DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

It would be an understatement to say that Manolo couldn't quite believe what he was hearing - but then again, his daughter had always been full of surprises. "She what?"

"She shoved Elena Gonzalez to the ground and nearly broke her nose!" General Posada shrieked, his face starting to turn red. "I saw it all from across the square. She might have torn the poor girl's braid off if I hadn't stepped in."

Five minutes earlier seemed like years ago. All had been right with the world, the spring Saturday afternoon had been nearing its end, and Maria and Manolo had just been sitting down with a book when the front door slammed. Then the general was screaming up the stairs at them, demanding that they come and see what good their way of handling children did, as he put it. When they hurried down to the parlor, they found him dragging a bruised, dirt-covered Ofelia by her ear. And that was just the beginning.

The nine-year-old had not said a word, but simply sat motionless on the sofa as her grandfather vividly described every punch and scratch he had witnessed. She purposely avoided her parents' gaze, staring down at her scuffed knuckles and muddy shoes and dress. Her shoulders were hunched, and she seemed to shrink with every word uttered against her.

"Well?" General Posada snapped, turning to her. "What do you have to say for yourself, girl?"

Ofelia flinched but didn't look up. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, half-hearted and under her breath.

"Hmph. Just like your mother."

"Thank you for bringing her home, Papa," Maria said. "We'll take it from here."

"It's not too late to send her abroad, you know. Much less trouble than straightening her our yourselves. I can make all the arrangements - "

"You've done enough, señor," Manolo snapped. "That will be all."

His father-in-law glowered at him before scuttling out the door. "If you ask me," they heard him say, "the Gonzalez girl has a point."

Manolo held his breath until the door slammed shut. "Maybe we can sort this out a little better now, mija." Standing up from his chair, he sat down beside Ofelia and took one of her hands in his. "Not like you to start a fight," he said, examining her knuckles. "I wonder what did."

She didn't answer.

"We're not going to yell at you," he continued. "We just want to know what happened."

"…She tried to take my glasses again…"

There was something in the way her body had stiffened, the way she had hesitantly trailed off, which made Manolo press onwards. "But that's not all, is it?"

Ofelia's eyes glistened as she wrapped her arms around herself and sank against the back of the sofa.

Maria sighed. "I'll go find her mother. You clean up and then go to your - "

"She called us demons."

Her parents froze, staring at her with wide, uneasy eyes. "What?" Maria asked, the word spilling out with simmering anger.

"She called me and Papa demons."

Manolo could see his wife glancing toward the swords on the mantle and put up a hand before turning back to his daughter. "What exactly did she say, Ofelia?"

"She said you were a demon because you came from Hell. And I was one because you were one. And…"

"And?"

"…And someday someone would send us back there." She abruptly threw her arms around her father's torso and buried her face in his shirt. "She wouldn't take it back."

"I can take care of that part."

"Maria."

"What?"

"Not right now." Manolo hugged his daughter and tried to wipe away the tears brimming in her eyes. "Ssshhh. It's alright. Everything's going to be alright."

"No, it won't."

"Everyone knows there's nothing true about what she said, mija. There's nothing wrong with me, is there?"

"No, Papa."

"And there's nothing wrong with you."

She didn't have the heart to tell him he was wrong.

"Sometimes people are afraid of things that they don't understand," Manolo continued, stroking her hair. "They need some time to figure things out. They'll see someday. We're not going to let them hurt you."

"Please don't send me away."

He looked down at her. "And why would we do that?"

"What abuelo said."

Manolo pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. "You," he said with a smile, "are staying where you belong. Isn't that right, mi amor?"

Maria nodded. "I'll have to teach you how to throw a punch, though."

Manolo rolled his eyes. "Go clean up, Ofelia. I want you to stay in your room until dinner's ready. No reading tonight. Does that seem fair?"

"Yes, Papa."

"And you'll need to apologize to Elena tomorrow. I know," he added when she made a face at the idea, "but it's the best thing to do. Understand?"

"I think so." She hurried up the stairs, then poked her head down again. "Gracias, Papa!"

He kept his smile up until she was gone, then slumped backwards. "Ay…"

"That girl learned it from her parents, you know."

"I've heard them once or twice."

Maria stood up and began to pace, clenching and unclenching her hands. "I thought we were done with this!"

"There's always going to be a few."

"And that makes it okay?"

"What am I supposed to do about it? They won't exactly listen to me, will they?"

She sank onto the sofa and rested her head in her hands. "They haven't talked about Ofelia before."

"They know who they'd have to get through to lay a finger on her. They wouldn't dare."

"And if they would?"

"Then they wouldn't get far. I'd see to that myself."

Maria flopped onto her back, resting her head in his lap. "They should see you two the way I do."

"They can't all be that lucky." He stroked her face. "It's only a few, Maria. They'll quiet down soon enough. We just need to be polite and keep an eye out."

"So I can't bring a sword when I go talk to Elena's parents?"

"I wouldn't."

"You're no fun."

"That's not what you said when we…" He was silenced by a playful punch to the shoulder.

We can't move. It's so dark in here…so cold. Why did you do this to us? We're not what you think we are! Someone help us! Please, let us out! Let us die!

Ofelia bolted upright in a cold sweat, the faint voices still echoing in her head. Shaking her head as she lay back down. Just a dream.

Help! Help! There they were again, louder and more clear. They sounded as though they were coming from outside.

Jumping out of bed and hurrying to the window, Ofelia pushed it open. "Hello?"

The moonlit street was empty, except for a large, dark, horse-drawn object on wheels rolling up towards the churchyard. As it disappeared, the voices grew fainter. Let us die…let us die…