Two things. 1) I'm obsessed with this movie, unhealthily so. 2) My first chapter killed itself and I hate what I wrote. I hope you like it anyway.

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Isabela was a rotten sister.

She sat in her newly constructed room. The family had been forced to rebuild the entire house after it had collapsed. This one was smaller and sans the arrays of flowers that her old one had been adorned with. Just as well, Isabela didn't think she deserved a new, beautiful room. Mirabel, after all, had been forced to stay in the nursery. It served all of them right that their magical rooms had all but vanished.

When Mirabel had died the magic had died with her.

The entire house was in mourning. Everyone in the Encanto had been sending bouquet after bouquet, apologizing for their loss. Isabela was so sick of flowers.

But she clutched a caléndula to her chest. Maribel had loved caléndulas.

"Are you sorry?"

Isabela started, eyes frantically searching for the source of the new voice. Yet she saw no one. She sighed, placing a hand over her racing heart. For a moment, that voice had sounded like-

Twin pools of chocolate materialized in front of her. "¡Abuchear!"

Isabela shrieked, nearly falling off her bed.

Her sister's face cackled in a way that was so cruel, so un-Mirabel. "Wow," she taunted. "I don't think I've ever seen pequeña señorita perfecta stumble before."

Isabela took in the... whatever it was that wore her sister's face. There was no mistaking that it was identical to Mirabel. Every eyelash and freckle was in place. There were only a few things that stood out. The first being that those unmistakable glasses that had always been too big for Mirabel's face were missing.

The other being that the Mirabel in front of her couldn't have been older than twelve.

"What are you?" she demanded, lips pressed in an attempt to seem brave. "A ghost?"

Mirabel shrugged. "Maybe," she answered cryptically. She seemed to get a kick out of messing with her. But then the playfulness was gone from her face. The temperature of the room seemed to drop as she was met with hard, narrowed eyes. "You didn't answer my question from earlier. Are you sorry?"

Isabela had never seen Mirabel angry. Frustrated, irritable, and upset? Yes. But nothing had ever made her little sister truly angry, not even all the hurtful taunts from Isabela herself over the years.

Mirabel lunged forward, harshly grabbing her face. "Well?" Anger was apparent in her eyes, but looking past that Isabela could see it, the pain. She had worn a mask her entire life, Mirabel had always worn her heart on her sleeve. She would not have grown as much as she would have liked to if she didn't recognize the mask her little sister was hiding behind.

It was then that she understood what, exactly, was happening.

Isabela placed her hands over her sister's. They were small, smaller than she ever remembered them being. This Mirabel was just a baby. Her Mirabel had just been a baby.

"Yes," she said. "I am sorry." She squeezed those tiny hands with both of hers. "I'm sorry for treating you so horribly. I'm sorry for making you feel like you didn't belong."

The anger in Mirabel's eyes faltered. "Stop it," she insisted, trying to pull her hands away.

Isabela refused to let go. "I'm sorry for acting like I was better than you," she continued. "Because I wasn't, hermanita. Between the two of us, you were the better woman, the better person."

"Shut up," hissed Mirabel, her anger returning with a vengeance. With it came desperation, the need to run away.

But Isabela wouldn't let that happen, not again. Not until she was done. "I'm sorry for all the dirty looks," she confessed. "I'm sorry for every nasty thing that ever left my mouth."

Tears left escaped from her sister. "Stop it!" she screeched. "Just shut up!"

Isabela pressed their foreheads together. "I'm sorry I never told you I loved you," she said, unable to fight the lump in her own throat any longer. "I do, hermanita. I always have, lo prometo."

And that wasn't a lie. She had loved the way Mirabel had danced through life, unafraid of how clumsy or silly she looked. She had loved the way her sister allowed her curls to do what they wanted each day. She had loved the genuine smile that graced Mirabel's face because no matter what, her sister was always herself.

Yes, Isabela had loved it all. She had also been disgustingly jealous of it.

Mirabel had no expectations. Mirabel had no pressure from Abuela. Mirabel was free to skip through life with no care in the world. That had been the true source of her ire towards her youngest sister,

And Isabela was ashamed. Because that jealousy had killed Mirabel in the end.

"No you don't!" cried Mirabel. "You never have! You hate me!"

Isabela pulled the girl to her chest as she had done that precious moment just minutes before her death. "Never, nena," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I made you think otherwise."

Mirabel clutched her dress, her face buried in the fabric as she sobbed. Isabela cradled the back of her head, shushing her gently as she rocked them both. Unwilling to let her baby sister go a second time.

Isabela couldn't have said how long she held Mirabel. But when she woke up, she was tucked into bed. The girl was gone.

"Dios mío," she murmured, rubbing her stinging eyes. She frowned, finding no trace of the second youngest Madrigal. "Was it... a dream?" Emptiness throbbed in her heart once more. Would Mirabel never hear the words that Isabela desperately needed her to?

She noticed a caléndula, the one that she had set on her bed, sat on her nightstand.

'No,' she thought with a bittersweet smile, gently touching the soft petals. 'She knows, I'm sure of it. Even if it was just a dream.' She gathered the flower in her hands and kissed it gently.

"Te amo, hermanita."

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I wrote this after a fight with my own sister. I'm planning to do each of the Madrigals, or at least Mirabel's immediately family+Abuela. I hope you liked it and please review!