Chapter Text
A week passed.
Two weeks.
A month.
Mirabel stopped counting the days after that.
The heavy mourning period was over. Doors around the Encanto were once again opened, and there came a morning when music could finally be heard playing from the town square. Life was slowly beginning to return to normal for most. However, the shrine outside the church was still well maintained, and the mural of the Madrigals was still unfinished: Bruno’s picture looked more worn down than ever.
It became something of a tradition to keep the hourglass at the shrine counting away the hours, days, weeks. Whenever somebody passed it, they would make sure that the sand was still pouring, believing that the fastidious caretaking of time would honour the memory of the lost Madrigal. Mirabel passed the church at least once a day to make sure that the hourglass was still going. It made the weight of how much time was passing feel just a bit lighter.
The mourning period for the Madrigals was, of course, fated to be much longer. Although it was custom to wear black, they decided to abstain, believing that Bruno never would have cared for such a tradition. Mirabel decided to mark it in her own way, however, by embroidering a pair of dice onto her skirt to join the other images meant to honour each member of her family.
She didn’t cry anymore. She didn’t have the time. As a parent, Abuela was undergoing one of the most intense bouts of mourning that would last for a very long time. Sometimes, she was more ghost than woman, often seen haunting the veranda in her black shawl, a faraway look in her eyes. She was far less active, currently, in the running of the household, and so Mirabel stepped in to make sure things were going smoothly and that the family was content. There was no time to cry. No time to even really think, and that was nice.
There was one night, however, an unknown length of time after Bruno’s disappearance, when she pulled down the boards covering the open doorway to his room and crept inside. Everything was exactly as it had been left, save for the mysterious absence of sand. There were still stacks of visions all over the floor, no longer glowing with green light but faded to a dull crystal, no prophecies to be seen on the blank slates. Mirabel knew about that already. The prophecy she’d kept of Bruno and herself was also faded, the picture lost, though she often looked at it in the hope the precious image would return.
The Parqués board was still on the dusty floor. Slowly, she kneeled down in front of it and began to set it up, placing four blue and four green pieces in their respective jails. She stared at the board for a moment, her mind taking her back to the day when her Tío had tried to teach her how to play the old game. He’d given her the dice, tried to gently dissuade her from relying on visions. If she closed her eyes, she could picture it as clearly as anything.
Removing the dice from her pocket, she rolled them across the board and they settled near the green jail, amounting to the number two as a pair of ones. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do next; they hadn’t gotten far enough for her to find out.
She brought her knees up to her chest and sat there in the cold silence, hot tears brimming and then finally spilling over.
“Please,” she whispered, her head falling onto her arms. She didn’t know who she was speaking to, but she carried on, regardless. “It isn’t fair. We weren’t finished.”
Nobody answered.
After some time sitting alone, Mirabel slowly rose to her feet. She took a final look around the small room, taking in the organised chaos of the few possessions therein. It felt different there, now. It was cold despite the absence of a chilling wind from a now non-existent tower. There was something … unfamiliar about it all. Distant and dark. She felt an uncomfortable déjà vu, remembering with unease how it had felt walking into Bruno’s room a year ago with no idea who the man really was.
She headed back to the door. Lifting the board, she prepared to place it back down to conceal the room from view, but couldn’t help but take one last look inside at all the once-loved possessions now gathering dust.
“Buenos noches, Tío,” she said quietly, her chest tightening as she closed the board over the door.
Time seemed to move differently, now.
It was strange how quickly it passed. Mirabel could be reading or embroidering and she’d realise, quite suddenly, that she was sitting and staring, with no memory or knowledge of how the work in front of her was finished. Similarly, sometimes she would lie in bed in the evening and look at the clock by chance - and two hours would have passed with nothing to show for it. Time just seemed to slip away, to disappear in the blink of an eye with nary so much as a glance behind.
It seemed a lifetime ago, somehow. The near invasion of the Encanto was but a memory. People didn’t talk about it anymore, either preferring to pretend that something so awful had never happened, or simply putting it out of their minds now that the danger had passed. Mirabel envied their ability to seemingly just … forget. The townspeople didn’t think about green storms, creeping fog, and the hollering of strange men whenever they looked at the forest. Thoughts of that night didn’t pervade every one of their quiet moments.
The ghostly echoes of that terrifying, heart-rending night clung to Mirabel like shadows, and those ghosts were just as talkative as ever despite how long ago it all seemed.
One afternoon on a cloudy day, Mirabel was sewing up a hole in a pair of Antonio’s trousers in her room. She was disturbed by a quiet knocking on the door. Turning, she found her mother and Pepa peeping in, a sad and anxious sort of look to them. They pushed the door open - and Julieta opened a parasol just as a dark rain cloud came floating ominously in behind them.
“Almost time for lunch, Mirabel,” her má reminded her gently, shifting the parasol so that it covered the heads of both herself and her sister. “They’re setting up outside today. But first … your Tía and I wanted a moment with you.” Julieta’s sorrowful gaze softened yet more, if possible, and she moved to place a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, her thumb affectionately caressing her there. “It’s been three months. Every valley has been scoured. I am so sorry, mi carazón, but …” Pained, she looked at her sister for help.
Pepa ran her hands through her braid over and over anxiously, unsure where to look. Lightning flared from the storm cloud looming over her head.
“Yes, um - we’ve been talking and talking, and - and talking. We don’t want to say goodbye to our brother, okay? But it’s the way of things that everybody gets a service when they - when they - Ay …! What we’re saying is -“
“We’re saying that it might be time to pay our respects,” Julieta continued, her gaze falling. “We’ve arranged a service in the church a week from now, just for our family. Afterwards, we can have a feast and some music, and … it’ll be a lovely way to say goodbye, wouldn’t it?”
