that was left was to turn around, trek upstairs to her room, lay down and wait for the consequences to crash down-

Isabela began to turn, feeling drained.

“Don’t turn your back on me, Isabela!” Abuela said, her tone stern. “I will never be able to bring Mirabel back, but it is selfish to waste your life away when hers was cut short!”

Somewhere, a leaf snapped off of a branch.

“Selfish?!” Isabela shouldn’t be screaming, she shouldn’t but all she can think is how- “I’ve been stuck being perfect for you my whole entire life! Forcing myself to be someone I'm not for you. Agreeing to everything and never once complaining for you. The least you can do is tell me I’ve done a good job!”

“Don’t you talk to me like that!” shouted Abuela and five-year-old Isabela wanted to sob and run at the sound of her furious voice. “Don’t you ever raise your voice at me! I helped you grow into the woman you are now and I’ll be damned if you throw it all away.”

“Is that all I am to you? Something to be used?!”

“You are our family’s hope! Have you ever thought about what I’ve had to do to make sure your life is not like mine? I’ve given you a home, a marriage-”

“I never wanted a marriage!” They’re both almost nose to nose, screaming at each other and Isabela wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “I was doing it for the family! God, no wonder Tio Bruno left.”

“Bruno didn’t care about this family!”

“He loved this family. I will never forget how he loved us. You’re the one that makes it so hard to stay here so of course Bruno left. You’re the only one who doesn’t care. You don’t even care about Mirabel! You never did!”

“How dare you say that to me?!”

“You’re the one hurting us. Not me, not Luisa, you!”

“Don’t you ever-”

“The miracle is dying because of you!” Isabela shouts. “Mirabel is dead because of you!”

It should be a relief to say such things. Except Abuela’s face drops into one of pure shock and terror, and for a moment Isabela regretted her words.

Then, a crack splintered in the tiles of Casita.

Chapter Text

Casita had tried so hard to hold on.

The magic that was its blood was slowing down, the flow turning into a trickle. The emotions from the family-rage, grief, regret, depression, bitterness-was a harsh weight on the house. More and more was added until finally, finally Casita began to buckle.

All it had wanted was to care for it's family, these wonderful and incredible people. All it had wanted was to be a safe house with doors open to all who needed to run from danger.

(All he wanted was for his babies to live, for his Alma to live. But one of them has retreated into the cold walls, one of them has her emotions toyed with, and one of them is worked to the bone by the time she could properly cook alone.

Alma-beautiful, joyful Alma-had become akin to stone over the years: cold and unyielding. She was now uncaring of her words, uncaring of her actions. Sometimes, he raged at his wife who let her children and their own children suffer. Had she not sworn to protect and care for them? How could she believe that everyone was fine as they held back tears, swallowing them back every day?)

But, Alma and Isabela were screaming at each other and their ties to Casita itself were being filled with nothing but hate and when everyone else’s was added-

The magic was given. It could see and decide the best decision for this family. Magic is neither fair nor kind, just like how life is.

A bead of wax dripped down just as the great mountain beyond began to crack open. 

Their world was shaking.

“No, no, no!” Tia Pepa was shouting. Isabela turned to where she was staring and felt her heart drop.

A large crack was climbing up the wall towards where the candle-their miracle-rested. As soon as it touched the windowsill, the stone began to buckle and drop. 

That miracle was the reason they all had gifts that have saved people in the past. The reason they are protected from the violence outside. The reason why the graveyard has fewer bodies is because Mama’s cooking always saved people. It was one of the few things Abuela was able to take with her before being forced to flee from her home. It was the heart of this family.

Isabela knew what she had to do as soon as she felt Casita begin to break. 

“Casita!” she yelled, sprinting forward. “Get me up there!”

Camilo broke into a run for the candle, praying to God and every other deity that he would save their miracle, their heart, their safety net-

‘For the family,’ he thought, gritting his teeth as he dodged falling debris from his home. ‘For Mirabel.’

Casita was dying. It was caving in and tiles were raining down and a door was crashing to the floor and screams were filling the air-

They were under attack, los guerrilas were attacking them-

She couldn’t find her neighbors, she couldn’t take her parents picture with her, she was watching a neighbor being trampled in the rush to flee-

No, this was the Encanto, it wasn’t home-

Her home was being destroyed and Alma is helpless. She feels the cold mud in her slippers that freezes her feet, preventing her from moving.

Julieta never felt this terrified in her entire life.

It wasn’t because her own home she had grown up in was deteriorating. It wasn’t because she could see the light from the miracle dimming. No, it was because she was watching two children run straight into danger.

“Camilo!” Julieta shouted, fighting against Casita’s tiles that were pushing her back, keeping her away from saving her children. “Isabela!”

But they couldn’t hear her. Instead, Camilo and Isabela continued to run towards where the candle, needles of the very walls caving in around them. Isabela was creating a vine of rope, and used it to swing herself forward.

These kids. These selfless, wonderful kids. 

One last surge under her feet and Julieta yelled as she was pushed further away. 

“Kids!” Agustín was yelling beside her, frantic. “We have to get out!”

‘God, don’t let me lose them,’ Julieta prayed. ‘I can barely live without my Mirabel. Don’t let me lose these two.’

Dolores felt the air leave her lungs as she was pushed outside by Casita. The noises around her were awful. Cement grinding against each other, wood splintering, glass shattering until it was a fine powder. It all fell against her, making it harder to breath.

She still forced herself to hear each and every one of her family’s heartbeat, especially Tio Bruno’s. All of them were beating frantically, obviously terrified, but they were there and that’s all that mattered. 

Infront of her, Papa was speaking to Mama. “Where’s Camilo?!” he shouted over the sounds of a house crashing down.

Mama’s heart rate picked up. “I thought he was with you.” A beat of horrified silence that sliced at Dolores’s lungs. “He-He’s still inside. He’s still inside!”

It was the worst thing Dolores had ever heard. Those words drowned out all noises as a buzzing filled her ears. Through the walls, she could make out the panting noise of her hermanito.

Knowing does not always mean you will be prepared, she thought numbly as Papa started screaming Camilo’s name.

Bruno scrambled to grab all of his rats who were the only companions he had in the walls. The wall was crashing down behind him, nipping at his heels.

‘Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back-‘

‘I’m failing,’ Isabel thought with horror as she could no longer feel her plants and crashed down hard onto the floor after her vine dissolved. ‘I’m failing.’

She couldn’t save the miracle, she couldn’t save Mirabel, she couldn’t be a better hermana-

Camilo crashed down on the floor beside her, looking pale and terrified.

Isabela immediately launched herself on top of him, pushing him to the ground and covering him with her own body. She would not let Dolores lose her hermanito. Dolores cannot know what that feels like.

Isabela prayed harder than she ever had that Camilo would survive as their home crashed down upon them.

Luisa wanted to run into Casita, and wanted to hold up its very foundations. She wanted to tuck her hermana and primo under her arms, and flee from the danger that was plaguing them.

Instead, all she could do was scream, feeling like she was back at that night with Mirabel’s body cooling on the floor of the courtyard.

Helpless. Powerless. Useless.

