I do not own Encanto. Warnings: past character death and mild description of injury.
I highly recommend reading my previous fic: then all at once the dark clouds depart (and the damage is done) to understand this one.
The intense grief was only a fresh wound, raw to touch and too painful to ignore, but it had felt like years since Mirabel had died. It throbbed within the hearts of the grieving, the ache never goes away.
Their Mirabel-gone, along with their Casita and magic.
The family stayed in an unoccupied house until their Casita was rebuilt, and during its construction there had been a mournful silence that overwhelmed them, deepening the fresh wound.
Julieta, the one that often held everyone together, had fallen apart. Most nights were spent with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, surrounded by her husband and two daughters. And every morning, she would wake and continue cooking for them as Agustín, her children, and her sister would watch her make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, no words exchanged. When they tried, she would answer shortly.
Though they were deeply concerned, they didn't prod her to say anything. What else could they say or do to a grieving mother?
With the men, Luisa, Dolores, and Isabela rebuilding the Casita during the day, Pepa and Antonio spending most of the time outdoors and her Mamá gone to wherever -she could not care-, this left Julieta alone in the house.
She had no plans in returning to their ruined home any time soon, especially when Mirabel's-her blood had stained the floor and had yet to clean it off or replace it with new tiles.
On the first day, they were rebuilding the Casita, Agustín came home with splintered hands, button-down shirt wet and stained. He had immediately rushed into Julieta's arms, tear soaking into her dress as he explained brokenly that he tried to clean off the dried blood that tainted the floor, but had no effect, no matter how hard he tried.
His vest, too, was in complete ruin., covered in the failure of what he couldn't save. He no longer wore it, opting for a different one. It still wasn't the same, though, Julieta knew that Agustín had loved that specific vest because it was notably picked by his three beautiful daughters for one of his birthdays.
Now, he couldn't stand to look at it.
Mouth closed tightly, Julieta washed the bowl in the water basin, scrubbing the pottery a little harsher than she intended to. The windowsill in front of the sink blew a gentle breeze through the strands of her greying hairs.
She tilted her head up, inhaling and exhaling softly, the aromatic of earth and a tint of sweet pollen whiffing through her nose. And just like that, she was brought back in memory, with her youngest being a newborn and the older two running around in the grassy lands of their Encanto.
The two kids were giggling as they ran on top of a small hill and Isa had formed a large patch of the most beautiful plants and flowers. Luisa merely watched in an awed expression as her older sister created a flower crown and donned it on top of her head.
And then, there was Mirabel.
Julieta's breath hitched, lips trembling at the mere thought of her youngest- her wonder.
Cradled lovingly in her arms, Mirabel slumbered on, little fists resting on her chest and rosebud lips pursed, as if she was dreaming. She recalled how content she was, free from her active duties for now, and enjoying her time with her daughters.
They looked so carefree...so at peace.
That much of what she remembered of her and wept over.
Julieta clenched her closed, tears threatening to escape. However, it was not enough as they managed to slip by, creating rivulets down her cheeks and neck. She gasped, though, feeling something jagged cut through the palm of her hands.
She looked down, hazel irises looking down to see that the bowl she was cleaning was broken. Blinking at the broken pieces of the dish, she noticed how red liquid dripped from her fingertips, blending in with the dirty water.
People would say that it was too late to heal Mirabel with her food, or that she couldn't have tried harder to save her, but even after all those empty assurances and well-meaning, Julieta knew that she could have still blamed herself.
Grimacing, she flicked away some water and grabbed a cloth, applying pressure to the laceration, oozing blood seeping into the fabric and spreading with ease. Julieta sighed out loud, holding her afflicted hand.
Pain radiated throughout her hand, stinging and throbbing like a tiny heartbeat.
Like...like Mirabel's heartbeat. Slow and methodical.
But with every aching cut-small or large-, the pulsing ends, as did Mirabel's.
Julieta sniffed, choking back a sob that bubbled up from her lungs. She leaned against the countertop and placed a hand over her mouth, not caring that the action stung her injured hand. She had cried too much-mourned enough to where she wondered if this grief was a bottomless pit, consuming every inch of her body until it tore her bit by bit.
She struggled out a throaty breath before the held in sob erupted, muffled by her hand. Her body trembled from the force of her heartbreaking weeping, fat teardrops rolling down her cheek, dropping into the murky water and creating ripples- folding and fumbling over each other with each plunge of a tear.
The sobs went, coming stronger each time, and Julieta abided to them, even if felt like her lungs were burning or how it shot pains down to her churning stomach. It was fruitless to hold in this uncontrollable sorrow.
There was nothing-nothing that could help ease this pain-this agonizing torment. She wanted to scream at the world-to give her back her Mirabel, her baby. If she had the choice, she would gladly give up her life if it meant that her youngest daughter would live.