Mirabel wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about that, so she settled with feeling next to nothing at all.
“Okay, má.” She stood up and embraced her mother and aunt, sympathetic. She could barely imagine what it would feel like to lose one of her siblings, least of all having to arrange a service to mark their passing and commemorate their life. The Madrigal Triplets were now but two, forever uncertain as to the fate of the one they had shared a womb with, and they didn’t even have anything to say goodbye to.
“I’m so sorry, Mirabel. I know this is so difficult,” her má murmured into her hair, then kissed her head. “My strong, brave little girl. I’m sorry that I can’t take this pain away.”
Mirabel pulled back and looked at the pair of them, holding their hands in hers.
“It really hurts,” she confessed, trying to smile despite that familiar ache emerging in the dull void of her chest. “But it’s no wonder you can’t heal it, mamá, ‘cause it’s really just love. Right? Maybe love just really, really hurts when someone is gone. Like … light casting shadows, like you said. It’s nature, even for magical people. It just …” Her smile broadened, pained. “I - I really miss him, má. I really … just one more chance to say goodnight, or … anything.”
Poor Julieta couldn’t hold it in. Her face pinched, and then she burst into tears for the first time since the night it had all happened. Pepa loudly sniffled, too, and then the shutters to Mirabel’s bedroom clattered noisily as a mournful wind began to howl through them, and the rain falling from the storm cloud increased in intensity tenfold.
Casita closed the door and granted them the privacy they needed.
Bruno’s final prophecy occurred a week later.
It was far from being a perfect, happy ending, despite how it might have looked set into green emerald. The truth, horribly misinterpreted, was more awful than any of them could have really imagined back when the vision had come to light. True, they were gathered outside of la Casita. True, the uncles were cracking small jokes to lighten the mood a bit for the kids, and so there were a few smiles. True, members of the family were hugging.
It wasn’t what it might have seemed. It was breakfast time, and the air was heavy with the knowledge of what was to come that day: the service in the church that was supposed to end the searching and the worrying and the thoughts of what if? It meant that the community thought that the well of hope had run dry; there was no way anybody could survive the wilds for so long, even if they managed to escape the invaders.
For the Madrigals, perhaps it all served as a reminder of sorts, too, deep down. Deep, deep down. Maybe they could bend time and create tropical storms and heal broken bones in the blink of an eye, but they were still human. Still susceptible. Still followed by a dark, tragic past that lurked somewhere beyond all the light their miracle radiated.
Maybe it was easier for Mirabel to think about it. Maybe not. She probably shouldn’t have been contemplating it so much, really. She was only sixteen. Not quite an adult yet, she had not long come to realise. Not old enough to bear such a weight, nor to always be the one to face the dark things of the world all on her own so that others wouldn’t have to. More than once, she’d seen what the burden of such responsibility had done to people.
Though young, she was no fool. She couldn’t let history repeat itself. She had to take charge of her own fate, and …
Her thoughts came to a tired halt.
In the corner of her eye, something bright yellow caught her attention.
There, near the plants lining the path to their home, a large, yellow butterfly was fluttering towards the flowers. It elegantly landed and slowly opened and closed its wings.
Mirabel painfully swallowed a half-chewed bite of breakfast. There was something strange about that butterfly, not in the way it looked but in the feelings it evoked simply by being there: a niggling, cautious sort of hope, perhaps, that things were going to be just fine. Bruno was always saying that. Things were going to be okay. The sight of the butterfly just seemed to somehow prove it, as though it was the idea made manifest.
After breakfast, Mirabel headed into town to finish off a couple of chores for her má, and performed her usual ritual of passing the church and turning the hourglass up on its head to get the sand flowing again. As soon as she put it back down - another butterfly (or was it the same one?) came out of nowhere and jumped about in the air in the way they did. It finally fluttered down and landed on the top of the hourglass, spreading its pretty wings that were so yellow it almost seemed as though they were glowing.
Reminded of a vision shared with her by Bruno over a year ago, Mirabel’s heart leapt.
Follow the butterfly.
It had to mean something. It had to. And even if it didn’t, she still had to try, because she just wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. It just didn’t feel right . The butterfly was a soft reminder of her own connection to the miracle, something that she could see into and understand so intensely in ways nobody else could, and she would … she would just know, wouldn’t she? If a member of her family was truly gone, she would feel it in her very bones.
Maybe. It wasn’t like she really knew anything for sure, but if there was even the slightest chance …
As though sensing Mirabel’s uncharacteristic cloud of numb moroseness was jolted, the butterfly danced up into the air again and headed up the road, back towards Casita.
Mirabel wasted no time. Adjusting her glasses, she dashed after it all the way home and watched with dismay as the butterfly flew up and over the house, disappearing from sight. She scrambled into the stable to saddle Señorita Conchita as quickly as was humanly possible, then mounted up and guided the mare past the house and towards the mountains, where an enormous crack down the middle of them created a narrow valley that led to the river beyond.
It was the breaking of the Casita and the near breaking of the family that had created the divide in the range. Steeling herself, Mirabel took a brave, steadying breath and headed into it once more, her gaze fixed on the butterfly twirling through the air just ahead. It was so bright and so beautiful that it was always easy to find, even whenever it darted temporarily out of view.