Everything hurts, as if great hands are tearing it apart-

But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is shielding the two children who Casita has watched grow and dance and cry and live, and who must keep on doing those things, they must.

In it's final act, Casita pushed several pieces of furniture around Isabela and Camilo. 

‘I will not be too late to save them. I will not, I will not, I will not. They will live. I will not fail again.’

(He has done this before. He will do this again.)

Camilo’s ears are ringing.

The smell of plaster is thick in the air, there’s hair on his face, and Camilo’s ears are ringing.

He can still see pieces of wood falling but the sound is muffled. His surroundings have been painted in different shades of gray, plumes of it filling the air. Camilo feels so, so ashy and a quick glance at his hands show that white powder has been dusted on them. He reckons its also on his clothes and hair.

There’s a warm mass surrounding him. Someone has pushed him down to his stomach, arms on either side of him, practically covering him. Camilo twisted his head to see the familiar face of Isabela staring wide eyed at him. The white powder made her look both old and young.

Isabela suddenly sucked in a sharp breath. “The candle,” she breathed. Camilo turned to where she was looking and felt his stomach drop.

The candle, their great miracle that stood proud for years and never melted, had been reduced to a stub. A stubborn flame burned even when it was at its lowest. When it would dip, Camilo felt his own stomach lurch as well. Was that his own magic fading away?

He could not move, not with Isabela hovering over him and a harsh ache spreading across his body. Instead, both Camilo and Isabela watched as the flame flickered three times before simply winking out of existence. The only evidence that would suggest the candle had been alive was a trail of smoke that was slowly disappearing.

“No,” croaked out Camilo, feeling too small in his skin suddenly.

When a creaking noise sounded into the air, both him and Isabela lifted their heads up. Two doors were propped against each other, forming a tent above them. In it's final moments, Casita had moved them to shield them from the debris. If it had not, Camilo was certain they would have been dead.

The upper part of one of the doors swung back and forth, back and forth. Camilo felt a sudden pressure on his left cheek, startling him. Then, the doors flopped down onto the ground. It felt like the worst kind of goodbye between two close friends, the kind that pressed painfully against your chest. 

Camilo felt like the ground beneath him was rolling like waves, shaking him from side-to-side, a great beast roaring in his head-

Isabela is trying to talk to him, sitting up and touching his arms, and he can’t hear he can’t hear, he doesn’t understand-

One familiar voice pierced through the air. “Camilo!”

Said boy turned to find both his mama and tia running toward him, eyes wide and frantic. Behind them, his papa was also rushing toward them and-

And Camilo had not seen his parents this distraught since the night Mirabel died.

Mama reached them first, sliding on her knees in front of them. She looked terrified, with pale and wide eyes. Camilo could actually feel her shaking as she threw an arm about both him and Isabela, drawing them close. The warmth from the hug, usually able to smooth Camilo, could not reach his shaken soul. 

“Isabela!” Tia Julieta cried out, reaching out to gently cup her hija’s face. “Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

“N-No,” Isabel stuttered out, shaking her head. “But-But I don’t know if Camilo is-“

Warm hands were suddenly pressed against either side of Camilo’s head. He saw his papa’s face come into view, looking fearful. “Camilo, are you hurt? Did something hit you? Is it your head? Julieta, get your vials!”

The vials in question were cough syrup Tia Julieta had made months ago. Not only did it work faster than her food, but it gave you a burst of energy. It was rarely used, only kept hidden safely in the kitchen for emergencies.

Tia Julieta nodded, already backing away but keeping her eyes trained on both Isabela and Camilo. “Just stay right here,” she was saying. “I’ll be back!” She rushed off as calls of her name sounded in the air.

But, the kitchen is gone. Everything in it, even her vials, might also have been destroyed along with their home. 

‘I did this.’ The realization registered in Camilo’s mind that still felt muddled. ‘I did this. I messed up. My home is gone and it’s my fault.’

His mama’s quiet sobbing as she hugged him, his papa’s shaking hands, their only home-

A distance away, the rest of Camilo’s family were swaying, unsteady. Their world had been ripped out from under them, their gifts extinguished just like the miracle. Where will they go now? Where will they sleep? How will they live as they discover that something valuable and irreplaceable has been shattered as their house collapsed? 

First, they lost Mirabel, one of the kindest and brightest members of their family. Now, their own home? Their gifts?

The reality of the situation struck Camilo. “My gift,” he said, staring at his hands, trying to force himself to shift into someone, anyone. “They’re gone.” Another horrible realization rose up. “Antonio just got his. What’s he gonna’ do?”

Antonio would bawl, body shaking despite their papa’s attempts to comfort him. Eventuall, Mama stood to help. “Don’t go anywhere, Camilo,” she said, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be right back. Just-Just stay here.” With that, Mama stepped away to kneel down to Antonio's height. “Oh, Tonito, don’t cry. Here, breathe with Mama… “

Camilo wondered if Antonio was feeling what he was feeling. The loss of a comforting blanket on your shoulders, the surge of energy it would bring. How frayed his nerves felt, as if someone had taken a nail and punched several holes into it. 

Camilo had just been gazing around, looking for any sign that this was all just a terrible nightmare when he caught sight of his abuela. She was gazing past Dolores who was rubbing her arm, the black shawl drawn around her like how a child would with a blanket. She looked much too small, much too still, and was seconds away from collapsing onto the ground.

Abuela looked like she did the night when Mirabel was found dead, dead like Casita, gone gone gone-

Camilo pushed away from his mama, ignored the startled yells, and ran. Ran away from choking on the plaster and paint and dust of his room. Ran from the cries of Antonio. Ran from Luisa attempting to move the rubble around them, face wet with tears. Ran from the loss of his gift, the loss of his home, the loss of their miracle, the loss of Mirabel.

He heard shouts behind him but did not slow down. His lungs began to burn fiercely but he pushed on. There was an ache in his wrist that throbbed with each step he took, and he did not stop running. Not unless he wanted everything to fall down on him, to smother him until he couldn’t process anything.

It was still hard to process. Had it not been weeks ago when Camilo was able to get out of bed without his friends coaxing him to? How long has it been since he felt genuinely excited for a new day, a new reason to shapeshift? One minute he had been helping plan Antonio's birthday party, and he found himself gazing at his prima’s face colored in emerald green.

Mirabel. Just the thought of her makes a wail slip past Camilo’s lips. He shot out an arm and grabbed a hold of a low-hanging branch, ripping it from a tree. But that didn’t help with the hurricane of emotions inside of him now, nor did beating a bush with it did. Camilo eventually tossed it away, and continued to run.

The sharp edge of a rock caught onto the edge of his ruana. Looking at the newly made tear, knowing that the one person who could sew was gone, Camilo wanted to strangle the cloth. He roughly ripped it up and tossed it away, shaking.

He could still see the still form of Mirabel, recall his foolish thoughts that she was just sleeping. Remembered the ground giving away as he realized that his prima-sister-was gone. What had Mirabel done to deserve such a fate? Who would allow such a dastardly thing to happen to someone who always had Camilo’s favorite snack with him? 

‘It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair-‘

“It isn’t fair!” Camilo screamed as he skidded to a stop in front of a river. 

The water shushed pleasantly and continued to stream by.

