The Familia Madrigal was destined for greatness by the time the newest member turned five years old. She has seen it in Luisa's proud smile when she picks up objects that exceed her in size with relative ease, emanating sighs of amazement from her and other children from the town who came to see the product of the miracle. She has seen it in the grace that emanates from Isabela as she leaves roses and compliments of perfection in her wake, even if at her young age she assumes that is about the magic that surrounds her familia. She has seen it in the way everyone goes to her prima Dolores and does not take long to see as she hollows her ear, surely doing that thingy she does with the sound that helps them know what Mamá will prepare for dinner.
And even recently she has witnessed first-hand the vigor of receiving the gift at her primo Camilo's ceremony, cheering alongside the rest of the Madrigals and from her immediate older sister's back, watching with shining eyes as the candle turns the glowing door into her cousin's new room.
She knows it won't be long before her tío and tía come in with the mean of taking the last thing Camilo has from the nursery and she is left alone, but that's okay!
The darkness that hung over her was eerie. The silence that replaces the conversations she had with Camilo days before his ceremony is terrifying, and Mirabel is sure she has seen rats roaming the room.
But the fireworks? The applause and encouragement of the community? The smile on Tía Pepa's face as Tío Félix cheers on how proud they are? Abuela's gentle hand on Camilo's face as she reminds them of how special they are as Madrigals?
Mirabel knows it's worth it.
Also, her stay in the nursery will not be permanent, remembers herself. The happiness on her primo's face as he points to the door with his engraved silhouette reminds her that it will only be a few months until her fifth birthday arrives, for the day of her ceremony to arrive, and soon she will have her own magical door.
But for the moment she joins the familia when they sigh as Camilo opens his room, watching over her sister's head as Casita begins to form shapes and move tiles, adapting the space for his new metamorphic ability.
"Luisa?" She whispers over the cheers of the townspeople, her sister's hum cueing her to continue, "do you think my gift will be as incredible as yours?"
The shaking of Luisa's shoulders snaps the four-year-old out of her reverie, and she looks down to feel more than see the smug smile.
"Pipsqueak," the middle sister begins, and can assure that Dolores can hear the pout in Mirabel's visage, "whatever your gift is, it will be yours. That will be enough to make it special."
The toddler's face softens, and when she feels Tío Bruno's hand in her hair added to an expression she cannot describe, Mirabel's gaze focuses again on the show in front of her. It focuses on Camilo's laughter as he experiences his newfound power with Isa, her oldest sister's face wrinkling in disgust before she fists her hand and flings flower petals at his. It focuses on Dolores's tiny smile as she covers her ears for a few minutes before joining in her familia's celebration. It focuses on the literal radiant sun that is Tía Pepa.
"You'll achieve great things, little one." Tío Bruno kisses her forehead that very night, sleep has taken over her body after her mamá tucked her in. The exhaustion in her body makes her forget the darkness, the silence, and the occasional squealing rats in the nursery, but she allows herself to smile before falling soundly asleep.
You'll achieve great things. Tío Bruno had said. And if her Tío Bruno said that she was going to achieve great things, then Mirabel Madrigal was going to achieve great things; because her tío never lied to her.
And suddenly Mirabel can't wait for her own ceremony.
Except there is no ceremony.
Or maybe there is, but there really is nothing to celebrate.
"Casita?" Came Mirabel's question under her breath as the terrified gaze travels over the space that the door to her new room would occupy. Keyword: space, because as soon as her hand had circled the knob, it had started to glow just like it was supposed to; but instead of exposing her gift, it had begun to fade into glittering sand.
What had happened? Had she done something wrong?
Blinking she focused her eyes on Abuela who, instead of returning the gesture, was looking at the candle with the same concern. Mirabel did not miss the fact that the fire fluttered, and she couldn't help but feel dread.
But before she could speak and call the family matriarch, Alma had her gaze fixed on her youngest granddaughter; listening sideways to the fading applause of the people, or the babbles that began to rise, the words Mirabel and not gift stand out from the crowd.
"Abuelita?" The voice of the now five-year-old girl came out in a thread, her hand faintly feeling the blank wall, her glance going back and forth between it and Abuela, "where is my door?"
Where was her gift? Her Tío Bruno said… Tío Bruno! Surely he saw her door appear late, surely he knew something; walking in the direction her Abuela was standing, Mirabel was startled as she saw the older woman step back, intending to turn away from her when one of her hands shielded the candle flame.
"Abuela?" She repeated. What was happening? It's not like she repels the miracle, right?! Right.
But where were the hugs from her familia? The tousled hair? The words of pride?
What did this mean? She couldn't see Tío Bruno anywhere, had he left her too?
Mirabel looked at her own familia in front of her, occupying the adjacent side to the place her door should occupy. Her mamá looks worried, almost on the verge of tears, as papá holds her restless sisters: Luisa's features twisted with a concern that the nine-year-old was trying to undermine, and Isa's eyes shone with intensity and a mixture of emotions that the minor would have previously believed impossible.
"Mami, Papi," her voice quivers as she makes grabby hands, waiting to be welcomed into her má's arms while papá assures her that everything will be fine.
But she also doesn't get that when her mamá walks away too, and the first audible sob makes an appearance when she sees the first townspeople leave Casita.
"Wait! Don't go!" Her appeal fell on deaf ears when more people start to get out, darkness and deathly silence replacing the vivid colors of the fireworks that nothing ago illuminated the Madrigal residence, "probably Casita is thinking about my gift."
Behind Abuela, she notices her tíos and primos looking at her with pity-like expressions. But she does not want to cause pity to the familia.
She wants to make them proud, show them why she is as special as they are.
But is she even special when she has just witnessed her gift, her room, literally disappear in front of her? The Madrigals are fantastical and magical, but does she have something fantastical and magical when Abuela doesn't talk about how special she is?
It must be if she was a Madrigal.
"Mami," she sobs, approaching her mamá again and fearing the what-ifs now that the door revealed her gift—her lack of. She has seen the rejection her dear Tío Bruno has suffered despite having his own gift; but what would happen to her in this alternative?
The only thing she wants is not to be alone, but unfortunately, the plea does not reach her mamá as she clings to the skirt of her dress and does not feel her hands comb her hair as she usually does when something disturbs her, and instead the pats she feels are tense and terse.
Surreptitiously sticking her head out, Mirabel looks around for her tío after his presence became invisible since... now that she thought about it, she hasn't seen him since she had started preparing for her ceremony, and a part of her wondered if he had already seen the fiasco that the event would be. So what were the supposed great things she was destined for if she didn't have a magic touch to prove it?
Regardless of the answer, the girl was aware of one thing:
Things would be different for the Familia Madrigal, but not in the way she had in mind practically minutes ago.
The answer about her tío's whereabouts came days later when Bruno Madrigal was declared missing from Casita and Mirabel Madrigal was officially declared ungifted, and Mirabel had not been sure she had cried as much as that night in her entire life while clinging to her pillow, surrounded by a dark, silent nursery with rats.
Now she was completely alone and not even an arepa con queso from má would heal that wound.