The break in the amounts opened up again unto the blessed river where the Madrigals were first given their miracle. Despite the cloudy day, the water glittered and the rainbow hue of colours beneath shone as though the sun was constantly beaming down upon them. Shoals of tiny fish gathered to curiously watch and then flit away as Conchita nervously crossed the shallow water all the way to the other side.
It was the furthest Mirabel had ever been from the Encanto. A moment of fear stilled her, but when the butterfly soared past and continued on into the forest, her resolve returned. Even if her path was uncertain, she could always rely on the Encanto and her family to be there behind her, patiently awaiting her return with open arms. She knew that, and it filled her with a strength she was sure she hadn’t felt for months.
Onwards through the forest she went, making mental notes of landmarks she could use to find her way home. It was humid there between the trees. Sweat quickly began to form on her face as she rode on, both from the heat and from nervousness, too - the plants were getting bigger and more scary looking as she went, and the forest was alive with things that could leap out and bite her at any moment. Still, she went on, following the butterfly with all the hope that had almost become entirely vestigial as of late. Like a cactus flower, that hope was slowly beginning to bloom again.
The forest opened out onto an old, worn path alongside a ravine beneath which the river continued to flow. The view that spanned from her high vantage point was absolutely breathtaking. There was miles and miles and miles of forest. It was the closest thing to what she imagined an ocean might look like, endless and beautiful and formidable all at once. There were rolling hills far in the distance crowned with ancient trees. Birds of all colours soared in the skies while others floated merrily on the water far below.
What an incredible sight, Mirabel thought, a sense of deep pride emerging. This was her home. This was the beautiful heart of Colombia and there she was, right in the middle of it all.
Cautiously riding along the path near the ravine, Mirabel desperately searched for the yellow butterfly and found it perched on the trunk of an arching tree. All she could see beyond it was shrubs, flowers, yet more trees …
She thought she heard the sound of hooves ahead.
Her blood immediately ran cold.
If there was someone else there - well, it could have been anyone. Another invader, a straggler from a party intent on hurting and ruining the lives of any innocent civilian they came across, or maybe it could have been -
An enormous horse barrelled out of the forest nearby. The beast’s hooves were thunderous on the earth and it snorted and wheezed. Flocks of birds scattered from the crown of the forest. Señorita Conchita was startled by the sudden emergence of the creature heading right for them - she drew up onto her hind legs and whinnied, kicking out her front hooves and stumbling backwards.
Mirabel’s stomach dropped as she slipped from the saddle.
The landing was thankfully soft, a clump of weeds saving her from injury, but she’d fallen too close to the steep ravine. Crying out, she tried to grab onto the grass, the stone, anything to stop herself from falling over the ridge, but it was all wet with humidity and moss and slipped straight through her fingers.
Bracing herself, she awaited the freezing cold plunge of water, or the rock-hard impact of a deceptively shallow river.
It never came. She heard a strangled yell, and then something - someone was closing their hand around her wrist, catching her before she could tumble down and fatally injure herself.
Her eyes were tightly shut. She was too frightened to open them. Panting, she felt about the sheer face of the ravine with her free hand, unable to find purchase in her shock. It was so cold, she realised suddenly. Her fingers were already going numb. Trying not to cry, she searched with her dangling feet until she found a thin crevice in the stone she could hook the tips of her sandles into.
“Mirabel?” Came a quiet, hoarse voice. It must have been the rider of the other horse.
Mirabel was in such a state of shock that it didn’t occur to her it was strange the stranger knew her name. All she could really focus on was not falling to her death, and especially not looking like she was at all scared. Which she was, but she couldn’t let an invader know that, could she?!
“No, no, Mirabel. Open your eyes. It’s me! I can’t - I can’t - You have to help me pull you up.”
Terrified, Mirabel looked up and did as she was asked, opening her eyes to look at the one who had saved her.
Again.
The river and all present danger seemed to just evaporate. There was the cloudy sky, which was really more of a blue colour again, now, and there was a butterfly, too, balanced on the top of a flower hanging over the ravine. And there, above her, was a pair of tired green eyes and an expression of complete terror.
If she was stood on solid ground, the earth just might have been swept from underneath her feet. The pain that had endured within her for three months seemed to explode in an agonising cacophony of doubt and joy and absolute sheer relief.
“T-Tío?” Mirabel spoke in a small voice, sounding more like a child than a teenage girl.
Bruno grunted in confirmation. He was already shaking with the exertion of keeping Mirabel from falling, sweat beading on his brow. Still, he arranged himself into a steadier position along the edge of the ravine and heaved, doing his absolute utmost to pull her back up to safety but failing with a desperate groan.
Taking a deep breath, Mirabel found purchase with her feet again and used Bruno’s arm as leverage to begin to pull herself up. She took hold of both of his hands, finding them much less slippery than the moist rock she was pressed against, and helped him hoist her up by pushing up with her feet.
She couldn’t help but yelp as she lost all grip on the stone and was yanked up and over the edge. Stunned, she stumbled over and collapsed in a clumsy heap on the ground, holding onto the grass for dear life as though the ground might simply open and swallow her whole. It took her a moment to gain her bearings, her head swimming with the shock of the near fall and the sudden re-emergence of somebody that was supposedly dead.
Yelping again, she rolled abruptly onto her back and sat bolt upright, searching.
Bruno was huddled a small distance away, his large eyes darting about her.
He looked absolutely awful.
His eyes were sunken temples, fading into a shimmering lakebed. His face was thinner and even more gaunt than usual, and his beard was long and scruffy. There was a bruise on his left cheek and a new scar cutting across one eyebrow, and the side of his face was marred with what looked terribly like dried blood. It was staining the pale grey ruana he wore, too, splatters of it all down the front. There was a sickly pallor to his skin and it was clammy with sweat.
