Alternate

Note: This is a side fic companion piece to my main fanfic Godmother, I highly suggest reading that first or this one won't make a whole lot of sense. At least as far as Chapter 9, anyways.

…..

Camilo

Camilo isn't old enough to know that anything's wrong, beyond picking up on the obvious distress of the adults whose care he's in. He does sort of remember that his cousin, the one who shared the nursery with him, went away for a while and then came back and everyone was in a bad mood because of it. Toddlers have short memories, and he's just glad to have someone near his own age to play with.

What he doesn't like is that his mother picks up and fusses over Mirabel just as much as she does him, and he's used to having his mother all to himself. If he gets a snack, Mirabel gets a snack. If he gets a hug, she gets a hug. If they're crying at the same time, Pepa will try to soothe them both at the same time even though her lap is only big enough for one and she is his mama, not hers. Mirabel has her own mother who should be doing these things.

Whenever he had bad dreams before, Pepa used to slip into his bed and rub his back until he went back to sleep. She doesn't do that any more because Mirabel wakes up too and she can't slip into two beds at once.

He's a toddler, so he gets extra clingy and fussy. Eventually, he will grow out of it.

…..

Luisa

Luisa is old enough to know something's wrong, but not old enough to know exactly what. She's glad the baby is back, but doesn't understand why her mother isn't glad about it too. The baby is always hanging around the kitchen door now, if she goes inside Julieta chases her back out, sometimes with a broom.

"That's not nice, Mama," she says, after watching Julieta knock the baby off her feet with the broom.

Julieta sighs, pulls back her broom and rubs her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she says, (to Luisa, not to Mirabel), "I can't have her in here while I'm working. Can you take her away?"

Luisa picks her little sister up and takes her outside. She does remember the baby being heavier than she is now, and not so squirmy. She wrestles her way out of Luisa's grip and toddles off down the hill.

"No running away! That's not allowed!" she yells, chasing after her.

Mirabel freezes at the fence post leading to the goat trail, and waves at something, followed by a stream of baby gibberish.

Luisa stares through the goat path, but she can't see what Mirabel is waving at. All of a sudden, there is a strong gust of wind that nearly knocks her off her feet. Luisa is a solidly-built little girl, but she feels a pressure coming from somewhere, bearing down on her. It's like she's been wrapped in a cold, wet quilt.

"Come on," she says, tugging at her sister's hand, spooked. "We're not supposed to be out here."

There are butterflies floating lazily along the goat path, lacewings. In the underbrush, their transparent wings make them near invisible.

…..

Dolores

Recently gifted, Dolores has a front-row seat for every discussion that goes on in the house. The only break she gets is in her room, which is thankfully soundproof. Whenever she leaves her room, she is afraid she'll hear Tía Julieta say terrible things about the baby again.

The baby looks a bit different now than she did before, but not that different, right? Julieta thinks her hair is different, her eyes, even her hands. Dolores has looked but she can't see anything different. The baby just has more hair now, but Camilo was nearly bald until just recently. Babies change.

It worries her. She spends some time in front of her own mirror trying to see if she looks different herself. Does she have more freckles? Is her hair curlier? Does losing her baby teeth make her jaw look crooked?

Tía Julieta has always been the steady, calm one of the triplets, Pepa has always been the more temperamental sister. If anyone at all was poised to turn against her own child, they would have expected it to be Pepa rather than Julieta. Pepa's moods turn faster than the wind in spring, and Dolores becomes fixated on making sure her appearance doesn't change just in case.

Fortunately, Pepa seems more upset by Julieta's behaviour than she is focused on what her own children are doing. And she's sweet with the baby in Julieta's place, even though she complains about it in private (not private enough for Dolores' ears.)

"Babies change," she hears Pepa mutter to Felix at night. "I don't know what's gotten into her...I mean, if you look at Camilo now and Camilo last month you could be looking at two different babies!"

She just about dares to ask Pepa why Julieta doesn't love Mirabel any more. She gets a long, weary sigh in response from her exhausted mother.

"It's not Mirabel's fault," Pepa tells her. "Your Tía was very upset when she went missing, you remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"And you know sometimes when you hurt yourself, the pain doesn't always go away right when you put a bandage on it, yes?"

This is true even in the Madrigal house; Julieta's food heals immediately, but sometimes the pain lingers for a few hours.

"Yes," Dolores agrees.

"Tíá Julieta's pain is lingering right now," Pepa explains. "She might get over it soon, we don't know. All we can do is wait."

