open your eyes (for the fireworks)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/36038314.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandom: Encanto (2021)
Relationship: Mirabel Madrigal & Madrigal Family, Luisa Madrigal & Mirabel Madrigal,
Isabela Madrigal & Mirabel Madrigal, Agustín Madrigal & Mirabel
Madrigal, Julieta Madrigal & Mirabel Madrigal
Character: Mirabel Madrigal, Luisa Madrigal, Isabela Madrigal, Julieta Madrigal,
Agustín Madrigal, Dolores Madrigal, Antonio Madrigal, Camilo Madrigal
(mentioned), "Abuela" Alma Madrigal, Pepa Madrigal, Félix Madrigal,
Bruno Madrigal, Original Characters, Casita (Disney: Encanto)
Additional Tags: Dead Mirabel Madrigal, Angst, Hurt/ no comfort, Blood Loss, Major
character death - Freeform, y'all know that theory where Pedro
Madrigal's spirit lives on in the house?, thats what im aiming for
Stats: Published: 2021-12-29 Completed: 2022-01-08 Chapters: 3/3 Words:
7172

open your eyes (for the fireworks)

by inkandstone

Summary

She just stares and finally, finally opens her mouth to scream because she’s pretty sure her
sister is dead.
 Chapter 1

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, titles 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 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
Maribel 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 Mr. 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.

Mr. 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!”

“Agustin, 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 2
Chapter Summary

She tightens her grip until it becomes painful but that's good because the pain ground
her.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

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 Agustin 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 Mr. 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 Agustin 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 Agustin 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?)

(“Ey, 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. “Mr. Perez!” shouts Agustin, voice
strident with fear. “Someone get Mr. 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 Mr. 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 neitas 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
neitas 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 End Notes

First, I'd like to thank each and everyone one of you for the kudos and comments
you've left behind. I did not expect this story to get that much attention and I'm happy
that you all are enjoying it.

Second, I am not Colombian or Latin American in any way. If I write anything that
may seem culturally incorrect or incorrect as a whole please let me know if you are
familiar with the culture from Encanto.

Again, thank you so much for your positive responses!

 Chapter 3

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 Ano 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 Felix 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 Agustin 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.

Felix 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, Felix 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.

Felix 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, Felix’s eyes are shiny with tears.

“Go,” Alma gently said. “Help the family. I’ll change her…into something warm.” Felix 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 poncho.

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 short like he 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.

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