Mirabel covered her mouth with her hand, trying to restrain a sob at the relief of seeing him alive. She failed. After weeks and weeks of trying to keep it all in, of trying to be strong for the other members of her family, the tears immediately overwhelmed her and poured over her cheeks, delighting in their freedom. Snot bubbled from her nose. She was so overjoyed, so hopeful, and yet in such a state of disbelief that she crawled over to him and felt his face with her hands just to make sure that he was real.
He was. He was. He was cold and somehow warm all at once, and the blatant sorrow and concern in his eyes was so familiar that it was almost as though he hadn’t been gone at all.
Mirabel pulled him into a hug and cried into his shoulder, speechless. Her hope wasn’t all for nothing. She hadn’t been wrong to believe a miracle was still possible. She wasn’t wrong.
Maybe an hour passed. Maybe it was just a few minutes. Time didn’t seem to work the same, anymore. Her tears finally slowed and were joined by a throbbing headache. Catching her breath, she clung onto the ruana and realised that Bruno was shaking from exhaustion and whatever else. He held his arm across his middle, seeming barely able to move without causing himself pain. Still, he looked just as happy and relieved to see her as she was him, a weary smile brightening his features.
“Mirabel,” he croaked, those three syllables spoken like a prayer. “Ah, Mirabel. Mirabel.”
“Tío!” Mirabel whispered, pressing her forehead against his and laughing. “You’re alive! You’re really - What - what happened? Are you okay?! You’re hurt! We have to get you back home! Oh, oh - the family are absolutely going to lose their minds! And - and Abuela, oh my - She’s going to be so happy, and mamá and Pepa and - and everyone. You have no idea how awful it’s been. C’mon, we have to - um, Bruno?”
Pulling back, she realised her uncle was staring at her absently, his skin rapidly losing all its colour. Did he even realise that she was real? Could he hear what she was saying? Did he understand how happy she was, how happy everyone was going to be to see him? Did he know that him being there was a miracle? Did he know?
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” he said blearily, his gaze seeming to lose focus for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be funny. If. If you were having the same dream as me? Heh, that’d be … actually, that wouldn’t be funny at all. Aaanyways. There was this - this butterfly, where did it go? I think it was … I don’t know. I’ll ask Toñito what it wants to say. He can talk to bugs, right? I never. Never asked. I never …”
Mirabel looked at him, all the way from the top of his scruffy head to the bottoms of his bare, dirtied, and cut up feet. He was alive - Tío Bruno was alive! - but at a cost. It seemed there was no time to properly reunite and beg him to relay the story of what had happened, nor even allow herself a moment more to come to terms with her own enormous joy and relief. Bruno needed her help, now; the butterfly had led her to him just at the right moment.
“This isn’t a dream,” Mirabel said softly, then pinched herself. “Nope. Definitely not. I’m right here with you. Miracita! You made me a promise, Tío, d’you remember? All those years ago. I remember now, I do. You’ve kept it for all this time. Now, just - just don’t leave me for a bit longer, okay? Home is just a short ride away.”
Bruno contemplated all of that. A couple of tears cut through the dirt on his cheeks and fell into his beard. Still, he seemed unable to look away from her.
“I - I’m home?”
“Yeah. Yes. Let me help you. Here.” Gently, Mirabel wrapped an arm around her uncle’s back to support him and took his hand, trying to encourage him up to his feet.
Bruno looked as though he might either throw up or pass out. He wobbled and made a pained noise through his teeth as he was pushed upright. Caught in a daze, he allowed Mirabel to lead him over to Señorita Conchita - and then came the awfully difficult process of getting him up on the saddle. Mirabel ended up climbing on first so that she might help pull him up behind her. It took a few minutes, but eventually her uncle was situated uneasily on the saddle, too, his slight weight resting against her back.
He mumbled something unintelligible into her shoulder. Mirabel willingly braced his weight, barely feeling him there, and carefully took hold of the irritable new horse’s reins, too, guiding it alongside Conchita. Her hands were shaking, she realised. Probably because she’d just nearly plummeted to certain doom and it was beginning to catch up to her. Still, somebody needed her help and she wasn’t about to screw it up; the miracle was partly hers to keep and safeguard, and now here was a new one, too. Her Tío Bruno, mysteriously back from the dead and relying on her to lead him home.
She was forced to maintain a level pace for his sake. However, she found her way back to the river with relative ease and crossed through its gentle current. More yellow butterflies were lingering on the flowers and the trees all around, or dancing around each other in the air. With a golden flourish, they parted as Mirabel and her charge passed through into the craggy valley splitting a mountain in half.
“Look, Tío! It’s the Encanto!” She called back encouragingly as the colourful town emerged into view. Greeted almost immediately by the back of la Casita, Mirabel hurriedly stationed the horses in the stable and slid down off the saddle, reaching up to help Bruno descend.
He did so, not entirely present, missing her hand. He stumbled and slapped face-first onto the ground like a wet sock.
“No!” Mirabel yelped, trying to peel him up off the dirt as carefully as she could. “Bruno, hold on. We’re almost home, I swear! Just - just one step at a time, okay?! So, sooo close.”
He was all but collapsed against her by the time they reached the front of the house. Unable to move any further, Mirabel helped her uncle sink down to the ground and held his hand tight as his head lolled dangerously against her. The poor thing was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open.