"If something happens to me, will you stop loving me?" Dolores blurts out, on the verge of tears. "What if your pain lingers?"

"Nothing will ever stop me from loving you, hijita," Pepa assures her. "I promise you."

Dolores is assured by the promise, but a little doubt lingers, much like Julieta's pain. She hears the baby singing at night, words that are too complicated to be mere baby talk. This is one of the many things she does that upsets Tía Julieta so much. If she would just stop, everything could go back to normal.

…..

Isabela

It's all very silly to Isabela. Abuela says that her mother is wrong, the baby is definitely Mirabel and in time Julieta will accept it. If Abuela says it, it must be true. Abuela runs the whole house, and she was the one who brought the miracle to life, she knows what she's talking about.

She's the oldest, and as such she doesn't like to associate with the really small kids. Babies are messy and they don't listen, and even before Mirabel went missing Isabela didn't have much to do with her. She looks no different to Isabela's eyes.

"Out," she hears her mother growl from the kitchen through gritted teeth. "Get out, now!"

It's hard not to feel sorry for Mirabel when she's hoisted out of the kitchen door and dumped on the floor. She doesn't cry, just bleats a little bit in the direction of Julieta's departing back.

"Never mind, you can come with me," Isabela offers.

Mirabel jumps, because she hadn't seen Isabela there. There is something wrong with her eyes, Isa has noticed that much. They are glassy and unfocused, always drifting around looking for something. It's strange that Julieta's food hasn't fixed it.

"Come on, we'll go to my room. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She takes Mirabel's (cold, clammy) little hand and leads her up to her bedroom. She's still working on getting it just right, the balance between flowers that rot quickly and woodstems that stay alive for longer, the ones that produce so much pollen they made her sneeze at night, waking her up. The ones that have prickly little thorns that hurt her feet when she's walking around without shoes, and the ones that attract swarms of insects that could bite or sting if she gets too close.

"We're going to play market," she announces, dragging out a low table. "I'll be the flower seller, you can be the customer."

Isa is a little embarrassed that she still likes to play market at her age, but the baby isn't old enough to rat her out. If she understood what Isa says to her she gives no sign, but she takes up her seat at the table, waiting for instructions.

(Secretly, Isabela is glad that Mirabel is her baby sibling and not Camilo. Camilo would have knocked over the table and demanded a snack already. Mirabel is usually well-behaved, by baby standards.)

"So you want a mostly pink bouquet, ma'am? That's no problem, how about some purple for balance?" she begins, conjuring a handful of pink and purple blossoms.

Mirabel gurgles in response, that's maybe a yes.

"How about some small palm leaves? They'll make the flowers last longer," she continues.

There used to be a flower seller at the Encanto's market, and Isabela used to linger behind her while she dealt with customers. She moved to the city when Isabela's gift came in, no longer able to make a living when the Madrigals were giving flowers out for free. Isa misses her.

She finished tying the bouquet with a flourish and hands it to Mirabel, pretending to accept cash.

"Okay, now you have to go away and come back again for a new...hey! Stop that!"

Mirabel has taken apart the bouquet and shoved one of the flowers into her mouth, dropping the rest of them by her feet. She looks at Isabela's angry little face and chews slowly.

"You ruined it," Isabela growls, grabbing the dropped flowers. "These aren't easy to make, you know..."

Mirabel grabs another of the same flower from her hand and eats it. It's a pata de vaca, Isa knows that some people use the flower as medicine so it's technically edible, but she made it specifically because it looks like an orchid but isn't as hard to conjure. Seeing the baby stuff those pretty pink petals into her mouth is infuriating.

"Out," she growls, much like her mother. "Get out, now!"

She drags Mirabel to the door and pushes her out onto the landing, slamming the door behind her. For the rest of her life, Isabela will only grow pata de vaca when she's specifically asked.

…..

Bruno

Bruno, mostly, is confused.

This feels like the perfect situation where his gift of prophecy would help the most, soothe everyone's fears and assure them that yes, the baby that was brought back is definitely Mirabel and Julieta is just having a nervous reaction.

He can't assure them of anything. He's been asked, over and over, when the baby first went missing and then when she came back and every day since, but it's always the same result. He tells them that prophecies often fail when they involve very young children since their lives are yet to be shaped, and that's true.

But when it comes to Mirabel, or whoever this child might be...

