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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 06 Chapter 06 | La luz està en⌟

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The stars hung in the night sky as if strung in the air by invisible strings. It was peaceful, with the occasional sound of crickets in the background as you walked away from

As soon as dinner was over, you immediately rushed away, unable to handle the congratulations from the many Madrigals.

Though Alma made great points as to why it should be you in charge of the ceremony, you couldn't help the small clouds of doubt that snuck into your head, telling you otherwise.

"Well, no use of stressing myself out over it. What's done is done," you told yourself, wrapping your cloak tighter around your figure.

As you walked down the dirt path to your home, the sight of a small candle flickering in the windowsill brought a smile to your face; it meant that your father was home.

You haven't seen him in a while—four months, to be exact. Your father was often away, traveling beyond the giant walls that sheltered the enchanted city from outside civilizations to trade.

Sometimes, his expeditions would last far longer than four months, so he must have decided to come back sooner rather than linger out there in the world.

With a quickened pace, you soon found yourself standing before the wooden door. Opening it, you were met with your father sitting in a chair near the crackling fireplace, staring down at something in his lap while your mother sat across from him, gently bouncing a small bundle in her arms.

At the sound of your entrance, your father looked up, a tired look on his face.

The second you blink, your mother is gone. Shaking your head, you turned to smile at your father. "Pápa, you're home."

Your father said nothing, only returning a small smile of his own before standing up to give you a hug.

As you reached your arms around him, you were able to catch a glimpse of the photograph that once held his attention before your arrival: it was a picture of your smiling mother.

"How have you been, muñequita? I haven't seen you in a while." Your father asked, pressing a loving kiss onto your forehead before releasing you to walk back over to the chair.

Following him, you set yourself down on the floor at his feet instead of the chair across from him.

"I've been okay, Pápa. The Madrigals have kept me company and well in your absence. How about you?" You stared up at him with a questioning stare, taking in his disheveled form.

"I've been great, muñequita," he responded, sending you a smile that never reached his eyes.

You wanted to argue against his answer; he looked far from great, with dark bags hanging underneath his eyes and sunken cheeks that showcased his cheekbones, but you held your tongue.

The next few moments were spent in peace as your father and you caught up with one another, the crackling of the fireplace adding to the calm atmosphere.

"So a little birdie told me that you'll have a leading role in this year's Día de Muertos. Is it true?"

You know that he knew that it was true; he just wanted to hear you admit it. "Yes, Pápa. Doña Alma made the announcement at dinner. Apparently, she thought it would be best if I'd taken control and hosted this year's ceremony because of my gift."

After listening to you give the explanation, your father held a hand to his chest, letting an exaggerated sigh leave his body. "Ah, to think, you'll be in charge of such an important event. My little girl has grown up so fast."

You suppressed an action eye roll at his dramatics: "Pápa, it's not that big of a deal."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just so happy for you, Muñequita. I can't wait to see what you have in store. I'm sure you'll blow us all away," he said, standing up before giving your hair a small ruffle. "Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight, muñequita."

"Pápa," you whined, moving away from his hands to pat down the now-messy strands.

He gave one more chuckle before walking away. Just as he exited the living room, he sent you one last look over his shoulder. "Your mother would be very proud of how far you've come, Y/N."

You felt a smile grow on your lips at the sincere look on your father's face as he told you this. "Goodnight, Pápa."

As soon as he was gone, you turned to watch the fireplace, knees folded to your chest.

"You know, your father's right. I am proud of you." Your head swiveled over to stare at your mother, who sat in a rocking chair, gently bouncing the small bundle held against her chest. "You've come so far."

"Thank you, Mamá," you said with a smile to the spirit.

Two years after being blessed with your gift, tragedy struck your family. Your mother, Jovena, died while prematurely giving birth to your younger brother, Arlo. Everyone in Encanto mourned for your family's losses. A mother, wife, and granddaughter were taken from this world, and a life was taken before it had the chance to live.

Your great-grandmother was so distraught by their deaths that she died a few months later, at the ripe age of 89, due to grief. Your small family had been shattered since their deaths, leaving only you and your father to try and piece it back together.

Ten years later, your father seemed to still be mourning your mother.

Despite having died, your mother still crosses the realms to watch over your father, with your great-grandmother, Francisca, coming to chat now and then. You even got visits from your paternal grandmother, Alejandra.