“It isn’t fair!”

Two birds chatted with each other, oblivious to how fucked up everything was-

“It isn’t fair!”

All he had wanted was to help his family, to do something useful, to save them, and now-

“It! Isn’t! Fair!” Camilo shouted toward the sky, filled with the urge to bring the All Mighty down to shake him and ask him where is the justice, where is the justice?

(“Life isn’t fair, Camilo. It never will be. But, it can be bearable. And life right now is bearable ‘cause you’re here.”)

Camilo only wondered how long he had been away when he heard footsteps.

Twisting around, he expected it to be one of his parents or Dolores. Instead, Abuela stood there in the pale blue light of dawn. Slung across her arms was a familiar yellow ruana. “Camilo,” she softly said. 

“Abuela?” asked Camilo, blinking. How could an old woman like Abuela come all the way here? Camilo vaguely remembered the amount of roots that almost tripped him and the sharp thorns of bushes. Then, he remembered why he had come here and felt a great cloud form in his mind, thundering.

“I’m sorry,” Camilo whispered. “I didn’t mean to-to ruin things. I didn’t mean to make Casita break. Luisa wanted to talk to Isabela, and I thought it would be good ‘cause they’ve been fighting and-“ 

‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.’

“I just wanted to do something useful,” Camilo confessed, lowering his head. Shame was too small of a word to describe how he felt. “I wanted to be useful except all I did was screw up.”

Silence. Then, the rustling of fabric as something was pulled over his bowed head. Yellow filling his vision, Camilo automatically slipped his ruana back on, finding that it helped combat a chill he did not know he had. 

Abuela was staring at him with sorrowful eyes, looking as if she had aged centuries. She pursued her lips as she adjusted Camilo’s collar, brushed back a stray curl, smoothed out any wrinkles-

“Why do you blame Mirabel for the magic dying?” The question had been like holding hot coal, burning with every passing second. “She didn’t do anything! All she ever did was try to help out and-and you were awful to her. You’re awful to us. Why do you treat us like this?”

Immediately, Camilo wanted to take that back. Those were hard questions to ask because it led to overturning a stone and revealing the mess underneath. Except Camilo felt as if now was the right time to ask that despite the situation back at home (or what’s left of home).

Abuela looked as if she wanted to run away this time before sighing and shifting to face the river. She seemed to be staring at a point only she could see. “I’ve never been able to come back here,” she began saying, voice low. “This river is where-where we were given our miracle.”

The air suddenly felt even colder. “Where,” Camilo began saying, realization hitting him as he glanced around. “Abuelo Pedro?”

Camilo had always been warned to never, ever shapeshift into anyone who was deceased. Perhaps someone saw him glancing at the portrait of Pedro Madrigal, and could see an idea forming in his head. At the time, it had seemed brilliant. Mama and Tia Julieta could see their papa, Abuela could see her husband, and old friends could reconnect. 

Except, Mama and Papa had explained to a five year old Camilo, it would also be wrong. They explained how doing something like that would make people feel very, very sad especially his abuela. The last thing Camilo wanted was to make anyone in his family feel sad so he swore to never shapeshift into someone who had died.

(He broke that promise.)

At eleven years old, Mama had sat both him and Mirabel down to explain what really happened to Abuelo Pedro. The conflict in Colombia. The vicious fights between two parties. The number of displaced people that rose with every passing day. The upheaval of peace that has gotten so bad that Tio Agustin gave up on his dream of taking his wife to Bogota.

“I’m telling you both this because you’re old enough to understand,” Mama explained, placing a hand on both of Camilo and Mirabel’s shoulders. “Your abuela wouldn’t tell young kids this because it wouldn't be right. I’m telling you this because you have a right to know. My papa was killed by selfish, heartless people trying to save his whole village and our family. That still happens. It’s why we have our miracle and gifts- to protect us.”

The whole thing filled Camilo with righteous fury. The government ought to put their foot down and stop all the violence, and talk things out like adults. When he voiced this, Mama smiled sadly. “If only our country listened to our kids,” she said softly as a cold wind blew in. “Then, maybe life wouldn't be so violent.”

That had been just an explanation. This-Abuela preparing to tell the story of the birth of their miracle-was something else. Something raw.

“I lived a normal life,” she began, and a ghost of a smile grew on her face. “I had parents and a peaceful village and wonderful friends. But, every day we heard news about towns being burnt to the ground, people getting killed. My father would look at all of us and say “That won’t be us.” "

“I was… less strict. There were little responsibilities for me, and if there were I didn’t mind. I remember waking up every day being excited for-for something. Like how-how Mirabel used to be. I thought that I had everything set until that night of Día de las Velitas. I met my Pedro, your abuelo, fell in love, and life was filled with joy. He was my lover and best friend and confidant. After we married, we moved to a village where his parents lived. We promised each other a good life, a peaceful one with children. And it was perfect.

“And then they came for us. It was the night I had given birth. One moment I was happy with my babies and the next my neighbor’s house was on fire. A friend I knew was shot. They did not even spare the church in our village, ransacking it for valuables. It was senseless, what they did. What they were going to do.

“We ran. All of us, despite how much we insisted we wouldn’t be victims. Pedro was the son of the village leader, and when we couldn’t find him his son led us. We ran for hours, watching our homes burn down and hearing those-those bastards laugh. I can still feel the mud on my feet as we were forced to run into the forest.

“We were crossing this river when-when they came. It was chaos, people trampled each other, I was in too much pain to run. And my Pedro-my wonderful Pedro-sacrificed himself to give us more time. And I watched him get cut and stabbed over there.” Abuela lifted an arm to point over to where a patch of grass grew in the river. “Like he was nothing. Like he wasn't someone who had a wife waiting for him, children he wanted to raise-” Abuela’s breath hitched and she blinked rapidly. In her voice she carried a grief that would last for decades.

Camilo felt as if cold air had been breathed into his lungs. He, too, held back tears. He tried to imagine his own papa kissing his mama goodbye, willingly sacrificing himself for his family even though he knew he would not survive. 

“Never have I felt so helpless, so useless,” Abuela continued, her voice shaking. “I prayed to God to give me anything so that this would never happen again-that I would not see someone I love die. And suddenly, I was given a miracle. A second chance. And I was so afraid to lose it that I lost sight of who our miracle was for.” She met Camilo’s gaze, and the raw emotion in them struck him. “And I am so sorry.”

Camilo simply held his breath, scarcely believing what he was hearing. He feared even breathing loudly would disrupt the delicate air at the river. 

Abuela swallowed once, twice before continuing, wizened hands clenched tight on the skirt of her dress. “I thought if our family was strong enough-if we worked hard enough-we could build a perfect life. One where we were all safe. Now, after seeing our family, I hate myself for-”

“No!” Camilo almost shouted. “No, Abuela, don’t say that-”

“How many times did I make my own children cry? How many times did I choose the community over you all?”

“That’s-That is bad, you did hurt us, and helping the community is exhausting, but-”

“-and the way I treated Mirabel. The way I spoke to her-”

“We all treated her badly!” This time, Camilo was shouting. “We all did! Isabela was rude to her, tia and tio babied her, and the villagers said nasty stuff about her! I stopped hanging out with her ‘cause I’m selfish!”

