I do not own Encanto.
New Door, New Beginning
With Casita rebuilt and the magic flourishing in every brick and tile, the community celebrated like they never had before. Music and laughter bounced off the walls, lanterns were hung and candles were lit as the sun dipped below the horizon, allowing the first stars to wink in the faded black sky.
Bruno had long since retreated to a dark corner, overwhelmed by the presence of so many people, but not willing to depart from his family. His fingers twisted in his lap, his posture hunched, and he gave weak, tired, hesitant smiles to those who were oblivious to his body language and approached him.
Antonio was half-asleep on Parce's back, his limbs dangling limp off the jaguar's body. When the little boy whispered for his tío, Parce promptly strode over to Bruno, who recoiled as the fierce predator came near. He relaxed when Antonio reached for him, blinking sleepily, and warmth and affection flooded Bruno's green eyes. He pulled his youngest nephew into his lap and Antonio sagged against his chest, his tiny fingers curling into the fabric of Bruno's ruana.
Dolores leaned against Mariano's side; his arm tucked over her shoulders. A headache pulsed at her temples, the music and overlapping chatter grating against her eardrums. She knew Julieta would be able to heal her pain in an instant, but her tía looked just as worn out as she, and Dolores didn't want to bother her.
Agustín held his wife close as he gazed amongst the partying townspeople, seeking out his children and his family. The Madrigals had been just as enthusiastic as the others when the celebration kicked off, but as the hours wore on the energy drained from their bodies.
Habits and behaviours, especially ones developed over the course of several years, were hard to shake. The townspeople had been so kind to help them rebuild their home and the Madrigal children did not have the heart to put a stop to their joy, even though most of them were dead on their feet.
None of them said a word in complaint, and with great guilt, Abuela knew it was because of her. She had engrained in them, all of them, that their duty to the community was paramount, far more important than anything else. She had led them to believe, however unintentionally, that their own happiness came last.
But no more.
Kindly but firmly, Abuela dismissed the townspeople, giving heartfelt gratitude for their support as she saw them out. There were disappointed groans and displeased mumblings of a fiesta cut to an abrupt end, but the shining relief in the eyes of her family was a shield against the scattered unhappiness.
Her duty would no longer be solely focussed on the town she founded. From now on, her beloved familia would have her undivided attention, in all the ways they deserved. When the final person stepped across Casita's threshold, the doors clicked shut and the Madrigals immediately released the exhausted moans they had been holding back.
"I thought they'd never leave," said Isabela with a sigh, the flowers in her hair drooping.
"They didn't leave," said Camilo, arching his back to work out the kinks. "Abuela kicked them out."
His face froze, for this was the first time he had cracked a joke about his grandmother directly to her face, and Abuela hated that she was the reason for the fear and uncertainty that filled his features.
"It was the only way any of us would get any sleep," she replied, and awe became Camilo's dominant emotion when he realized she was joking back. The triplets exchanged incredulous glances, hardly able to believe that their serious, no-nonsense mother had a sense of humour. Agustín and Félix didn't conceal their delight, and Mirabel beamed while her sisters and the rest of her cousins looked on in bewilderment.
Abuela sought out Dolores, whose forehead was pinched with discomfort. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Fine, Abuela," she muttered, rubbing at her temples. "Just a little headache."
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" fussed Julieta, moving to Dolores' side and taking her hand. "I'll whip up a batch of arepas for you."
"You don't have to—"
"I know. I want to."
Knowing that everyone else would not linger, they hugged their family members good night. The embraces lasted a few beats longer, their grip tighter. When Julieta hugged her brother, she was careful not to squish the slumbering Antonio cradled in his arms. "I love you, hermano."
"I love you too," whispered Bruno.
The smile she gave him lifted his heart, and it was buoyed further when Dolores kissed his cheek. "Good night, Tío Bruno."
"Good night, Dolores."
Julieta and Dolores slipped into the kitchen and the rest of the family began to head to bed after a round of hugs that expressed more than words ever could. Mirabel's tender "I love you" to Bruno caused tears to spring to his eyes, and he managed to speak past the lump in his throat to return the sentiment.
Camilo linked up with Mirabel and the two started up the steps together. Bruno went to pass Antonio to Pepa, but she shook her head. "I think you should put your sobrino to bed."
