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Language:
English
Series:
Part 3 of Let It Die
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Published:
2022-03-03
Words:
827
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
13
Kudos:
110
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2,880

Blow Out the Candle

Summary:

The argument went on, growing intelligible. Mirabel felt her heart seize for the poor woman, and found herself thinking of her mother with disgust. She tried so hard to be blind to her family's brutality, to not become even the slightest bit like them. And she hated herself for feeling that disgust towards her own mother, for letting it dirty her untarnished soul.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Mirabel worked the dough with clumsy hands as she stuffed it with cheese, shaping it into a disk before putting it on the tray next to the other uncooked arepas, giggling at the stark contrast between her mother's, prepared with cold, methodical expertise, and her own, misshapen but well-meaning. 

It was in moments like these that she felt almost fond of her mother, that she could, at least for a couple hours, be distracted from who the woman really was. And she was cold as ever around her, always looking like she was fed up with the whole world. But she gave her advice, and healed her if she cut or burned herself, and Mirabel could pretend the woman felt something, some resemblance of motherly fondness. She could play pretend that she was a normal girl with a normal, caring mother when they cooked together.

There was a knock on the door. It had been happening more often lately, and Mirabel grimaced at the thought of what her family had been doing to cause it.

"I'm going to answer the door. Don't burn the arepas."

She heard the screaming from the kitchen as she cried softly into the dough.

"My granddaughter was struck by lighting and she's paralyzed! I'm begging you, just this once, I-"

"There must've been a reason if my sister targeted your nosy brat. Now scram."

The argument went on, growing intelligible. Mirabel felt her heart seize for the poor woman, and found herself thinking of her mother with disgust . She tried so hard to be blind to her family's brutality, to not become even the slightest bit like them. And she hated herself for feeling that disgust towards her own mother, for letting it dirty her untarnished soul.

"I didn't burn any," she said before Julieta had even fully entered the kitchen.

"Can I go? I want to take a nap before dinner."

"Sure, you've done enough," the woman said, emotionless as ever.

But she couldn't find it in herself to sleep. She instead opted for drowning in self-pity, soaking her pillow with tears as she sobbed quietly.

Her mind conjured up images of her abuela, stern, cold and unloving, and that damned candle. She fantasized about blowing out that damned flame, clutching the wax cylinder in her hand as it crumbled in her grip, messing up the pretty decorations that made her sick.

She needed something to blame for all that unadulterated dread, or else she'd go insane. So she blamed the miracle.

It was a thought so irrational, borne from pure, delirious desolation, but she was thoroughly convinced it was that damn candle that had turned everyone so cruel, so unhinged.

She thought and cried about Antonio, her precious roommate whose smile lit up a whole room, and how he'd grinned mischievously as soon as his little hand touched that doorknob. He still loved Mirabel and sought her carefree games, but the girl often found herself frightened at who he'd become, scaring innocent people with his animals and voicing thoughts of violence and dominion no five-year-old should ever consider.

He'd grown an evil grin so similar to Camilo's, yet the latter had seemed to have it since he was born. She remembered being a toddler and feeling unstoppable with her partner in crime, back when they called each other "twin" and ran around causing harmless mischief.

Then Camilo got his gift and his playful mischief turned to cruelty. He was suddenly too busy wreaking havoc in the body of another and blaming everything on innocent souls to play with Mirabel.

The disgust creeped its way back into Mirabel's mind, unstoppable no matter how much she willed herself to have pure thoughts only.

It only grew, a black mass engulfing her brain as she grew restless in her bed, recalling every single time she was shunned because of the surname she bore, hearing fearful whispers every time she set foot outside; and every time her family had made it harder for her; everytime she'd managed to gain someone's trust just to find them unrecognizable the next day, shaking and muttering about sand and rats and a haunting green light and the burning pain of violation, begging her to leave them alone and never come back, or to find out that Camilo had stole her face and lit a firecracker in their hair, or initiated a fight, or for Alma to drag her back into the house and shove her back in her bedroom that wasn't even a bedroom.

Mirabel cried tears of anger and frustration, cursing her family, cursing the village, cursing the universe that had bestowed her with the cruel joke that was her life, until she had no voice to scream and no energy to fret and she grew limp on the hard mattress, a sweaty, broken mess. 

She begged whoever was listening to bless her with the sweet relief of death, because she couldn't bear to live any longer.

Notes:

Poor mirabel :( but someone has to suffer ig
Also if you squint I mentioned what happened to natalia from the previous fic

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