Abuela’s eyes had widened at his words. Why did she look so shocked? “No, Camilo, you are not-”

A sob began to build up and up until it popped. “I was supposed to make her smile,” Camilo hissed, scrubbing his face because he was crying like a pathetic baby. “We said we’d be friends together. Then, I got other friends and-and barely talked to her and never asked how she really was. She thought Abuelo would be disappointed in her if he was still alive!”

“Pedro would never be disappointed in Mirabel,” cried out Abuela, grasping Camilo by the shoulders. “He would be disappointed in me!”

The declaration echoed around them and hung in the air like smoke. Camilo felt as if someone was wringing his heart out from the entire conversation.

Abuela sucked in a sharp breath and-and God did she look like the hijo she never talked about. She rose slowly, pulling Camilo with her until they dipped their toes into the river. Camilo wanted to turn around, to take the older woman away from this place where such an awful death happened. Except Abuela was stepping into the water, Abuela was walking further and further into the place where she lost her old life, Abuela had eyes shining with determination. It felt almost like a defiance towards whoever murdered Pedro Madrigal, as if to say I am still here, I am back, and you do not scare me.

“Whenever Mirabel didn’t get a gift,” Abuela began, voice hushed as they stood knee-deep in the river. “I thought that the magic was dying. That our protection would be gone, and I’d lose my home and family again. So, every time I saw Mirabel I felt fear.”

“That’s not fair,” Camilo croaked out. “That’s wrong. You-You were awful to her when all she did was try to help.”

“I know,” whispered Abuela.

“Even if you yelled at her, she still loved you. And you didn’t fear her ‘cause she didn’t have a gift, you were disappointed she couldn’t be an “amazing Madrigal.” “

“I know,” muttered Abuela.

“I’m sorry for you, really. You suffered so much. But, you hurt us too. Do-Do you know what it was like seeing your own mama force herself to cry every day? Or seeing your prima do everything for everyone and not get a thank you? Or-Or not being able to talk about your tio?”

“I’m so, so sorry,” said Abuela and she did sound regretful except-

Camilo has years of forgetting who he is, of watching his mama and tia and primas look drained after a long day, of feeling guilty saying no, of watching Mirabel try not to cry after being reminded she can’t offer any help. He has years of this and a tio who exiled himself to protect his sobrina and it seems so easy to hold onto this anger.

But, Camilo was never raised to hate. Especially towards the woman who raised a village and a family. “I can’t forgive you,” he says and wants to cry at the way his abuela’s face crumples. “Not until we both figure this out. Together as a family.”

Abuela gives him a tearful smile, the first since Mirabel’s funeral. “I asked my Pedro for help. Camilo.” She cups his face like she used to do when he was younger. “He didn’t just send me you. He sent me all of you.”

Above them, there are clear skies. A butterfly dances around them, encircling them as they hug.

They get home via Tio Bruno who bursts through the trees with a horse.

Camilo beams as he watches mama and hijo reunite. He thinks back to Bruno’s vision, how it showed him and Abuela in and out of it, and grins.

The future is not set in stone. Even when predicted, the future actions are different. Maybe Camilo and Abuela were only supposed to come without Bruno accompanying them. Maybe Camilo would come alone, letting Abuela stare into the water of the river. Instead, this is the final result:

From stage right, riding on horseback are three Madrigals-one young, two old (sorry Tio and Abuela) through the gap in a mountain. They tear through the grass and pass by houses, drawing eyes from everyone until they reach the ruins of their home.

As soon as Camilo slips off, he feels eyes on him. Turning, he sees his parents running towards him, calling his name. The force of their hugs almost topples him over, but he feels steady, more steadier than he ever felt.

“Oh, gracias al señor,” gasps Papa, crying into Camilo’s hair. “Estás bien, estas bien, hijo, estas bien-”

Mama tugs him out of the hug and shakes him twice. “What were you thinking running off like that?” she asks furiously. Her eyes are red as if she had been crying, and that makes Camilo want to cry. “You can’t just run off like that. Not after what just happened, not after we lost Mirabel. I thought I lost you, Camilo!”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Camilo says, hugging both his mama and papa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you guys-”

“And you won’t be worrying us,” Mama interrupts, drawing to her full height. “Because we are never letting you out of our sight again!”

Older Camilo would have groaned at such a declaration. Now, he grins. “I couldn’t ask for anything better,” he says, savoring the returning smiles he gets from his parents.

“YOU!”

Dolores is suddenly there, cradling Antonio. They both look wringed out except Dolores is drawing up taut with anger. “Where the HELL were you?!” she shouted, eyes smoldering.

A furious Dolores advances on him along with an overjoyed Antonio, which throws Camilo in a loop. He doesn’t even have enough time to answer when his vision fills with yellow; Dolores grabs him in the tightest hug he has ever received while ranting.

“I couldn’t hear you at all, you little devil! No one knew where you were, it was getting dark, we had to sleep in people’s houses. I had to sleep in Señora Avia’s house and you know I don’t like her and we thought someone had snuck in through the mountains to hurt you and-” Dolores gasped and Camilo could feel her shaking. “I thought I lost you.”

The familiar weight of Antonio pressed against his leg. “Please, don’t leave, Milo,” his hermano whispered and Camilo’s heart cracked.

He hugged his siblings back, pouring all of his love into the simple action. 

When he stepped back, he caught sight of the rest of his family looking at him with relief. Behind them, stood the rubble of Casita. The loss of their home was still painful.

Some things are impossible to prevent. Once a wagon has tipped down the large hill, it won’t stop much less slow down. You can try to keep up with it, but you already know it's going to smash down to the bottom of the hill. In the end, you step back and have to figure out your next move, not sit down and mope about what could have been.

“So,” Camilo began to say, turning to face his family. “Should we start building?”

Julieta is so busy watching her sobrino stand there tall, seemingly shining brighter than he has in so long, bursting with pride that she only now registers the sound of an old, familiar voice. Turning around, she finds her mama with a hand pressed against her chest and eyes filled with sorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” Mama says and Julieta’s  mind stutters to a halt.

Mama doesn’t apologize. She cuts fruit for you, nudges you during quiet moments, and offers you some words of encouragement. Whatever happened between her and Camilo must have been far, far deeper than Julieta could imagine.

Mama talks about about holding on for too long, for pushing them too far. She only did it because she was afraid, and this Julieta can understand. How often had she heard her mama turn and shout in her sleep, plagued by nightmares? How many times has Mama said bitterly that Colombia will never, ever know peace not while the violence that killed her husband continued? 

Then, Mama takes the hand of someone wearing green and Julieta forgets to breathe.

Bruno is standing there, aged and weary and tired. He’s still wearing that green ruana, still has curly hair that is all over the place, still hunches over to make himself smaller. Julieta would have thought he were a ghost if not for the fact that ghosts can’t hold someone’s hands.

Then, Bruno moves and Julieta is hit with the realization that her hermanito is back, he’s back, he’s alive-

Bruno smells of dust and sweat and sun as both Julieta and Pepa surge forward. He’s not a ghost nor a hallucination; Julieta closes her eyes and cries, thanking every high being for this blessed moment.