Another gust of wind blew into the kitchen area, the sounds of swaying leaves and branches rumble along. When she had enough of crying, she took a huge gulp of air and tried to even out her breathing, shoulders relaxing and closing her eyes.
Although it took some time, Julieta regained her composure and reopened her red-rimmed eyes, deciding to tend to her hand. Except, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something-a small shadow on the windowsill.
A butterfly.
The complexion of the insect's wings was...brightly colored magenta, Julieta considered. Leaning forward to examine it more closely, she was expecting to flutter away, but it stayed right where it was.
It flapped its wings slowly, its iridescent scales shimmering underneath the bright sun and perhaps it was all in her head, but she could have sworn that the butterfly was showing it off.
The flying bug crawled around before it found its way into the kitchen.
"No, amigo, outside is there," Julieta tried to nudge the butterfly to the open window again, but as soon as her finger was in reach, it skittered to the tip of her pointer finger.
Surprise crossed her face.
Never have a butterfly been this...confident in crawling up to a human hand.
The majestic butterfly crept to the palm of her hand, then flew to her other hand, tenderly landing on her knuckles. Julieta cocked her head to the side, bemused at what the butterfly was doing. Surely it knew that there was no pollen here.
However, she remained still and observed the mariposa with piqued interest. The color-it reminded Julieta of Mirabel; how the young girl would sew butterflies to her dress, or draw them constantly as a young child. And every time, it was the exact same color: Magenta.
The mother leaned more closer when the antennas of the magenta butterfly bent and gave a gentle touch to her skin. In an instant, a warm sensation came from her wound, tingling and almost ticklish. It warped around her whole hand like it was caressing it delicately.
And for some reason, the warm touch continued to spread and grow throughout her body; running through every vein and vessel of hers until it warped around her heart that felt like an affectionate hug.
A breathless gasp winded her lungs, golden tones glowing from underneath the fabric that was pressed up against her wound. Abruptly, the butterfly flapped their wings and flitted towards her shoulder, deciding to take refuge there.
Trembling, Julieta gently uncovered the cloth, only to emit a soft breath when she saw the corners of her cut began to mend and repair the ugly scar from her skin.
"Oh, oh."
Water collected again in her hazel eyes, clouding her vision.
Once again the mariposa glided down to her healed hand, on top of where the lesion was. Its wings wavered, showing all four fins, flattening itself against her palm.
Then, it ascended with one flap of its wings, hovering right in front of her face before it flew out the window with a graceful glide, allowing the wind to float away, and leaving a glowing streak of magenta.
Julieta reached out, tears sneaking down her cheeks again. It reminded the night before Mirabel died, how she comforted her daughter, kissed her cheek, and told her how much she loved her daughter-such a beautiful thing.
All she could think was how wonderful and utterly devastating it seemed to see that cosa linda say goodbye, one last time.
Mirabel soared through the sky, breezing away from where her mother stood, smiling softly.
She passed through the town, not once noticing her but rather focusing on their lives. She fluttered towards the construction of her family's casita, her papá carrying heavy bricks and her sisters patching up the cracks of their newly built wall.
They all stopped to see the glowing, magenta mariposa gliding and fluttering around them, like a sort of greeting. Her father furrowed his brows together and Isabela and Luisa joined in.
It felt as though time had slowed down, only to watch the butterfly flap around the area, leaving a bright hue of magenta behind it.
If there were tears in their eyes, no one mentioned it to each other. What they wouldn't know is the gifts that were bestowed them later that night; Agustín's regular vest now clean of blood and hung neatly in the closet, the single yellow rose that stood in Isabela's windowsill or the weights of Luisa's that should have been destroyed in the broken building, but was clean and sat on her bed.
Finally, Mirabel made her way around them and continued to spiral upwards to acknowledge the golden butterfly that met up with her. Her Abuelo.
And just like they have done the day she died, they elevated up to the skylines of the earth, skimming through the clouds and into the atmosphere, heading towards the rocky mountains to take haven in the forest.
At last, she had said goodbye to the world that left her, but she would return, to watch over them just as her Abuelo had done for them and still do- even from afar.
i decided to add a sort of sequal from my previous fic: then all at once the dark cloud depart (and the damage is done) since it had an slightly open ending. hope you guys enjoyed-i won't adding after this but worry not, there's one-shots to come (mostly angst but perhaps fluff)
PLEASE NOTE THAT THE TWO FICS I MENTIONED ARE THE ONLY RELATED FICS. THE REST OF THE FICS (or the ones that i'll write eventually) WILL BE SEPARATE FICS WITH NO CORRELATION TO THE TWO.
please review and let know you think :)