The smile that split across Bruno's face filled Abuela with both joy and grief—grief for how long he had deprived himself of such happiness, how she had been a barrier to his contentment.
She had much to make up for, and though the healing process would no doubt be long and complex, they would emerge on the other side stronger than they've ever been before.
She watched her family climb the stairs, watched as Félix set his hand against Bruno's shoulder, as Agustín put his arm around Luisa, as Pepa looped her arm through Isabel's, regarding them with pride and love in her heart. She waited until Julieta and Dolores were ensconced in their rooms before retiring to bed.
In their fatigue, in their swirl of intense emotions, no one noticed the extra, magic-infused door.
…
When Isabela left her room the following morning, refreshed after a deep sleep, it was to see Antonio sitting in the middle of the second-floor balcony, still in his pajamas, staring glumly at the nursery door. Isabela moved to sit next to her youngest cousin, her indigo dress pooling around her feet as she knelt low.
"It's too early to be this sad," said Isabela lightly, gently pinching his cheek. "What's wrong?"
"We built Mirabel her very own room," said Antonio tearfully, "and the magic took it away. Why?"
Isabela's heart stuttered. "What do mean, the magic took it away?"
Antonio pointed at the place in the wall where Mirabel's door should have been, but there was nothing but paint and solid brick. "When Mirabel brought back the magic, Casita went back to how it was," said Antonio miserably. "She still has to sleep in the nursery. It's not fair!"
"But she didn't say anything!" exclaimed Isabela.
But no, of course Mirabel wouldn't. She had spent ten years suffering in silence, settling into the nursery without a gripe, even as she rapidly outgrew the small space. When their home had to be built from scratch, Mirabel had been delighted to design her room. Isabela didn't want to imagine how crushed her little sister must have felt when she discovered it gone.
"And we were all so tired, we didn't even notice," said Isabela tremulously. Righteous anger flared through her, and cacti erupted across the tiles. Antonio huddled in on himself to avoid being pricked, his eyes growing wide as his prima straightened, glaring up at Casita's ceiling.
"How could you do this to her?" she demanded. "Mirabel gave us back our Gifts, she brought back the magic, she brought back you. After everything she's done for us, after…after how horrible I've been to her, you can't even give her her own room?"
The tiles rattled and lifted, and Antonio squeaked as Casita hefted him over Isabela's cacti. Isabela shrieked as she was taken off her feet, the tiles rolling the cousins straight down the balcony. They were deposited in front of a door and Isabela huffed in irritation.
"What was that for?"
The tiles tapped impatiently against the door, which shimmered with golden magic. With the revival of Casita, names were no longer carved into the wood, and Isabela struggled to pinpoint its owner.
Antonio stood, peering at the engraved doorknob. "Isa," he said excitedly. "Look!"
He pointed at the butterfly etched into the metal. Isabela furrowed her brow. "That's different."
"I think…I think this is Mira's door," said Antonio in delight. "Casita, is that what you're trying to tell us?"
The railing tilted in the affirmative. Tears of joy sprung to Isabela's eyes. "Oh, Casita, thank you." She cleared her throat sheepishly. "I'm…I'm sorry I spoke to you that way."
A tile patted Isabela's ankle in response. Antonio bounced on his toes. "We have to show Mirabel! She'll be so happy!"
"I'll wake the others," said Isabela. "Go get her!"
Isabela began to bang on the bedroom doors, realizing in the process that each doorknob bore a special symbol attributed to its owner. Antonio sprinted into the nursery and catapulted himself onto Mirabel's bed.
The fifteen-year-old grunted, rapidly blinking her eyes as she was jolted out of slumber. "Wha?" she mumbled drowsily.
"Mirabel, you have a door!" shouted Antonio, climbing onto her stomach.
Mirabel rubbed at her eyes. "I know," she said with a yawn. "You walked me to it, remember?"
"Not that door. Your room!"
Only a few seconds out of sleep, Mirabel's brain wasn't functioning at full capacity. "Oh, I don't mind," she said sluggishly. "Sure, it'd be nice to have a bigger bedroom, but if the magic wants Casita to be how it was before, that's fine with me. Our family is whole again, and that's all I need to be happy."
"No, Mira, the magic gave you your own room! Come on!"