Weeks ago, she lost her hija. That pain is still there, will always be there. Today, with her hermanito in her arms, the pain eases back.

Luisa is growing.

She still finds herself agreeing to do everything, still feels guilty for taking breaks, and still feels that pressure on her shoulders.

Except Isabela makes it easier. Never in a million years would Luisa find herself elbow deep in the soil with her hermana, actually talking about their personal improvements.

“It's actually refreshing working with others,” Luisa was saying as she digs holes in the soil. Behind her, people from the village are hammering Casita back together. “Not just because the work is done faster, but because it feels less alone. Before, it was a bit isolating. Being the strong one.”

Isabela smiles sadly at her. “I know it seems hard to understand, but it was isolating for me, too. First, I rarely got any time to play with you. Then, I was busy with getting perfect scores from school and always being around Abuela. Then, it was getting ready for a wedding.” She sighed, tipping her head back. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to because I was worried that all these feelings-these ugly feelings-would disgust you guys.”

Luisa immediately reached over and dragged Isabela into a side hug, both of them knowing that neither of them cared about the dirt on their skirts. “It's so hard” she said, channeling the passionate voice Mirabel had anytime she gave a pep talk. “Because you think no one can actually understand. I mean, people think I’m strong and I am but I cry!”

Crying was a feminine thing. Crying meant showing weakness. Crying meant something was wrong with Luisa.

Isabela threw her arms around her, squeezing tightly. “So do I!” she said brightly, smiling widely.

(“Isa needs to relax in the sun and smile sometimes, ya’ know?”

Mirabel. Smiling fondly, shaking her head, leaning against the kitchen counter.)

“Hey,” Luisa said, turning back to the plants they needed to work on. “After this, I think I need sunflower seeds and fertilizer. I want to try something new besides chores.”

The entire village comes to help. From the construction workers to the oldest residents, they’ve come bearing shovels and wheelbarrows and extra hands.

Dolores won’t be lying if she says the gesture moves her. Especially coming from people who her family had done so much for.

With the loss of her gift, Dolores is relying on her second most important sense: seeing.

She sees a few old school friends rush up to her with relief clear on their faces and feels warm all over. She sees a group of boys sprint to Camilo; one of them wearing a wide-brimmed hat is bawling as he sprints. Camilo himself looks terrified as he is grabbed into a group hug.

She sees Mariano walking up to Abuela, asking if they are alright and where Isabela is. His abuela, Señora Guzmán, announces,”Because your family has helped us for so long, we will help you in return. After everything you all have done and what you’ve gone through, its the least we can do.” Abuela beams and hugs the shorter woman.

She sees Mirabel’s two friends carrying supplies, ready to help. Sees people already making plans on how to salvage what has been destroyed, lists being made, calculations-

Dolores sees the startled and horrified looks on everyone’s face when they see Bruno Madrigal, alive and holding his hermana’s hands. She already knows what everyone will say even without her gift.

Oscar hates being right.

He’s helping his papa look after the people who have been hurt while helping rebuild Casita. Never had the Encanto seen so many injuries that have not disappeared in a second. Papa is a great doctor, but he had not gotten that much practice with magical food healing people.

Really, they’ve all become careless. With a remedy within walking distance, there’s not that much alarm for a broken wrist or bloody scrapes. Now, the air is filled with pained groans and complaints.

It’s hands-on learning, and Oscar finds himself becoming used to blood and ripped skin and even crooked fingers. He’s also getting used to Antonio’s new friend.

“Hi!” Antonio Perez says to a nervous looking Antonio Madrigal. He’s holding a jaw of cocadas that he definitely swiped from the kitchen. “Are you here to see my papa?”

“No, I’m here with my papa and Tio Agustín. My tio got his foot hurt.”

“Oh, sorry about that. I’m Antonio by the way.”

“I’m Antonio too! People can have the same name? Are we the same age?”

“Yeah, people can have the same name. But, I’m seven.”

“I’m five. I got my gift on my birthday but now it's gone. I miss it.”

“Oh. A cocadas always makes me feel better. Want one?”

“Sure!”

Oscar starts calling his hermanito Toni to distinguish them while he’s handing his papa bandages for Agustín Madrigal's swollen foot.

"What are you doing?"

"The mud. I have to get rid of the mud."

"T-There is no mud, Mama."

"It's still there. It's still there. It's still there-"

"What do we do?"

"I don't know! I've never seen her like this."

"It's still there. I don't want it there. Is this even mud or blood?"

"Mama!"

"I need to get it off, Pedro!" Alma shouts, twisting around and wondering why her husband isn't listening to her-

Except it is not her husband but her eldest hija who has Pedro's eyes and nose. Bruno, who looks like a scruffier version of Pedro. Pepa, whose handwriting resembles her papa's the most. They are all staring at her, concern naked in their eyes.

Alma is violently aware that she is still sitting on a stool infront of a bucket, still has an iron grip on the bristle sponge she was using to clean her feet. "I didn't mean-I wasn't-It was because-You're not Pedro, Julieta," she says lamely. "I didn't mean to say you were Pedro."

(That day, when she found a bucket of clean water, Alma had dove for it. She wanted to scrape the mud away, rid herself of that stupid and useless woman who let her husband die. Her wandering mind had darkly wondered if the ground had been wet with either rainwater or blood. Bile was tasted at the back of her throat and it still did seeing mud everywhere (they show tracks, they can track us, they'll find and kill us.) )

Julieta is laying a hand on her arm. "Mama," she begins in a consoling tone she uses for patients. "Your feet are clean. There's no mud."

"Besides, you were hurting yourself." Pepa is hugging herself as she frowns down at Alma. "Did-Did you not notice?"

Considering how Alma has practices the art of ignoring headaches almost every single day, she simply shook her head. No, Pepa, she did not notice the angry red scraps on the heels of her feet.

Bruno shuffles, rubbing his left arm. "I k-kinda' get it. Whenever I knock on wood, I do it so often that I don't notice my knuckles are messed up." Julieta winces at her hermanito's words. "They're not so bad! Its like a scratch you gotta' scratch. But, Mama, we never seen you do something like that before. Are-Are you okay?"

This is where Alma draws the curtains between them. A mother cannot show weakness in front of her children, especially not when she's being silly-

'No. Stop. Inhale, exhale. If you want to keep your family together, talk to them. No matter how difficult it is.'

Summoning all of her strength, Alma says "Let me tell you about the night we lost your papa."

There are tears. There is grief shared. There is her heart feeling like it is being torn apart. But, there is understanding and that soothe the pain.

“It's all his fault,” Señora Pezmuerto-the younger one-hisses to the group of women as they fetch water. “First he curses all of us, starts killing our pets, and then he destroys his own family’s home! Even destroys the miracle!”

The women around her nod. Dana Sanchez focuses on dipping her bucket into the well, trying to tune them out. 

“How could a man be so-so heartless?” someone asks incredulously.

“He’s a sick man, that one. Hijo del diablo!”

“Nothing but bad luck. That poor family-They’re being tricked. Men who can gain sympathy are dangerous men.”