“MAMÁ!” Mirabel yelled as loudly as she possibly could, hammering her fist on the front door. “PAPÁ! PEPA! HELP!”
It took a moment, but a dark cloud swiftly descended down over the house and cast its shadow over their home, then flashed brightly with lightning. The door crashed open. Tía Pepa was on the other side with her eyes closed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she stalked out and waved her other hand wildly towards the sky.
“AY! Just one moment of peace and quiet! Is it too much to ask?! I don’t want a pounding headache at my own brother’s -“
Pepa stopped pacing and turned towards her frantic niece. Then, her gaze fell down to the ground, where said brother was presently very not dead, nor missing, but not exactly in the best of shape.
Thunder cracked as Pepa gaped. Her mouth fell open.
“Is that …?” She barely managed, gesturing - and then in an instant, she was falling onto her knees and hugging her brother, only pulling away when he grunted with discomfort. “Oh, Dios mio. Brunito! What happened to you?! Where have you been?! We’ve all been worried sick! We all thought you were - that you were … ¡Idiota! Running off into the forest like that! What were you thinking?!”
“Um -“ was all Bruno managed.
“JULIETA! MAMÁ! COME QUICKLY! Mirabel, help me!”
Together, Pepa and Mirabel hoisted Bruno back onto his poor feet and led him slowly into the house. When Bruno mustered the strength to lift his head, his eyes were shining with all the vibrant colours of the courtyard, gold, pink, green …
And then there was Julieta, dusting her hands off on her apron as she emerged from the kitchen. She stopped, eyes wide.
Then, she gasped and fell against the doorway in shock, a hand on her heart.
“ … Bruno?” She half-whispered, inching forwards as though frightened it might turn out to be someone else. “Mi Bruno? ¿Eres realmente tú?”
“Heeey, sis,” Bruno rasped, waving his hand. It flopped back down. He really looked more tired and confused than anything else, perhaps still thinking he was merely existing inside a dream, that he wasn’t really home, but … somewhere else. That his family wasn’t real anymore. Still, he smiled vaguely and reached out his arms to his sisters, silently requesting an embrace.
They went to him at once. Mirabel fell back and gave them their space, watching with teary eyes as the triplets reunited once more. There were more tears, this time. Their love flooded Casita, making the magical doors glow all the brighter, and the tiles of the roof and courtyard rattled in joyful welcoming.
One by one, the rest of the family appeared on the veranda, watching in silence as the aunts held tightly onto their brother in the middle of the courtyard. The dark cloud looming overhead slowly lifted away and dissipated entirely, uncloaking the warm light of the Sun that eagerly began to beam down on them.
There was Abuela, too, at the top of the stairs. She seemed to have lost her balance. She leaned against Félix, staring down at where her lost son was defying all expectations. With the help of her two son-in-laws, she descended the grand staircase and slowly approached, her hands reaching out.
“Is it …? Is it you, mijo?” She whispered, descending to her knees before him. Her hand made the sign of the cross on her chest, and then she reached out to touch Bruno’s face, much as Mirabel had. “… It is. My sweet Bruno Pedro. It’s a miracle. They took you from me. Three months, three months, yet here you are, my love. I prayed that you would return and you heard me.”
Bruno’ face creased upon his mother’s gentle touch. Whatever had happened, wherever he’d been, whatever terrible things might have kept him away from home again - it all seemed to show there on his face in a split second, evoked by Abuela’s presence. He folded in on himself and trembled, fresh from an unspoken Hell and too agonised to even cry.
“Mami,” he choked out, then thrust himself into her waiting arms.
Mirabel didn’t see much of what happened after that. She felt herself being ushered into the kitchen, realising it was her mother with a hand on her back. An arepa was pushed into her mouth. A thoughtless bite later, and the cuts and scrapes Mirabel didn’t even realise she’d had were healed. Her mother kissed her temple and held her close.
“I need to go and take care of Bruno. You can tell me what happened in a little bit, okay? Eat all of that, then go take a warm bath and change.”
“But -“ Mirabel mumbled through a mouthful of arepa. She noisily swallowed it. “But - Bruno -“
“Later, mi vida. But … my love, thank you. I don’t know what happened or how you knew, but … thank you. For bringing him home.”
Her má squeezed her hand, then quickly left with a tray full of food.
She wouldn’t see Bruno again for a while. He was quickly carted away to his room by the grown-ups. After that, the only people allowed inside were Abuela, Julieta, and Pepa, who wouldn’t speak when probed by their husbands or any of the children.
Once Mirabel was warmed up and in a change of clothes, she found herself being questioned, instead, by curious members of the family. Was that really Bruno? Was he really alive? Where had he been? How did she find him? What happened?!
Most of the questions, she couldn’t answer. She didn’t know. All she could tell them was the story of the butterfly and how it had led her out of the Encanto and into the forest, and then relayed with great pride the moment she’d almost fallen into a deep ravine and died horribly before Bruno appeared and caught her just in the nick of time. It took even longer to convince them that really was all she knew, and yes, she really had almost fallen. She still couldn’t quite believe that part, herself.
The lighter mood abound in the house was tentative. The secrecy surrounding Bruno had everyone on edge. Was it too early to say if he was truly back for good, yet? Why wasn’t Abuela leaving his room? The only person on the outside who could possibly know was Dolores, and she was doing a remarkable job at not saying anything at all, quickly sliding out of the room whenever it looked as though she might be interrogated. Mirabel was the usual culprit, eager to know what was going on and how their uncle was and why he had been gone for so long.