Mirabel sat up, squinting at Antonio, trying to make sense of what he was telling her through the fog in her brain. "My own room?" she echoed.
Antonio grabbed Mirabel's hand, tugging her out of bed. The shelf above them vibrated, shaking Mirabel's glasses to the edge. She seized them and shoved them over her nose. She let Antonio drag her out of the nursery, and her confusion only escalated when she saw her entire family gathered at the right side of the second floor.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"I told you," said Antonio in exasperation. "You have a door!"
"Shush, Toñito, just let her see," chided Pepa.
Mirabel stood in front of the shimmering door; her brow furrowed. "Oh, guys, I don't think—"
"It is," said Isabela, reaching out to squeeze her shoulders. "Look at the doorknob."
Mirabel gazed at the butterfly, hardly able to believe what she was being told. "But…but that doesn't make sense. I don't have a—"
"Of course you do," said Julieta fiercely, and she cupped Mirabel's cheeks. "How can you say you don't have a Gift, after all you've done?"
"You're the reason the magic returned to us. I meant what I said," said Bruno firmly. "You're the real Gift, Mirabel."
"All this time, you've had the most important Gift of all," said Abuela quietly. "But I was too blind to see it."
"Go on, Miraboo," said Agustín encouragingly.
Mirabel hesitantly approached the door, her door, her fingers hovering over the doorknob. Hope and apprehension conflicted within her, preventing her from grasping the handle. She couldn't dispel the image of golden magic receding, dissolving, leaving her cast in shadows. Her breath caught in her throat, and she took an unconscious step back, but her retreat was halted by a steady hand between her shoulder blades.
She looked up into Luisa's wet, burning hazel eyes. "We've got you, sis," she said passionately.
Abuela entwined her fingers with Mirabel's. "I will not fail you again," she whispered.
Her voice was heavy with a remorse, and Mirabel squeezed, injecting as much love as she could into the motion. She inhaled deeply, and when she exhaled, she released her lingering insecurities, letting them drift back where they belonged—the past. With her family flanking her, their support palpable, Mirabel's blood pulsed with anticipation.
She opened her door and crossed the threshold.
Her bare feet padded across the bamboo flooring. Her mouth was agape, hazel eyes wide with stunned delight. She dimly registered the reactions of her family, their gasps and happy cries just a tickle in her ears, barely heard over the excited pounding of her heart.
On the right side of the room was a four-poster bed with a light blue quilt with magenta butterflies embroidered into the fabric. The bed's curtains matched the quilt, tied to each post with a thick golden ribbon. On both sides of the bed were small square tables made out of emerald. Perched on the surface of one was a majestic, bronze hourglass set in a dark, glossy wooden base, and on the other was a bronze scale.
Behind the bed was a colourful, vibrant mural, a painted portrait of Mirabel's family, an exact copy of the picture engraved on the front door of Casita. On either side of the mural were three sets of blue-painted bookcases, lining the walls, packed full of leather-bound volumes with golden titles stamped onto the spines.
The left side of the room contained a vanity set, the colour scheme matching that of the bookshelves and bed set. Two wide dressers sat on either side of a tall, bronze-framed mirror. Chameleons were designed into the metal, wrapping their way around the reflective glass. Camilo's murmured, "Who is this handsome devil?" was halted by Pepa pinching his ear, her expression one of fond exasperation. The handles on the dresser drawers were in the shape of the sun, the splashes of yellow contrasting pleasantly against the blue, reminding Mirabel of a clear sky.
In the very middle of the room was a pile of red, yellow, orange, pink and purple puffy cushions, each one proudly displaying an embroidered animal. The end of a twisting wooden slide, which connected the loft to the main floor, hovered an inch above the soft pillows. Antonio gave an eager squeal when he spotted the slide, but Bruno's quick reflexes allowed him to catch the child as he darted off. He hoisted the squirming five-year-old into his lanky limbs, and before Antonio could protest, his little face squishing with displeasure, Félix tapped his behind firmly.
"Ay, Antonio, you have your own slide. Let your prima explore her room," he said in a light, scolding whisper. "You can play with her when she's ready."
Antonio pouted, but he let himself dangle from his tío's grasp as Mirabel continued to gaze at her room with slack-jawed awe.