“I don’t know about you,” Señora Avilla begins, voice pillow soft. “But, I believe he murdered poor Mirabel. Think about it! Mirabel dies during little Antonio’s gift ceremony, enough time to plan the downfall of the family, and suddenly the magic is gone!”

“Hm!” Someone sniffs, not even trying to lower her voice. “I wouldn’t put it past the idea of Mirabel being Bruno’s hija given how much trouble they both caused.”

“H-Hey, now!” Señora Pezmuerto stammers out when she was the one who started this whole conversation.

Dana simply hoists her bucket of water and walks away, jaw clenched.

“Señora Julieta,” she says a day later, face composed. “I have something to tell you. These ladies have been badmouthing your family.”

Pepa manages to find her hermana and cuñado walking through a familiar path. The same path that their own small group walked when they were younger and wilder, bright-eyed with life.

“We need to talk,” Pepa says as soon as the pair stops and turns to her. All three of them seem to steel themselves as they remember why they need to talk. Pepa can still hear those damn words her youngest had said that one dinner, recalling the icy cold that took over her body as she realized she had messed up badly.

“Julieta,” Pepa began, facing her hermana who already suffered. “I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I never meant to force anyone to not talk about Mirabel. I would never dream of doing that! Antonio was just talking about her and not his own feelings, something that we needed to talk about. But, I still should have done something. And I’ll always be sorry for this.”

Julieta takes it all with an unreadable look on her face. Finally, it sags a bit as she sighs. “I should apologize to you, too,” she says.

Pepa blinked, confused. “Eh?”

Julieta reached over to take one of her hands, a familiar gesture she’s done since childhood. “I should have listened to you when you tried explaining to me that night. It was wrong of me to accuse you of not caring about Mirabel when I knew how much you loved her.”

Pepa shook her head at this response. This wasn’t how she imagined the conversation would go. “You lost your hija, Juieta. I would have reacted the same way.”

“Not an excuse,” Agustín cut in, resting an arm around her shoulder. “We were grieving-we are still grieving-but its not an excuse. We’re sorry, Pepa, truly.”

That douses the anxious fire she had unconsciously lit inside of her. Pepa had been convinced that no forgiveness would occur, that there would be this icy tension between two of her most favorite people in the world. A single thought was still hooked on her mind, however.

“Agustín,” Pepa began saying slowly, testing the words carefully. “Did you mean what you said? About how we exclude people who don’t fit some standard?”

Agustín’s silence told Pepa that this family still needed to work on things.

"Knock-knock-knock... knock!"

"Do-lo-res... hi!"

Grinning, said woman turned to find her strange tio knocking on the trunk of the tree she was sitting under.

“Hole, querida,” Tio Bruno sitting beside her. He handed her a piece of paper covered in his slanted, almost illegible handwriting. “Could you proof-read this?”

“Camilo Madrigal, get out of bed right now!”

Félix gives Señor Guerro an apologetic smile as he excuses himself from the table. It's been ten and two months since the collapse of Casita. During that time, the construction has been going quickly without a few hiccups here and there.

One particular hiccup is Camilo’s rather erratic behavior. Some days he’s enthusiastically helping, other days he’s moody and can’t seem to fix his hair or even come out of bed.

Pepa is still talking, irritation clear on her face as she forces a limp Camilo from a tangle of blankets. “You cannot pick and choose which days you get to help,” she’s saying, placing her hands on her hips. “No matter what you’re feeling or what happened, if you made a promise to something you have to commit! Why won’t you tell us what's happening? You used to be more open. Now, you’re just some shut-in!”

The entire time, Camilo drooped like a dead flower. He had this empty look in his eyes that frightened Félix. How had he missed something like this?

Suddenly, there was a flash of green. Félix blinked and saw Bruno swooping into the room, sitting besides Camilo and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t yell at him!” Bruno shot at Pepa who reared back at his sudden entrance. “Don’t just-just say things to him! Put the brakes on this whole thing!”

‘What the hell are brakes?’ Félix questioned.

“Bruno.” Pepa was forcing a patient tone in her voice even though her expression was still fierce. “I appreciate you a lot, but now is not the time-”

“Camilo is going through what I went through! He-He feels exhausted about everything and can’t stop these awful thoughts in-in-in his head and doesn’t understand why he can’t feel properly. And-And you’re doing what you guys did to me when I was feeling depressed-”

“Depressed?” Félix cut in, testing out this new word.

Bruno nodded sharply, throwing a hand towards Félix’s direction. “Y-Yeah! That’s a word for people like me and Camilo who feel as if they can’t feel properly-”

“Like me?” Pepa interrupted, looking suddenly lost and younger. She was swaying slightly and Félix immediately crossed the room to wrap an arm around her waist.

Bruno and Camilo both stared at her with wide eyes, mouths agape. “Like you?” Camilo said slowly.

Pepa slowly nodded, stepping away from Félix to sit next to their son. “I’ve felt like that since I was a young girl.”

Even Félix felt thunderstruck, joining the other two men in gaping. In his marriage, he and Pepa were open to each other. They talked about the things that they planned to take to their graves. Félix firmly believed he knew everything about his wife, down to how she liked her favorite food. Apparently, he was wrong.

He wasn’t upset, oh no! Just surprised and ready to badger Pepa with questions. Instead, he watches as she begins to connect to her hijo and hermanito, all three of them silently tearing up but smiling.

Camilo and Isabela were not the only ones who were shielded by Casita. Amongst the rubble, they discovered small stone or wooden tents providing shelter to some of their most prized possessions. Dressers from Julieta’s and Pepa’s room containing their clothes along with their wedding dresses and jewelry. The boxes of photo albums. A paper flower, dusty and slightly crumpled, that Isabela had cradled tenderly. A stuffed jaguar with a missing leg that was happily reunited with Antonio.

Some, however, did not survive. The iconic portrait of Pedro Madrigal had been discovered with a large tear in the center. Luisa had tried to shield it from her abuela, but it was too late. Julieta’s mama had seen and she had gone bone white, bringing the portrait close so that she could touch her dead husband’s face. She looked as if she were holding back tears, especially when the local painter approached her and said he would make an identical portrait of Pedro and one of Mirabel for free.

Others that had been damaged were the letters Agustín’s parents and brother had sent over the years, nearly everyone’s clothes, Isabela’s plant book, everyone’s hair products, and all of the visions Bruno had made in the past he had stowed away in his room. Agustín cut himself on the emerald shards trying to clean them.

Julieta silently counted the pile of books that belonged to Pepa, Dolores, and Camilo as more things were discovered. She feels a surge of fondness for Casita who, even on the brink of dying, still thought of the family. She wondered if they had actually started talking to each other-if they all had tried to connect-would it still be able to save Mirabel.

“Mama?” Isabela called out, walking over with Dolores carrying some things. “We found some things from the nursery.”

“What did you find?” asked Julieta, stepping closer. The items Isabela and Dolores were carrying were covered by burlap sacks that were usually used for wheat and potatoes. When they were pulled back, tears stung Julieta’s eyes.

It was Mirabel’s sewing machine, an old brown thing with golden leaves flying on it. There were a few scratches on it but other than that it was undamaged. 

The second item was the large art kit gifted to her on her thirteenth birthday. Splashes of color decorated its tawny wooden case. Across the top, written in a turquoise color with loopy letters, spelled: MIRABEL’S ART CASE.