The prophecy comes back more than just blank, it comes back clouded. That hasn't happened often since he first got his gift; once, when he was in his teens and asked to look into the future of a young woman's marriage the glass came back shrouded in fog, shredded with sparks of light. It turned out the young woman's aunt was a well-regarded bruja who was casting her own charms on the marriage, it interfered with Bruno's vision.

One other time, a time he tried to block from his memory, was when a young man asked about a girl he had his eye on. He took Bruno to see the girl in her village, a few miles from the Encanto. Her elfin face, vivid red hair and piercing gaze is scratched across his brain. When he made the prophecy, she was in the glass, suspended in a puff of smoke, for just a moment and looked directly at him as though she could see him. The glass shattered in his hands, he had to run home to have Julieta pick the splinters out before she could heal him.

A witch once told him that different forms of magic run contrary to each other, and when they clash it can destroy entire countries. A skilled practitioner can keep it at bay, balance the humours, but some clashes will happen no matter what.

He cannot create a prophecy for the child that was returned to them, but Casíta hasn't rejected her at least. That means there is some hope for them all.

…..

Pepa

Pepa is exhausted.

She complains at night when the children are in bed, asking her mother how she managed with three babies when Pepa is just scraping by with two. Camilo was already a handful, and Dolores is needier than usual, and as placid a baby as Mirabel is she is not Pepa's daughter.

"If it was just postparto tristeza I would understand, we've all been there," she moans, slumping in a rocking chair in the courtyard. "But what do you even call this?"

"A delusion," Alma tells her. "She will get past it, in time..."

"When, Mama? I have my own children to raise, I can't raise hers too! Shouldn't we be bringing in the doctor by now?"

A small hurricane blows across the courtyard, not big enough to do more than pick up a few dust bunnies. A true sign of just how tired Pepa is.

"Mama!" Dolores calls from upstairs. "Camilo is awake again!"

With a frustrated groan, Pepa flops bonelessly out of the rocking chair onto the floor. Camilo has only been asleep for an hour, maybe less. She could send Felix but he's useless at getting any of the children to sleep, he only winds them up more.

Camilo is bouncing on the bed when she enters the nursery, shouting some silly rhyme he just learned from the village kids. She catches him when he leaps at her and in one fluid motion slides him back under the covers. Then she tucks herself in beside him to rub his back; it's the only way he'll stay still and quiet long enough to fall asleep.

In the dim light of the nursery night lamp, from the opposite bed, Mirabel's large eyes blink at her.

"Mira, you're awake too?"

Of course she would be, silly question. With Camilo making so much noise how would she sleep through it? Though Pepa knows from experience that Mirabel would lie there all night wide awake without making a noise or movement.

"Okay, come over here," she mumbles, pulling back the the quilt and beckoning Mirabel.

"No," Camilo says with a pout, pulling the quilt back over himself. "Mine!"

Mirabel pauses halfway out of bed.

"Camilo, you have to share," Pepa admonishes. "It's okay Mira, you can come over..."

"NO! No, no, no, no!" Camilo yells, punching the mattress for emphasis. "No share! No Mira!"

"Fine!"

Pepa leaves his bed, scoops up Mirabel and puts her back in her own bed. She lies down with her there, even though Mira won't need her back rubbed to send her to sleep.

"We'll be over here instead," she tells her son, stewing in outrage.

"Share," he growls, climbing out of his bed and toddling over to them. "Share Mama!"

"Share Mama," Pepa agrees quietly.

She falls asleep before either of the children.

…..

Felix

Felix has his hands full between trying to support his wife, a bag of nerves at the best of times, and supporting his friend Agustin through this awful situation with his wife. The two men have been close for a long time, they grew even closer when the first of the children were born, and they've always maintained a united front against Alma Madrigal's tendency to make decisions on everyone's behalf.

The older children are confused and upset by the situation, and Felix finds himself leading them away on hikes, trips to the market, long racing games in the grounds of the Casíta, just trying to keep them away from what's going on inside. In the evenings he takes out his guitar and they play singing games. He teaches the girls how to dance, balancing them on his feet and throwing them into the air.

At night, with the children in bed, he breaks out the alcohol and the coffee, runs around the house to massage weary shoulders and lend a listening ear to his stressed-out wife and friend. He would do the same for Julieta, but once she's finished in the kitchen for the day she locks herself in her room and doesn't come out until the morning.

He gets to unburden his own woes with Bruno in the early hours of the morning. He's never quite gotten along with his strange brother-in-law, but he's a source of quiet strength right now. He lets Felix talk and talk for hours without saying a word himself.