You were left baffled as to why your mother and paternal grandmothers were the only ones to cross over and visit, and not your maternal grandmother, Beatriz. She soon revealed that those of the Muertez lineage did not pass into the same realm as others after their deaths; instead, they were sent to a grey zone to work as helpers for the goddess of death, assisting lost souls to the afterlife as well as serving as guides for the gifted Muertezs in the living realm.

However, since the genocide of the Muertez line left you as the last one, you were assigned your mother as your guide. In the past decade, your mother has taught you a lot about your gift and what it entails.

She spoke of how each and every power gifted to the women of the Muertez line was as unique and different as a snowflake; yours was the only one that was a repeat of one from before.

Apparently, yours was a sort of anniversary gift, depicting the first-ever gift Santa Muerte had bestowed upon your family.

Getting up, your mother walked over to your seated form, crouching until you were facing one another. "My child," she sighed, gently cupping the side of your face and sending chills down your spine at the coldness that followed.

As she did this, you couldn't help but peek at the bundle in her arm; a wide pair of eyes stared right back at you, and the spirited baby's mouth pulled up into a gummy smile.

Whenever you saw Arlo's face, you felt your heart clench within your chest. Seeing him made you feel as if you were cheated by a little brother that could have been with you at this very moment, a little brother that would sleep in your arms as you sang the songs your mother sang to you as a child, but you couldn't because he wasn't truly here.

Sending Arlo a smile back, you look up into the face of your mother. "I love you, Mamá." As you spoke, the bottom of your lip trembled, your eyes misting with unshed tears. "I love you, Arlo. Goodnight."

Your mother sent a smile of your own back. "Goodnight, my child." And with that, she dispersed back to the other side with your brother in hand.

Standing up, you wiped away your tears and went to bed, preparing yourself for a new day.

Okay, let me just start off and say, I AM SO SORRY! I've been stuck so hard on writer's block and thought of lowkey scraping the whole book, but instead of doing that, I just went to write on other books, and it helped me get motivated. So once again, sorry for making you all wait for so long!

Also, I know that the chapter isn't so action-packed, but I just wanted to tie up loose ends once again. Yeah, sorry about killing off the mama and great-grandma. And your 'could have been' little brother, but oh well, I love the angst.

See you all at the next update!

#‧̍̊˙˚˙xaniwrites-tactus mortis ml #camilo x reader #camilo madrigal #camilo madrigal x reader #madrigal #encanto camilo #madrigal x reader #romance #ghosts #medium #ghost whisperer #angst #death reader #camilo #love #young romance #post encanto #disney x reader

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 02 Chapter 02 | el muerto⌟

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The Casa Madrigal was alive with joy and excitement as the youngest member of the family, Camilo, received his gift from Casita.

"I'm so proud of you, mi pequeñito," Pepa exclaimed, showering her son with kisses and tears as a small rain cloud formed over her head.

"Mamá," Camilo whined, his face flushing with embarrassment.

Unable to let go of her son, Pepa continued to smother him with affection until Camilo turned to his father for help.

"Pápa," he pouted, reaching out towards Félix for rescue.

Chuckling, Félix walked over and effortlessly lifted Camilo from Pepa's tight grip with one hand. "That's enough, mi vida. Give the boy some space," he smiled, placing Camilo back on the ground to run off and play.

Pepa's eyes welled up with tears, "If I let him go, he'll grow up and leave me," she cried, her thundercloud releasing a small boom before showering her in rainwater.

"Shoo, shoo." Félix gently coaxed the clouds away, "It's okay to feel sad, Pepa. Camilo is growing up, but that's a natural part of life."

Pepa buried her head in her husband's shoulder, pulling at the ends of her hair in frustration. "I know, but it's hard to let go."

"Take your time, mi vida. You'll feel better soon," Félix reassured her.

"I know," Pepa sighed before her eyes sparkled with a mischievous idea. "Do you want to have another child!?"

Félix was taken aback, his eyes widening comically as he choked on his own breath. Before he could respond, a tall, dark-skinned man burst into Casita with a look of worry etched on his face.

"What's wrong, José?" a blonde woman asked, stepping towards the anxious man.

"There are people coming down the trail! Someone has entered Encanto!" José exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency.

The news sparked a wave of panic throughout the house.

"It's not possible! No one can enter!"

"Do you think he made a mistake?"

