Chapter Text
Mirabel could barely breathe as she was smothered by her family. Of course, she couldn't care less.
After all, years of not seeing them, years of being told that they were dead, or worse, didn't exist…she didn’t even want to think about how much she had heard that over the years.
“You're back! You're back!” Isabela squealed, her vines wrapping around Mirabel's legs. She could feel flowers bursting in her curls, next to countless kisses she was receiving. “And you're alive!”
“Of course I'm alive!” Mirabel said. “I-I sent letters, remember?” She exclaimed.
Suddenly the smothering paused. Mirabel was pushed back slightly. Her eyes scanned their faces, completely ignoring their inhumane appearances.
“What?” Julieta asked quietly, laughing in disbelief. “What letters?”
“You sent letters?” Camilo asked, his tails flicking.
Mirabel glanced between them. “Yeah. Remember, all those years ago! I would fold them into airplanes and throw them over the wall. But then…then you guys stopped replying. But I kept sending them.”
Julieta suddenly blinked, tears forming in her eyes. Almost like she was remembering something. She shook her head, backing away. Agustín followed after her, helping her sit down. Tears flowed from her eyes, streaming down her patchwork cheeks. “You…You sent…”
Mirabel looked confused. Her eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? What's wrong?” Mirabel asked, wanting to go to her mother but now knowing what to say.
“Mirabel,” Pepa said gently. The girl turned to look at her aunt. Her form was strange, not stable. Made of soft clouds, of all kinds. Lightning flashed beneath her skin. “The letters stopped coming only a few months after you left. We thought…well…we…”
Pepa couldn't finish her sentence. Camilo could though. “We thought you were dead.”
“...Dead?”
—
Mirabel’s head was in her hands as she sat at the table. She looked up, the family surrounding her. She opened her mouth, stumbling on words she didn't even know.
“S-So…let me get this straight. You thought I was dead…because I stopped sending letters? A-And you think the candle cursed me?” Mirabel asked, looking between her family members in disbelief.
“Well we thought that since the candle did…this, to us,” Agustín said, gesturing to the others. “That it must've…killed you. Because you were the only one not in the house when it happened.”
“We thought that maybe the candle was punishing us, by punishing you,” Julieta whispered. “We thought we had done something wrong.”
“We mourned for months. Years even,” Felíx shrugged, his light dimming slightly. “Even after Antonio was born, we kept your side of the nursery the same. I tried for months to try and escape.”
“So the vines, the wall, the constant storm of clouds above Casita?” Mirabel asked. “That wasn't any of you? It was the candle?”
The family seemed unsure even with that explanation.
“We don't actually know,” Luisa muttered. “We never really figured it out. Just that we were cursed.”
Mirabel's mind raced. She felt dizzy. “But then…why wasn't I cursed? Even when I was outside of Casita, the magic…” Mirabel stammered. “Is it because I didn't get a gift? Am I not…Am I…”
“No! No, no, never that mija. A gift doesn't define you. It never will, it's not because of that,” Julieta said, quickly moving to wrap her daughter in a hug.
“Y-Yeah! Besides, Tío Agustín and Papá are still cursed,” Camilo tried to say cheerfully. Though the context didn't really help…”I mean, Antonio was born like that. So that means that it's not you!”
Mirabel stared at the table. “Where's the candle now?” She asked, finally. The question she had mostly been avoiding. “Where's Abuela?”
The sharp crack of thunder sounded, and a flash of lightning beamed as Pepa's whole form visibly darkened. The usually white clouds darkened to a deep gray, and she turned her face away from Mirabel. But the girl could already see the dark look in her eyes, in all of their eyes; except for Camilo and Antonio. Maybe Luisa.
“Abuela's in her room right now,” Bruno rumbled.
Mirabel seemed to perk up. Not really reading the room, for once. She was just excited to hear about her Abuela. After all, surely she missed her. Surely she could explain all of this. How to fix it.
“R-Really? Where, I wanna see her! Oh, I haven’t seen her in so long–” Mirabel had moved to stand, but Julieta grabbed her, pulling her back down into the chair. Her grip was unusually firm.
“She's not…feeling well. Not now. She won't talk to anyone right now,” Julieta muttered, her eyes flickering with barely contained rage. Though it was obviously not pointed at Mirabel; it was towards Alma.
Mirabel thought about protesting but something in her told her to just stop. Not to push it. And Mirabel was never one to back down, but now? This was the time to just…move on.
Antonio, sensing the tense atmosphere, slipped out of Pepa's lap and scrambled under the table. There was a thump as his wings hit the bottom of the furniture and helped climb up to Mirabel's lap.
“Can we show her my room?” Antonio asked; or rather, told. It wasn't much of a question as he was already pulling Mirabel along to the other part of the house.
Camilo quickly followed after, and so did Luisa, both arguing about who would get to show off their room to Mirabel next and who she was going to spend the night with. Mirabel didn't protest the sleepover. She didn't really find herself wanting to leave.
Isabela barely cast a glance before she rushed off after them. Dolores lingered in the dining room, glancing at her parents and extended family.
“Go on mija. Go spend time with your prima” Felíx said, shooing her off. The girl's ears perked as she rushed off to join the rest of the kids.
Julieta visibly deflated. Her stitches began to loosen; evidence of her growing distress. Agustín quickly moved to pull the ones he could tighter. “Mi amor, please, I know you're worried, but…she's back!”
Julieta was crying now. Pepa had drifted to her side, her hand resting on her back. She barely felt it. “I know…I know, but what if…what if it takes her too? What if she's stuck in this–this nightmare like we are?”
Bruno had walked over now, her towering form dropping down onto the floor next to his sister. “Come on, you don't know that,” he said, his voice soft and comforting despite the growl that perpetually covered it.
“But I do! Look at Antonio! He was born like that, he didn't even—,” she stopped herself, not wanting to hurt Pepa. She remembered the day the boy had been born, seeing the love and heartbreak in her sister and brother-in-law's eyes. They still adored the youngest, of course but it didn't change how they realized they really were stuck like this. “I just don't want her to end up like us.”
Agustín squeezed Julieta's hand. “It won't be like that, I promise. We'll find a way. For all of us,” he pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead.
“I hope so. God, I hope so,” she sobbed.