“Oh,” Julieta softly said, taking the art kit. “Mirabel was so happy when she saw this. She wouldn’t have to walk all the way to her friend’s house to borrow those paints. Now, she could paint in her room-”

“She didn’t have a room.”

Julieta lifts her head and through tears sees the stoic face of Isabela. There’s this anger in them that makes her think of hot coal. “Mirabel didn’t have a room,” Isabela continues, hands clenched. “She was stuck in a nursery and had to share everything with a five-year-old.”

"You do not talk to me like that," Julieta snaps, bristling at the sharp tone from her hija. 

“Isabela,” Dolores also said sharply but Isabela wasn't done.

“We had a candle that could give us impossible gifts, and a house that could move and give us magical rooms, and it couldn’t give Mirabel her own room. She didn’t even need to get a gift, just a door! We didn’t even call it her room because it. Was. A. Nursery! Don’t pretend that she was happy there because she wasn't!” With that, Isabela spun around and marched away leaving Julieta feeling chilly.

“Construction is going on nicely,” Allana says as she places a flower crown made out of zinnias in front of her friend’s grave. “They just need to finish the second floor and the roof. I’ve just been doing some small stuff. Handing things over, laying out tiles.”

Daniella had not been able to come, caught up by chores. She’s the one who suggests which flowers to place on Mirabel’s grave, referencing her la tia abuela who spent a good portion of her life gardening.

“Camilo has taken charge,” Allana continues, shifting to get comfortable. The ground, soft-looking because of the grass, is not soft for her tailbone. “He’s the one everyone talks to about the plans for the floors. And Isabela is actually getting dirty helping with the cement! Can you believe it?”

She knows it's mad to talk to a grave, knows it's depressing. But, after every Sunday visit to church Allana finds herself here, sharing tidbits of her life to a grave that is surrounded by fresh and dead flowers. Later, she’ll pass by the mural of the Madrigals and, if Mariano Guzmán has not already lit the candles, she will do it. 

“I can’t like your parents, ‘bel,” Allana mutters, glancing down at her hands. They were covered in streaks of dirt. “They never helped you with any of the problems you had, never listened. And I know you’d hate me for that, but I can’t stop these thoughts! I feel awful!”

“I miss you,” she whispers, allowing tears to rise up. “I miss you so much and I hope you know that you’re still loved here.”

The night before the final day of the rebuilding of Casita, Bruno sneaks out to the graveyard.

He slithers from his place on a small cot, tiptoes through the Guerro’s dark house-he has practiced-and draws his hood up as soon as the door is open.

Outside, the night air is beautifully chilly and Bruno gulps in greedy inhales of it as he walks. The stars blink down as Bruno’s slow walk turns into a slight jog on his toes because what if someone sees him and thinks he’s el fantasma and screams and accuses him of trying to possess people and then there will be a mob-

Or what if people thinks he’s some creep, trying to peep through some woman’s window and her husband shows up, towering over Bruno, beating him bloody with his fists-

Bruno gave two ladders propped against a wall a wide berth, squinting down at the ground for any cracks to avoid.

Just in case. Always in case. You never know when you take a sharp turn in the worst possible scenario. 

Upon seeing the entrance to the graveyard, Bruno inhaled sharply, held it while crossing his fingers, and only unwound when he had passed. He immediately became hyper aware that he was stepping over people’s dead bodies which lay deteriorating in the earth, leaving only their bones for the insects to discover.

Woah! Okay, he needed to remember to write that down. But, first things first: the task at hand. 

Mirabel’s grave makes him want to sob for years. It's simple really, the headstone with the carving of a lamb at the top. A grave basket of papavers almost blocked the letters carved in the stone:

In Loving Memory of

Mirabel Valentina Rojas Madrigal

March 6, 1935 - May 21, 1950

“Thy remembrance shall endure into all generations”

Bruno’s knees hit the ground hard as he silently cries (a skill he learned while living in the walls). There are waves of anguish that are washing over him, drowning him. He never felt like such a failure until this moment. The whole point of leaving the family was to protect his sobrina and now-

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kneeling down and shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Bruno swore, everytime his hermanas were pregnant, that he would protect their children with his life. He may not be able to care for them, but stepping in front of incoming danger? Bruno would do it in a heartbeat.

And then that night happened. 

It was because of his spineless behavior, his pitiful cowardice. His carelessness putting an old record on to celebrate little Antonio’s birthday. The music canceled out the sound of tiles breaking, but it could not drown out Luisa’s horrifying scream.

‘My fault, my fault my fault, should have listened, should have looked, should have done better-’

“Letter,” Bruno muttered, straightening up and patting his pockets down. “I-I wrote you a letter-Wish I could tell you in person but-” Finally, his fingers brushed against the dry texture of paper. The letter had been folded and unfolded the entire day so Bruno held it delicately. 

“I asked Dolores to proof-read this ‘cause I wanted the best for you. You deserve it. Uh, so, here it is.”

“ ‘Dear Mirabel,” Bruno began, kneeling in front of the grave. “I hope that this letter finds you in good health, both of body and mind. I also hope that we were able to meet on good terms; if not, then that’s fine.

“ ‘You’re thirteen years old today, growing older with every passing day. Did you know that when you were born, you were smaller than your papa’s forearm? Pepa and Abuela dressed you up like a doll half the time. You’re such a delight, Mirabel, always smiling without a care in the world and finding every possible way to have fun. That takes courage to smile when you know the villagers whisper vile things about you and how your abuela no longer looks at you.

“ ‘She still loves you, Abuela. We all do and we will always do. It's hard not to love the very girl who asks everyone how their day is going and listens to her friend’s problems and makes sure Luisa eats. Hard not to adore the girl who creates gorgeous gifts such as paintings and dolls for the people she loves. You’re exactly what this family needs. I suppose every family needs someone who, despite seeing the darker side of life, is able to part those dark clouds and find sunshine.

“ ‘Yes, you don’t have a gift. Yes, you don’t have a door. But, you shine, Mirabel, in our constellation of a family. I know that in the future-and I don’t even need my gift to see-that you will burn gloriously. These gifts we have do not assist us in life; I am a perfect example of this. Rather, they seem to hinder us from the simple pleasures of life. Let us forget about gifts for the moment. The real miracle is you, Mirabel.

“ ‘At the end of every day, I hope you know that you are loved. From your devoted parents, your loving tia and tio, your patient and impatient prima and primos, your inspiring hermanas, your strong abuela, your courageous abuelo, and your long-lost tio. To love at all is to love entirely, Mirabel. Never forget that. You are loved, you are dear to so many people’s hearts, and you are enough.

With love,

Tio Bruno

He leaves the letter behind the basket grave. It feels like putting on the finishing strokes of a painting.

The next morning, Mama hooks an arm around his as they survey their home restored. It does not look as vibrantly as it did before, maybe leans to the side-

"It isn't perfect," Mama muses but there's a wide smile on her face. She seems more light nowadays, more open. Bruno savors this.

"Neither are we," Bruno points out and gets a chuckle.

"That's true." Suddenly, she starts. "Oh! There's one more thing before the celebration."