She didn’t sleep. She spent most of the night sewing or reading, her knee jumping agitatedly. She really hated not being able to do anything, not to mention she was still wound up and in something of a state of shock following the events of the day. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but most of all she just wanted to know that everything really was going to be alright, and there were only a few people who sounded really convincing when they said that.
Without a wink of sleep, she rolled out of bed the next morning and waited in the kitchen for her má to appear at the usual early time to begin preparing breakfast.
She was late. Only by a few minutes, but by the time Julieta rounded the corner, Mirabel was anxiously scrubbing the life out of a plate left in the sink to try and take her mind off things.
“Má!” She cried, throwing the plate to one side. It was caught by Casita and neatly deposited into the drying rack.
Julieta was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday and really looked as though she hadn’t slept at all, either. Her mother offered her a weary smile and went to fill the pot on the stove ready for coffee.
“What remarkable timing, conejita, unless you’ve been waiting here all night.”
“Did you even go to bed, mamá?!”
Pursing her lips, Julieta then sighed and spooned coffee ready into a row of mugs not long rolled into place by Casita.
“No. I will in a minute. Pepa and Abuela are resting, thankfully. It was a long night.” She ran a hand down her face, deliberating. “You found your Tío just in time. He had some injuries and a terrible fever. If not for you … Well. I finally got some food into him a few hours ago. On that note … eat something, Mirabel.”
Mirabel quickly grabbed a banana from a bowl on the side and peeled it.
“Is he … okay? He was all like, um …”
“He’ll be okay, my love. He just needs to rest, so don’t go badgering him with questions. We’ll save celebrating for when he’s feeling better, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” Frowning, Mirabel began pulling the stringy bitter things off her banana, blinking tiredly.
Her mother’s warm hand slid over hers. Her smile was so warm, so familiar and genuine, that Mirabel’s worries seemed ready to just flutter out of the window.
“I think you might be one of the bravest people I know. My own daughter, who I love so much. You saved this family. And I’m sure this isn’t the first time that you saved my brother’s life. Thank you, mi corazón. We all love you so very, very much. Now, try and take a nap, will you?”
A kiss to her head, and then Mirabel was urged out of the kitchen and left alone to contemplate her mom’s words.
It took two whole days before she was allowed to visit.
“Go and take Tío his coffee,” Julieta urged that morning, handing Mirabel two hot mugs. She was probably fed up of her daughter hanging insistently about the kitchen.
She’d been just dying to visit ever since he’d arrived home. And yet … When she was finally standing outside the board that was Bruno’s temporary door, her feet became mysteriously fixed to the ground, as though some of Isabela’s vines had manifested to root her there.
Truth be told, the way Bruno had looked when she’d found him scared her a little bit, as silly as it sounded in her own mind. It was always awful seeing somebody sick and frightened, but it was particularly perturbing when that person was an adult. It was an all too blunt reminder that people never stopped being scared, and weren’t indestructible. They could become frail and tired and look like strangers. Was he even lucid, yet? Did he realise where he was? What he’d done?
Gulping, Mirabel stepped forwards and quietly knocked on the board before moving it aside, her heart hammering in her chest.
The room was oddly … light? It took her a moment to realise what was different. There was a window, now, where once there had been a doorway into an impossibly tall tower. The shutters were open and a gentle breeze made the green curtains flutter, and warm sunlight streamed into the room - a place where it had never shone before. The window was something of a mystery; Mirabel didn’t entirely know how Madrigal bedrooms worked.
In the bed, Bruno was dozing peacefully within the light. He looked … better. More or less. He was all cleaned up and groomed and wasn’t laden with whatever injuries had been ailing him before. His colour had returned to him, and he thankfully looked more himself since coming home.
Though desperate to speak to him, Mirabel felt guilty at the thought of disturbing his sleep, so tiptoed carefully around the bed and left her uncle’s coffee on the bedside table. Just as she turned to leave again, however, a warm rasp murmured:
“Hey, kid.”
It took all of Mirabel’s willpower not to jump on the bed and crush her uncle in a hug. Startled, she quickly grabbed a chair nearby and pulled it over, plonking herself down in it and grabbing Bruno’s hand as an intense surge of emotion threatened to ensnare her whole.
The very moment he grinned blearily up at her, she couldn’t hold it back anymore. What emerged was a strange mixture of laughing and crying. What an awful time she’d had worrying and grieving and trying her hardest to be steadfast. What awful memories plagued her still. However, as she sat there and looked at her Tío with the light of the Encanto beaming onto his face, she knew that the miracle had helped them in their dark hour. It had helped her.
And now everything was going to be … just fine.
“Buenos días,” she greeted, sniffing. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I missed you.”
Bruno’s tired eyes warmed at that. Still holding her hand, he shifted himself until he was sitting back against the headboard.
“I missed - I missed you, too,” he said, his voice awfully hoarse. Still, he smiled again and scratched at his stubble, anxious. “Heh. Uh, crazy time, huh?”
“Yep. Just a bit. We almost had your funeral, y’know.”
“Tch. I heard. Maybe I should’ve waited a bit longer and crashed it, eh? Can you imagine the looks on everyone’s faces? It’d be like - like seeing a ghost.” Bruno chuckled weakly to himself, though seemed more nervous than amused. “Hey. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that stunt you pulled back there in the forest. How many times am I gonna save you from deathly drops into nothing, huh?”
Mirabel groaned. “The first drop wasn’t even that bad!”
“We don’t talk about that, chica.”
“Hah.” She rolled her eyes, then very gently squeezed his hand. “Um, thank you. You saved me. Again.”