Taking up most of the back wall was a picture window, with thick, velvety blue curtains tied off to the side with shimmering silver tiebacks. Along the white wooden sill were a row of rainbow-coloured candles, some tall and thin, some short and fat, sitting prettily in bronze candle holders. Attached to the portion of the wall beneath the sill was a window seat that stretched along the length of the window, padded with a thick, rectangular, burgundy cushion.
There was a strip of bamboo flooring half a meter wide between the window seat and a pond. The water sparkled under the sunlight flooding through the glass, and Victoria amazonica floated on the surface between lily pads, the white petals full and healthy. The pond was the same length as the window, and surrounding the water were a variety of cacti, Cattleya trianae and Alstroemeria. Urns of pale pink orchids, white orchids and yellow lilies were arranged between pots of cacti, all of them settled against the lip of the pond.
It was all so beautiful.
Mirabel wasn't aware she was spinning in continuous circles, trying to drink in every little detail at once, until her father pressed his hands softly against her shoulders to still her. "Careful, mi corazón," he said with a laugh. "You're going to make yourself dizzy."
"I can't help it, there's so much to look at!" she exclaimed. "I have a pond in my room! That's so awesome! And look at all these books! I don't even know what they're about but I can't wait to read them! And a slide, I have a slide—everything is amazing!"
She raced over to the ladder that led to the loft. When she was high enough to see past the railing, she shrieked with glee.
"What is it, mi vida?" asked Abuela, delighted with her granddaughter's excitement.
"Come see," insisted Mirabel.
The loft was so high above the main level that the only visible parts was the tall, light blue-painted railing and the six semi-circle stained glass windows. They were in a pattern formation, alternating between yellow glass with orange music notes and opaque white glass with blue hearts. Mirabel clambered through the gap in the railing, across the deep red rug with sound wave designs and into her dedicated embroidery space, eager to inspect her new supplies.
Beneath the windows were low-hanging shelves packed with spools of every possible colour of embroidery floss, pearl cotton, silk thread and ribbon. Below the shelves were sets of drawers, built out of dark wood, and the drawers contained sheets of fabric, organized by material, from cotton to lace to satin.
On the other side of the loft, where the opening of the slide was located, were four barrels overflowing with yarn. Pushed up against the railing, between the ladder and the slide and overlooking the bedroom door, was a sewing table. On the table was a wicker basket of sweet-smelling medicinal herbs and Mirabel inhaled their scent.
One by one her family entered the loft, and Julieta clapped a hand over her heart. "Oh, mija," she said, her eyes glimmering. "It's perfect."
Camilo set his hands on his hips as he appraised the loft. "We're never gonna see you again, are we?" he asked in amusement.
"Nope," chirped Mirabel, flouncing over to throw an arm over his shoulder. "You'll bring me my food, right?"
"Careful, Mirabel. You're starting to sound like me," said Bruno with a small, awkward laugh.
Isabela bumped her hip against her tío's. "What's wrong with that?" she asked sincerely, and was rewarded with a warm, shy smile. She turned to her sister and narrowed her eyes playfully. "You better not kill any of your plants."
Mirabel grinned sheepishly. "I'll do my best, but I think I'm going to need some help."
"I can definitely do that," promised Isabela.
"Your room is completely you," Dolores said. She paused and added ruefully, "I'm sorry you had to wait so long for it."
Mirabel's instinct was to deny, to claim that she didn't mind spending ten years in the nursery. But that wasn't the whole truth, and she was determined to end the days of lying about her pain, of having her family hide their suffering. "Well, some days, it was hard," she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You all had these cool rooms, and I felt left out. Alone."
"Oh, Mira," said Julieta, moving to embrace her daughter, with Agustín right behind her. "I'm so sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," said Mirabel, relaxing into the hold of her parents. "Most days, I really didn't mind." She peeked over at Antonio with a grin. "I did get to have the best roomie."
Antonio beamed. Camilo scoffed. "Yeah, I'm not offended by that at all."
"Me either," said Luisa with a deadpan expression.
Agustín stroked his fingers through Mirabel's hair. "Tell me, amor, what's your favourite part of your new room?"
"All the parts that represent you guys," said Mirabel cheerfully.
"What do you mean?" asked Abuela in confusion.
