Sorry for the delay folks. College stuff, you know. Not fun. Anyway, please enjoy!

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Dolores had always looked at her gift as a curse.

Sure, Abuela thought it was useful. She could listen in on the entire town and relay to their family who needed what and where they were. The Madrigals ran more efficiently than ever when she had received her gift. In theory, her power was a very helpful one.

But of course, with ears as sensitive as hers, one tended to overhear things they may not want to.

Like how she'd had to listen to Mariano gush over Isabela since they were children. Or how Bruno murmured to himself incessantly, keeping her wide awake some nights.

Or how she had known the exact second that Mirabel had died.

Dolores wasn't sure why her gift hadn't crumbled the moment that Camilo's or Isabela's or Mamá's had. Perhaps it was the same reason that Luisa had been able to lift the heavy debris off her cousin. But it wasn't until that moment- the moment that Mirabel had left them completely- that silence had reached her ears for the first time since she was five.

Dolores had silently prayed for any moment of silence she could get for well over a decade. She had longed for just one moment of peace. But once she'd gotten it, she found she missed listening in on her family, making sure they were alright.

Of course, the one person who truly hadn't been alright was the one she hadn't checked on enough.

Dolores remembered how troubled Abuela had been by Mirabel's lack of a gift. She had heard the desperate prayers to Abuelo, the tension between her and Tía Julieta and Tío Agustín (even with her expert hearing now gone forever, Dolores still knew for a fact that Tía Julieta hadn't spoken to Abuela once since the incident). Nothing had ever phased her grandmother as much as Mirabel not receiving a gift.

And Dolores was ashamed to admit how long it took her to realize that was a problem.

A Madrigal didn't matter unless they were valuable to the Encanto. Tío Bruno had been cast aside, his name cursed, because his gift didn't help the family (she would know, she'd had to listen to him lament this for the past decade). And Mirabel- Mirabel had been treated like she was nothing, like she wasn't worthy to be a part of the Madrigals.

Whenever Dolores thought about the countless nights she heard her poor little cousin sob because Abuela no longer wanted anything to do with her, never looked at her with the same warmth she used to, her heart felt heavy in her chest.

She had been five, five.

They all had been.

A soft whine grabbed Dolores' and she furrowed her eyebrows. Was that... a baby? Her eyes drifted to her bed and indeed, there was a baby perched upon it.

How odd. Though, was it really that strange when she had grown up in a sentient house?

Dolores approached the bundle and carefully peeled it back, revealing soft, chubby cheeks and a familiar head of curly hair. The baby continued to fuss, her soft whines about to turn into full blown sobs.

The young woman raised an eyebrow as she gathered the baby into her arms. She stilled fussed, but seemed to find comfort in them, nestling into Dolores' chest as she opened brown eyes to peer up at her. Dolores touched her soft cheek, her thoughts flooded with memories of a baby who used to look at her the same way.

"Ah," said Dolores. "I see."

The baby squirmed in Dolores' arms, suddenly restless. Dolores shushed her. "Calmarse," she soothed, rocking the child. "I'm here, prima. It's alright, Mirabel."

Mirabel settled once more, completely laying against Dolores' chest. Dolores remembered when she and Camilo were little, she would sneak into the nursery when they fussed at night. This was because their crying often kept her up and sometimes Tía and Mamá were simply too slow to get to them. Dolores would go into the nursery and soothed whichever one was upset.

More often than not, it was Camilo. Even from infancy, Mirabel never made a fuss.

Dolores sat with the baby for a moment, shushing her cries and wiping her tears. "Oh, prima," she murmured. "Everything is okay now."

Her comforting must have worked because, eventually, Mirabel settled down. Her eyes fluttered closed as she slowly nodded off to sleep. She seemed content with the fact that she knew Dolores was there for her.

Ironic, considering how she had failed to be there when Mirabel was alive.

A lump formed in her throat. "I'm sorry, Mira," she whispered, suddenly on the verge of tears. Dolores couldn't hear much now, but her heart throbbed at the realization that she would never hear Mirabel again. She would never hear the girl's nervous ramblings or the bump she would give her door every morning to wake her up.

The soft snores coming from the baby in her arms were the last sounds from her dear cousin that Dolores would ever hear.

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If you couldn't tell, it was extremely hard for me to write for Dolores. This was mostly because she's a character who's literally designed to stay in the background. Unlike Camilo who has a particularly loud presence, Dolores' is a quieter one. That isn't to say that she isn't important to the story (because she is, even more than Camilo is), but it was hard to think about how she would handle Mirabel's death. Sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the others.

Anyway, I hope you liked it and please review!