Bruno rubbed the back of his head and glanced away at that. He cleared his throat, then took a grateful sip of hot coffee, closing his eyes briefly as he did.
“Ah, that hits the spot.”
Mirabel took a sip of hers, too, though remained focused on her uncle, staring at the scar on his eyebrow. She didn’t want to ask - and yet she really, really did. Maybe it was too soon, maybe he’d never, ever want to talk about it, and for that she wouldn’t blame him, but she just needed to know how he’d possibly survived, how the miracle had touched him in his moment of need.
Bruno glanced at her and caught her blatant staring. Something affected his eyes, then. Anxiousness? Sadness? Both? Gingerly, he lowered his cup back to the table and fiddled nervously with the frayed edge of his blanket.
“Um. Mirabel, I … uh, I’m really - I hope I can make it up to you. Somehow. I’m - I’m sorry. I mean it.”
Startled, Mirabel gaped.
“For what?!”
“Well, I had, uh … a long time to think and … I don’t know if the way I handled things was right or wrong. I just don’t know. Maybe I should have told you all what was going to happen. Maybe - maybe we could have changed it. I don’t know. I thought I was bound to fate as much as anyone else. I thought that - that I saw this bad thing. Things. So it had to happen. Otherwise, maybe it’d just - just happen to someone else. The bad energy had to go somewhere. I know it sounds crazy, it’s just …” Bruno frowned, his worn features burdened with doubt. “What I do know is that I never should have let you go so far into the forest. I never should have let you even leave la Casita. I thought I was helping, somehow. Instead, you had to experience s-something you shouldn’t have, and … I’m so sorry.”
Mirabel didn’t know what to say to that. If a mistake had been made, it was already forgiven, she knew that much.
“I learnt something, though,” Bruno continued, troubled. “I had a vision of you going to confront the men but never making it, ‘cause you turned around halfway there and let me go alone. But … what happened in real time was different. I didn’t know what to do. It was like you just … stepped out of it. Your set path. I never let myself really understand how the future worked. I - I was too afraid to. But now I know, Mirabel, that none of us are tied down.”
The knowledge seemed to provide him enormous relief. Indeed, though he looked a bit different outwardly, it didn’t just seem to be because of whatever he had suffered out there. There was less of a slouch to his neck - just a little less. His shoulders were slack, not quite as uptight as usual. It was like he’d spent a lifetime bound in chains and was suddenly free and didn’t know what to do.
Mirabel looked at the window. Slowly, she began to realise.
“Your door,” she said slowly, horrified and enthralled all at once. “Your gift. Is it …? Tío? Your magic, it’s … it’s gone?”
Her stomach swooped at the thought. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. What would it be like, to hold such an incredible power only to just … lose it? Would it be like losing a limb? A part of one’s own mind? Wouldn’t it be terrible?
Bruno didn’t look hurt at the suggestion. He didn’t really look anything at all, neither happy nor sad about the subject. He just shrugged.
“Yes. Yep. Blew it to smithereens, I think. Y’know - my time-breaking pièce de résistance I cooked up to scare those guys away. I was never supposed to be able to see the present, the past … the magic was so strong that, um, I did it anyway. Fried my brain like a chicken egg! I tried to run away from the Encanto to lead them away, went as long as I could, but everything started to really hurt. Eurgh. Next thing I know, feels like my skull is splitting open. I remember thinking … Dios mio, take this from me. Just take it away. I don’t want it anymore.”
His eyes were shimmering at the memory. He swallowed past the pain, then shook his head faintly.
“I … I think it’s gone. I hope? Maybe it’ll come back someday, if we really need it, but … I don’t think we will. Not anymore. So, no more sudden visions. No more headaches. No more bad fortunes. Just … no more. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep, and …”
It must have been bittersweet. Mirabel didn’t know. If Bruno was happy that his gift was gone, or at least lying dormant, then so was she. So long as his image on the front door was glowing with the rest of them, and so long as he was still Bruno, so long as he was alive, that was all that mattered.
“What happened after that?” She pressed, trying her best to sound more concerned than curious.
“Well, um …” Bruno drew his knees up a bit, shifting uncomfortably. “I woke up in a camp. Their camp. They’d chased me through the storm and found me. I remember … there was a campfire, and these men, just … I had to pretend I didn’t know the language. Y’know, ‘cause my real talent is acting, remember? Uh, anyway, they thought I was some shaman from a nearby village. They tried to make me do more visions. I didn’t - couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to. They tried - I didn’t … And, um, I hadn’t seen all that that far, actually. Only that last prophecy of our family together, and some place far away. I thought that was it. They took me all the way back with them to the place they came from. Some big city … somewhere. Whole different world. Man, they weren’t good people. Not good at all. They wanted to use my visions for their own gain. And … uh. Yep. Three months later, this fight breaks out and I use it as a chance to escape. Stole a horse. Rode into the forest. Thought that was the end, but …”
“Hold up, hold up. Backtrack,” Mirabel intervened, alarmed. “You were with those malparidos for three months?!”
“Ehhh, sí,” Bruno muttered, suddenly looking too tired to even scold her. “Yep. Anyway, I -“
“But - but Tío!”
“Tío what, eh? Thanks to a butterfly and somethin’ of a miracle, I’m back. Really, actually back. Somehow. I just - I don’t know how I -“
“But what did you -?”
“Mirabel,” her uncle said in something of a warning tone, but as usual, his face softened just so, and he offered her a small, nervous smile in apology. “Sorry. Sorry. That part - I mean, the whole story … not yet. I’m still doubting if I’m even really home. Sounds stupid, but, uh. It’s been a lot. Anyway, I’m sorry for making you all worry, and - and for everything. Um, let’s talk about you, amiguita. It’s a much better story.”