"What if they're the bad people!?"

"It can't be. We haven't seen any sign of them in over forty years." A voice boomed over the commotion, silencing the crowd. "Enough!" All eyes turned to the head of the Madrigal family, Alma Madrigal, as she made her way down the steps with a commanding presence.

Alma approached José with determination, her every step exuding purpose. "Is what you said true, José?" she demanded, her tone conveying the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes, Doña Alma," he replied, his own face etched with concern.

Without hesitation, Alma called out for her third eldest grandchild. "Dolores, please come here. We need your assistance."

With footsteps as quiet as a mouse, Dolores Madrigal deftly weaved through the crowd to stand before her. Dolores needed no explanation as she tilted her head to the side, humming softly before relaying her findings. "There are four people traveling here in an old wagon pulled by a donkey. Three of them are adults, while one is a child. I believe the child is sick by the sound of coughs and snivels I'm hearing, and that one of the three adults is elderly by the sound of joints popping."

Alma thanked Dolores with a smile before turning to her eldest child and daughter, Julieta. "Julieta, please have food on standby and ensure that the guest rooms are in order."

Julieta immediately nodded and set about making the necessary preparations, but there were some in the room who were shocked by Alma's decision. "Doña Alma, you can't be serious! You're allowing strangers to come, even going as far as to offer them hospitality in Casita?" One person spoke up from the crowd, their voice filled with disbelief.

But Alma only smiled serenely in response. "Of course I am," she stated firmly, making her way toward the door. "Only one person in the outside world would know the way into Encanto." As she opened the door, the sound of a creamy wagon stopped outside the house, drawing everyone's attention.

Some of the onlookers peered curiously around Alma to get a glimpse of who had arrived. They saw a middle-aged man assisting an elderly woman out of the wagon.

"Abuela Francisca!" Alma exclaimed upon recognizing the elderly woman, who playfully smacked the man on the arm.

Francisca turned around, her face lighting up upon seeing Alma. "Alma, my little mija," she greeted warmly.

The two women met halfway, embracing each other with happy chuckles and tears of joy.

Alma's eyes widened in surprise as she met the young couple's gaze. "And who might these young ones be?"

Francisca limped over to the couple, beaming with pride. "This is my granddaughter-in-law, Jovena," she introduced, pointing a wrinkled finger at the woman. She then shifted her finger towards the man, "and my grandson, Miguel."

Alma's expression softened with fondness at the mention of Miguel's name. "Miguel?" she said with a hint of disbelief. "Do you mean he's...?"

Francisca nodded, confirming Alma's suspicion. "Yes, he's Alejandra's little boy."

Alma's heart swelled with emotion at the thought of seeing her best friend's son after so many years. She walked over to Miguel, smiling at him. "Hello, Miguel. I'm Alma. I was your mother's best friend."

Miguel's face turned stiff as he forced a smile. "I know. My abuelita has told me a lot about you," he replied, clearly holding back his emotions.

Alma could sense that something was amiss and her smile faltered slightly.

Francisca noticed Alma's expression and quickly interjected, "As much as I would love to spend time catching up, mija, we have urgent business to attend to."

Alma nodded in agreement, understanding the need for urgency. "Of course. Please bring the child inside. We've already prepared a room for her."

The couple's faces filled with shock at her words. "How did you knowㅡ"

"Ah, I see Casita has blessed your family with many more gifts," Francisca said, cutting off Jovena's question as she walked into the house. "Miguel, go get my bisnieta. The quicker she gets help, the better she'll be. I'll meet you in the room."

Nodding, Miguel went to get his daughter.

When he arrived with the still feverish 5-year-old, nearly everyone was standing outside Casita to get a peek at the strangers.

Miguel pressed his lips into a firm line, sheltering his daughter closer to his chest.

Seeing his discomfort, Alma turned towards the house, shaking her head at the many eyes staring back at her. "I'm sorry everyone, but tonight's celebration will be cut short. If you'll please, Casita, help our guests see their way out."

The house shutters gave two flaps as if saying, 'You got it' before moving the stone underneath the crowd's feet, like a treadmill, straight out towards the outskirts of the house.

Miguel and Jovena were in awe as they followed, but as they stepped forward to enter the house, Casita's doors seemingly slammed shut before opening quickly, its windows jingling as if singing a happy tune.

Miguel's brow rose at this, "Does the house always do this?"