"What?" Camilo, who is besides them asks, but as Bruno scrutinizes the house from roof to door-

"We need a doorknob," he points out and Camilo hums as he follows his gaze.

Mama suddenly steps away and gestures for someone to come up. Its Antonio, smiling cheerfully up at Bruno who's heart begins to melt.

Then, shock fills him as Antonio holds up something golden in his hands and says "We made this one for you."

It's a doorknob, golden in the morning sun. A cursive M has been carved into it. For Madrigals? For magic? Miracle, Mirabel?

Bruno is suddenly aware of how many people are looking at him expectantly and panic kicks in. "I-I shouldn't," he tries to explain and avoids down-right pleading. "Who knows if I drop it and it gets dirty or dented or something? Or I put it in wrong and it looks awkward. Mama, you should do it-"

"Bruno," Mama begins and she's using that tone where she won't let you win the argument. "We all know that you deserve this."

All Bruno could manage was "Huh?"

Its Julieta who steps up this time, taking Bruno's hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "You put up with so much from the village and family," she begins softly, smiling softly at him. "You didn't have any support at all."

Pepa steps up and starts talking. "You stayed and hid away to protect Mirabel, even if it meant hearing us say awful things about you." Okay, him and Pepa need to have a talk. Bruno isn't upset with her anymore! He's heard worse!

"You helped us even when you were scared when we didn't deserve it." Julieta hesitates for a minute before speaking. "Mirabel would want her tio to do this. She'd insist on it and we both know how stubborn she w-was."

Bruno feels his own eyes water as he nods, not trusting himself to speak because he knows he'll start crying. Instead, he allows Antonio to guide him past his hermanas who watch him with pride, receives warm smile from his cuñado, the looks of encouragement from his sobrinas and sobrinos who have grown into their true selves. Finally, his mama waits for him at a door like how she did fifty years ago, looking at Bruno with love in her eyes.

The whole moment seems too real, too much of a fantasy that he slams his eyes shut, ready to open them to see he's back in the walls. The sudden touch of a warm hand on his cheek startles him and when he opens his eyes, he finds his dreams have become a reality.

"Abre los ojos," Mama whispers. "What do you see?" Gazing down at the doorknob, feeling as if there is pure light inside of him, Bruno simply says-

"Me." The real Bruno Madrigal, tired and a bit worn but ready.

He does his usual ritual (knocking on wood, salt and sugar) before placing the doorknob in slowly and carefully and-

Maybe a part of him was hoping Casita would come back, that the magic would return because that's all he's really known. He was ready to feel that rush, see everyone else gasp in delight as their gifts return. When it doesn't, he feels his heart drop.

'Bad Luck Bruno strikes again.'

Before he can beg for forgiveness for messing something so simple up, before he could flee, before he could even turn around, there's someone hugging his arm. "See," Mama is saying, resting her own hand onto of his that has a death grip on the doorknob. "It fits perfectly."

"And who cares about gifts," she continues saying in a much louder voice for the entire family to hear as the door opens. "When I have my family with me."

Dante Madrigal is fifteen-years-old. This is what he knows:

He is the youngest child of Luisa and Fernando Madrigal, looking as skinny as his papa, but with his mama's nose and hair. His hermanita, Amira, is two years younger than him and believes she can do anything she puts her mind to. The result is watching her jump from one new activity-knitting, baking, woodwork-every month. Papa is stern with his wife when it comes to breaks and personal time. 

He has a total of five primos; three girls and two boy. Valentina (20), Maria (17), and Adella (14) are the hijas of Tia Dolores and Tio Mariano, who is quite possible the corniest man Dante knows. Still, the couple always does romantic things for each other Meanwhile, their three hijas seem ready to beat each other to death over petty things. (Its actually terrifying. Imagine waking up at 8 AM and hearing shrieks of pain and curses.)

Tio Antonio, who is 30, is energetic and tends to every animal in the Encanto. When he is not busy, he is visiting each and every one of his sobrinos and sobrinas to hang out with them. Tio Antonio gave Valentine a worn stuffed animal of a jaguar which was passed down from each and every children. The toy is always fixed by Amira with her sewing machine.

Tia Isabela, a tall regal woman, had been gone from the house for almost four years to travel. She sends souvenirs from the places she went to which Dante treasured. Tia Luisa always called her parents over so that all three of them could read the letters together. 

Then, there were the twins, Macario and Mateo, both seven and little shits. Well, Mateo was more willing to spite you playfully and be the an actual devil which is ironic considering his name means "gift of God." Tio Camilo and Tia Daniella were their parents. The pairing was a bit funny considering how serious Tia was sometimes. But, like his papa, Tio Camilo was always ready to put a smile on her face.

Dante's abuela and abuelo, and tia and tio abuela and abuelos were amazing people. Always ready to help, always eager to give advice. Then, there was La bisabuela Alma who was either sitting with a warm smile or barking out criticisms. She always made sure to ask how Dante and the other kids were doing, how they were feeling, and was a great listener. Despite her old age, Bisabuela's voices is loud enough to gather everyone for family pictures. The twins went to her the most, and occasionally Amira.

Magic did not exist except for in children's dreams and books. Dante stopped listening to the stories his family would tell about before the collapse of their house in 1950 (a weak foundation had caused it). He would nod and hum and gesture for his parents to continue, but found it hard to believe something so silly.

No one was to lecture Abuela Pepa about how much coffee she drank. Ever.

The two paintings hung at the end of the staircase depicted two people who had died in the family: La bisabuelo Pedro and Tia Mirabel. La bisabuelo Pedro had died in 1900, selflessly defending his family and community from La Violencia; that violence drove countless of refugees to the Encanto who were ready to give them support. He's shown smiling gently down at you, handsome with a large nose and slightly wavy hair. 

Tia Mirabel's portrait shows a young girl staring out of a window. The whole thing is painted in gold as if the sun was setting, with Mirabel grinning as warm as her abuelo did. She has a round face, short curls, green circular glasses, and shares the same nose with Dante's mama. She died at fifteen twenty five years ago.

"She was the real gift in this family," Tio Abuelo Bruno would say.

"Mirabel was the most energetic girl I've ever seen," Mama would say.

"The greatest miracle a mother could have," Abuela Julieta and Abuelo Agustín would say.

"I help put flowers on her grave since Abuelo Agustín can't," Valentina would say.

"Someone who always strove to do her best," Tia Isabela would write.

"My best friend," Tio Camilo and Antonio and Tia Daniella would say.

To Dante, Mirabel makes him feel terribly sad. There's an accordion case mounted on a wall between Tia Luisa's and Tia Isabela's room, a lime green one with an orange butterfly painted on it that will never, ever be played again. He can't imagine dying at fifteen on his primo's birthday. It makes Tio Antonio's birthdays a weird mixture of grieving and celebrating, but ends the same way: Luisa, Camilo, Dolores, and Antonio sharing stories of their hermanita and prima. They will do the same thing tonight after the main event.

"Tio Antonio, wake-up," Dante says as he shakes the older man awake from his afternoon nap. Green sparks are exploding in the night sky to celebrate his birthday. "Don't miss this. Open your eyes for the fireworks!"