A bit disappointed, but entirely understanding, Mirabel frowned and mentally locked her curiosity up somewhere it wouldn’t pester her for a while. She glanced sheepishly at her uncle.
“Um, I’m not really sure there’s much to -“
“Hey! My sisters told me everything, kid. Th-that’s … They told me about that night, and what a rock you’ve been for the family since then. Spared no detail. What did I say, eh? I said that the family will always be strong with you around - and I was right! I knew - I knew you would guide them through it, Miracita. I knew …” Bruno’s voice sounded strange. It was awfully like he was getting choked up. “I’ve always known, and I needed you to know. But you’ll never know just how … how amazed I am by you, and how proud. I can say that - I can say to people, hey, I’ve known that brave young lady since she was just a little baby, and sometimes she’d really look at me like I was the best thing ever. But really … really it was her. The real gift, the entire time.”
Mirabel’s lip wobbled. Great. What a pair they made.
Touched and so incredibly relieved and grateful that her Tío had resumed his place in their home, Mirabel had little left to say that could be formed by words alone. She rose from her seat and leaned in to affectionately hug him, instead, trying to convey sentiment with the protective squeezing of her arms.
“We all look at you like that, Bruno. I know one day you’ll see it.” She kissed the top of his head. “Still the best ever. Just the best and bravest and kindest.”
Bruno held onto her a moment longer, then cleared his throat again, looking up at her with a bewildered sort of expression.
“Okay. Uhhh. Ugh. Going to sleep, now.”
“Okay, Tío. Just don’t take too long until you’re out and about. I’m pretty sure the town is just one short debate away from venerating you.”
Her uncle proceeded to choke on his coffee, practically drowning himself in the mug in sheer surprise.
“Wh-what?!”
Evening fell, and the sunset was so beautiful.
Mirabel found Abuela just outside Casita surveying the Encanto like a queen might look out over her kingdom. These days, however, there was something a bit softer about the way she observed. Her hands were clasped neatly at her front, and she was smiling as she gazed across the many hundreds of colourful rooftops and misty blue mountain ranges.
Behind them, the door to Casita was back to its usual splendour, every single member of the family ignited in bright, burning gold. Mirabel wasn’t sure when Bruno’s picture came alight again, but she was certainly happy to see him there situated above her own head, his eyes finally closed and a small smile on his face.
Abuela was watching her. She extended a hand out, and Mirabel took it willingly to join her there on the patio, cuddling up against her side.
“Mi vida,” Abuela greeted proudly. “Mi vela. Mi luz. Mi mariposa. I hope that you feel great pride. You trusted your heart, your mind, and the path you chose to carve. Now, la Casa Madrigal burns brightly and our family is all in one piece once more. It brings me such peace to know that our home and family will fall to such capable and loving hands.”
“They’re only loving and capable because of all of you, Abuela,” Mirabel admitted, though felt a warm rush of pride and joy and relief rush through her regardless. “And still really good at doing the washing up - which I’m gonna leave Camilo to do tonight, I swear.”
Abuela rested her head against Mirabel’s and sighed contentedly.
“Your Abuelo is looking down upon you,” she said with certainty. “And his Brunito. He is looking down upon you and smiling with so much love. Look how the butterflies glow in the night, like fireflies. I believe that is him saying … everything is going to be alright. The miracle is one with you.”
Behind them, the carven butterflies that decorated the stone archway of the door brightened with a flair of magic, particles of golden dust seeming to float down from the gold of the very sunset itself. Behind them, there was an untold story, tenfold smiles, healing hearts, gleeful laughter. There were magical doors that glowed with strong, pulsing light. A light that would never go out.
Behind her, there were people that Mirabel loved and would forever strive to guide through the uncertain future, to help carve paths of their own and become more than just their gift. Ahead of her, there was a path of her own that had its foundations but wasn’t set in stone; she was free to move the pegs whichever way she so chose. Her life was hers, and she would use it to love and teach and hold the hands of others, showing them the miracle that was a part of all of them. The miracle that was them.
She knew that with certainty.
She reached down and took Abuela's hand, closing it in her warm fingers.
“It’s time for dinner. Walk with me?” She asked, smiling.
Abuela took a final look at the Encanto, breathing deeply of the sweetly scented air.
They both entered la Casita and found the dinner table alive with loud talking and laughter that was not interrupted by their entrance. Abuela sat at the head of the table, and Mirabel took her place nearby, next to Bruno. Both of them took hold of his hands, and he smiled gratefully at them - once again adorned in his emerald green ruana and equipped with a grumbling stomach.
Across the table from Mirabel, Antonio beamed.
Before the jokes and storytelling could spiral out of control, Abuela tapped the side of her wine glass with her spoon and remained standing. She regarded her legacy with fondness and a loving smile, and it was a sentiment long returned.
“Tonight we have cause to celebrate,” she announced proudly. “All too many sacrifices have been made, but now our family is together again. Thank you, Brunito, for everything you have given, for all the compassion that you gift to this family every day. And thank you, Mirabel, for your courage and foresight, without which this home would be in ruins on the ground. I love you. All of you. Now, enjoy my Julieta’s lovingly prepared food and never take it for granted.”
Mirabel thought that Bruno really had been right all along, even if he hadn’t actually known anything for sure.
Everything was going to be just fine.
Somewhere in town, an hourglass sat forgotten outside of a church.
FIN.