Felix has always wanted a large family. He was an only child who wished he'd had siblings to play with, and for himself he always wanted at least three children. Now, however, he's hesitant. He can't imagine having a child go missing and coping half as well as Agustin is, never mind his wife's reaction to the child's safe return.

In all of this, he can't say he believes or doesn't believe that what Julieta says is true. He never looked closely enough at Mirabel to notice any change.

…..

Agustin

He keeps up a strong facade, but secretly Agustin is a mess.

Julieta has always been an honest woman, sometimes blunt in her manner. She has never shown any signs of insanity or cruelty, and yet she insists that Mirabel is not her baby. What else could that be if not insane, or cruel? He loves his wife, but he also loves his daughter. He can't support her in this, but he can't refuse to support her either when she needs him the most.

What really tears him apart is the thought that Julieta sees a change in Mirabel that he himself cannot see. What kind of father can't tell the difference between their baby and another one? But he can pick up Luisa's voice in a chorus of other children, and he knows Isabela's footsteps by the sound they make on the floorboards.

Mirabel was so small when she went missing, and the child that came back was even smaller. Julieta thinks her eyes are different, and she is right about this, but they are the same colour, and they still light up when she sees Agustin.

(They don't light up until he gets right up close to her, because for some reason she can no longer see clearly.)

Julieta insists her baby had straight hair, the imposter baby does not. Agustin had given her a bath maybe twice before she vanished, he's washed her hair. Was it really so different? Why can't he remember?

Maybe if I'd been a better father, I would know for certain.

His other daughters need him, with their mother so distracted, and he lavishes attention on them. He tries to lavish attention on Mirabel too, but she seems indifferent to him. She will sit on his lap for a while, she'll come to him when he calls her by her name, but she wants to be in the kitchen where she's not wanted.

One thing he does recall; his baby cried more. A horrible thing to think, he tries to banish it from his mind, he doesn't want to fall to the same madness that's consumed his wife, but he remembers Mirabel cried like a normal baby.

This baby almost never cries.

He tries not to think about it.

…..

Julieta

What's to be said?

Her child is dead, and she mourns.

…..

Alma

Alma is no stranger to the madness that grips people who have suffered a tragedy. She herself had to have a woman from the village come in to feed her babies when her nerves collapsed. She has seen women that lost a child carry around a doll, insisting it's their living child. She has seen a boy who saw his entire family killed before his eyes fall into a sleep that lasted two full years. Madness shows itself in many forms.

She never expected madness to attach itself to her Julieta. Pepa, maybe, even Bruno, but not steady Julieta.

And it is truly madness. She refuses to entertain the notion that the baby is an imposter. She says as much when an old friend visits from the city, after telling her about all the trouble.

"Are you really so sure it's her daughter?" Cristina asks between sips of coffee.

"Of course," Alma scoffs. "She looks a little bit different, but why shouldn't she? She was missing for quite some time."

"Nobody knows a baby like its mother," Cristina says with a shrug. "You know, my mother suspected her brother was taken by espiritú. He was a very strange child."

"Old superstition. Wasn't your mother from the east?"

"She was, but old superstitions are there for a reason. My grandmother thought her son was replaced too. He had a lame foot, and his lungs were bad, but he was born a healthy baby."

"What did they do with him?"

"My grandmother beat him with an iron rod until he ran away."

Alma shivers. She dearly hopes Julieta cannot hear their conversation.

"Why did she think the espiritú took him away?"

"He was a very pretty child, and they didn't take the proper precautions. My mother always had iron over every door in the house, even when she moved here. She took no chances. If you give them a chance, they'll take it. Is that the baby?"

By chance, Mirabel has wandered over to them, probably shooed out of the kitchen again.

"Yes, that's Mirabel. Come here, miha."

Cristina picks her up, peers deep into her eyes. Mirabel hangs in her grasp, calm, babbling to herself.

"Well? Do you think she's one of your mother's espiritú babies?" Alma asks.

"I can't say," Cristina replies, putting Mirabel down and sending her on her way. "She looks normal enough. Although..."

"Although what?"

"Well, it's probably just baby talk but I thought I heard her say féileacán."

The hair on the back of Alma's neck stood up.

"What language is that?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

"It's Irish," Cristina replied. "I don't know many words, but I know that one."

When Cristina left for home the next morning, Alma vowed to never let her pass their door again.