A/N - tw self harm

The tide would come rolling extinguishing her house of fire. She dreamed Casita would create a makeshift boat, she, and her beloved belongings would wash away far from the family. Leaving, at no fault of her own. Freedom, granted by some external force. Blameless and guiltless she would have no choice but to start anew, with the shackles of expectation no longer in reach, and no longer their problem.

Unfortunately, no such event looked likely. That fire was still burning, and she was still here.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Dolores hesitated, she had opened the nursery door and couldn't bring herself to leave.

"Mhm hmm" Mirabel nodded.

And with that, Dolores left - reluctantly so.

The door shut, and she was alone.

Acutely aware of how dark her room was, Mirabel made cautious movements back to her bed. Dolores is probably still listening. It kept circling in her head, like vultures circling roadkill. It was bad enough being the outcast of the family, but being under surveillance for it was worse. The conversation had triggered an oddly full feeling inside her. Similar to feeling found in the aftermath of crying, when you're both empty and full.

This was more than jealously. It was grief. Grief that scattered across her lifetime. It first manifested the moment the door went dark, and that look in her family's eyes emerged - and never really left. Little Mirabel had to mourn ideas birthed from one of the most powerful things in the world, a child's imagination. All the stories she thought she would get to live came to a crushing halt. It was an unimaginable loss, she never thought that she would get her miracle taken away from her.

Grief for the early erasure of childlike innocence. Awareness in how complexities of life.

"It was my turn to get my magic, I waited patiently just like you said to, why didn't I get it?"

"Nobody could share their magic with me, everyone said I would get my own. When?"

Julieta struggled that night to explain to a child why the miracle didn't follow the rules of sharing and taking turns. All these years later, Mirabel still had no answers, and since that day had remained in a state of unknowing.

This grief showed no signs of stopping. Nothing could ever replace what she had lost, the effects of which would stalk her forevermore. Her mind began to thumb through each and every unfairness, each event spiking her agitation. It wasn't okay. It never would be. She was pissed off.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she willed for silence. If Dolores could hear thoughts...

This was routine for her, these feelings were what got her staying up for hours on end attempting to rekindle what had failed all those years ago. With Dolores expressing concern, she couldn't go out there. Dolores had no reason to be up with her. Unable to pacify herself, Mirabel was becoming increasingly agitated.

The next course of action was pacing her bedroom, to get this irritation out of her system. Her efforts were to no avail. Instead, it reignited her anger to the nursery, and how small it was, how restrictive it had felt, just as being unmagical was.

Everyone had grown, and she was still there. In a bedroom two sizes too small.

This is stupid. She hissed through gritted teeth. She wanted to scream, to tear the bedroom apart, rip down the wallpaper and drag up the floorboards.

And then it caught her eye. And she started on a course she would be unable to stop.

Tired, both physically and emotionally she reached for the razor she used to cut fabrics. She held it tightly, tighter than any hug she had before.

And then there was blood, she watched it slowly seep out of the wound, her feelings followed with it. It felt as though she could breathe again. The world vanished, and she was grounded. This was the feeling she had long sought after, she had chased it up stairs and searched for it in family. Relief.

The vultures had retreated, and she reacquainted herself with a clear mind. Just for a moment.

Shit

The consequences of what she had done was now dawning on her. The knot in her stomach that had momentarily unravelled was now airtight and wringing every drop of guilt out of her. It began to hurt, stinging loudly. And still, it gave her focus.

She pulled the duvet up to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut. The morning would come, and she would eat. It would be fine. It needed to be.