Mirabel wriggled out of her parents' hug and skipped over to her sewing desk. "See, Mamá uses these herbs all the time," she said, pointing at the wicker basket. She spun on her heel and raised her arms to gesture at the stained glass windows above them. "Tío Félix loves music, and Papá has the biggest heart of anyone I know. The rug is for Dolores, and the suns on my dressers are for Tía Pepa. There were chameleons on my mirror, and that's for Camilo, and the animal cushions are for Antonio, of course. The hourglass and the scale next to my bed are for Tío Bruno and Luisa, and obviously the pond with all the plants is for Isabela. The candles on the windowsill represent you, Abuela. Oh, and I absolutely love the mural. But all of it is really—"
Mirabel cut herself off when realized everyone was staring at her with tear-filled eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked in concern.
"Oh, mi vida," said Abuela with a hoarse, watery laugh. "A room is a manifestation not only of one's Gift, but what is most dear to you, most important. To have all of us be a part of your room means you love your family more than anything, and I…I do not deserve such an honour."
"Neither do I," said Isabela with a soft sob.
Pepa lowered her chin, a raincloud forming above her. Camilo gripped her hand, tears starting to stream down his cheeks, and he could only give a jerky nod of agreement. Félix and Luisa looked ashamed, and Bruno started to rub his arm back and forth in an anxious manner, his fingers biting through his ruana.
"I'm sorry, kid," he said in a choked voice. "I've been a terrible tío—"
"Stop!" shouted Mirabel, her own tears starting to flow. "Don't say such things. You haven't been terrible. Saying you don't deserve the honour of being part of my room, a part of me, means you don't deserve my love, and that's so wrong." She took a hiccupping breath. "I know you spent time thinking less of me, worrying that I would be the downfall of our miracle, a miracle none of us understood, but I forgive you, okay? I forgive you, because I know you never stopped loving me, and even though that love was complicated, I never stopped loving you."
She wanted to get more words out, to try to express to them that they didn't need to be burdened by guilt, that they would find a way to heal. But she couldn't get them out, her throat thick and her tongue heavy and her vision blurred with tears. So she moved forwards blindly, grabbing hold of Dolores and Luisa, who were closest to her. Luisa immediately smushed them both in a hug, and it wasn't long before the rest of the family joined. Bruno moved hesitantly, uncertainly, until Camilo dragged him into the embrace. Isabela held her grandmother's hand, her skin blotchy with tears, and led her into the family hug.
"Oh, Mira," Abuela said with deep affection, cradling her granddaughter's cheek. "Our beautiful mariposa."
Cold rain drizzled from the grey cloud above Pepa's head, and she clicked her tongue in exasperation. "Lo siento, Mirabel."
"It's okay, it's just water," assured Mirabel. "It's like Tío Bruno said. You gotta let it go."
She reached out for Bruno, who gripped her hand tightly, and she basked in the adoration in his green eyes. They lingered in each other's hold for a moment before slowly separating, their eyes a bit drier, their souls a little lighter, and their love burning.
"I'll move your stuff, sis," declared Luisa.
"No, no, we'll do it," spoke Agustín, putting his arm over his wife's shoulders.
"Sí, as we did for you and Isa," said Julieta fondly. "And then I'll make all your favourites for breakfast."
"That sounds great," said Mirabel happily. "But there's something very important we have to do first." She smiled knowingly at her little cousin. "We've gotta go down the slide."
Antonio whooped and charged at Mirabel, grabbing her hand. Mirabel plopped down at the top of slide, bundled Antonio in her lap, and together they whizzed down to the main floor. Dolores and Isabela were quick to follow, laughing and holding hands as they zipped out of view. Bruno nervously started to backtrack for the ladder, but his sisters seized his arms and dragged him towards the slide. They paused for a minute to let him frantically knock on the wooden railings and cross himself before they vanished in a tangle of limbs. Félix extended his hand to Abuela with a charming smile. Abuela laughed and accepted it, and together they whooshed down the slide. Luisa easily picked up Agustín and Camilo, the latter batting her arm in mock protest.
They zoomed down to join the rest of their family, landing with an oof in the thick cushions. They were all laughing, splayed out amongst the pillows, and Mirabel grinned broadly, every fiber of her being filled with joy.
Though nothing would ever make her happier than having her family whole, her new room was a pretty nice bonus.