Alma looked around at Casita's shutters, shingles, and even furniture moving about as if she were singing a song without a rhythm. "Uh, not usually," she spoke in embarrassment as the floors made flower patterns around the couple.

As the couple got ready to trek up the steps, Casita took it upon herself to turn it into an escalade the moment they stepped on.

The house's hospitality didn't stop there; once they were up the steps, Casita dropped them off directly at the room and opened the door for them.

As Jovena stepped through the door, Miguel turned around, his face still stuck in a mixture of amazement and confusion. "Um, thanks, Casita?"

The house gave one more round of noise at this, seemingly puffing up with pride.

"Jovena," Alejandra called out as Jovena was about to close the door.

"Yes, abuela?" Jovena turned to face her.

"Come, come. I want you to meet Alma's second child, Pepa. She's around your age," the old lady said, waving over toward an auburn-haired woman in a colorful sundress.

Jovena took a step forward, but Miguel shooed her away, mouthing, "Go have fun," before leaving the room.

After Jovena scurried off to converse with one of the Madrigals, Miguel fully stepped into the room and took in the decorations. Bright colors lit up the space, and funny characters were drawn all around. On the bed, several hand-stitched toys sat next to the pillows, perfect for his daughter's age.

Alma noticed his observations and spoke up as she shifted the blankets to make space for the child. "My son, Bruno, saw your arrival a few weeks ago. I made sure a room was prepared for your daughter."

Thanking her, Miguel sat the child down on the bed. "Is that so? Then why was everyone so surprised?"

"When Bruno approached me with his vision, I ensured that it was kept confidential, shared only amongst between my three children and me. I did not wish for it to become a big issue, especially since you were all arriving for something other than a celebration."

Nodding his head at her answer, Miguel bent down to tuck his daughter in. As he leaned over to adjust the edge of her blanket, a soft voice caught his attention.

"Pápa..." The little girl's voice was weak and strained.

Miguel turned to face his daughter and knelt beside her bed, gently brushing her hair from her face. "What is it, my muñequita?" he asked, his heart aching at the sight of the bags under her eyes; she was far too young to experience it.

"Pápa, it hurts..." she whined, tears streaming down her cheeks. "My chest hurts."

Miguel's heart sank as he saw the pain in his daughter's eyes. "Shh, mi amor," he whispered, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "You'll feel better soon, I promise."

Alma watched the scene unfold, her heart heavy with sadness at the sight of the little girl in pain.

Just in time, Julieta arrived with a tray holding a small cup of soup. "I'm here~" she sang softly, "I've been stuck for the past ten minutes deciding what I should make, but ultimately decided to cook up a portion of chicken noodle soup."

Miguel raised an eyebrow at the small portion. "Is that all you're going to give her?"

"Yes, she won't need much," Julieta replied, gently setting the tray in front of the child.

"You see, Julieta's gift is being able to heal with her cooking. Whenever someone is hurt or sick, all it takes is one bite for them to instantly feel better," Alma explained, seeing the incredulous look on the male's face.

Though he wanted to protest, Miguel knew the earful he'd get from his grandmother, so he stepped back, allowing her to feed his daughter the soup.

The small child ate with ravenous hunger because, for the first time in forever, she didn't immediately throw it back up.

The little girl shook her head. "My chest still hurts."

Miguel mumbled a few curses under his breath. "I knew it! Abuelita talked me into coming all this way for something that didn't even work." He stormed out of the room to find his wife and grandmother, leaving the two eldest Madrigals in the room alone with the child.

Julieta's brows furrowed in worry as she looked back at her mother. She hoped to communicate, 'I don't know why it didn't work! It usually works.' Her mother replied with a nod that said, 'I understand, mija. Don't stress yourself. There's nothing wrong with your gift, but there is something wrong with the child.'

The little girl just stared up at them, waiting for someone to say anything. When all the two women did was look at each other, she let out a small cough. "Though my chest still hurts, can I still get some more soup? My face doesn't feel hot anymore."

Julieta's eyes lit up. The child was just like her. Just as Juliet could heal others, her healing didn't work too well on herself. For instance, if she were to cut herself while cooking and eat something to heal it, instead of healing right up as it would do for anyone else, it would take a bit longer. A scab would form in the next hour, and it would completely heal up by the end of the second day. "Of course, darling, I'll go get the soup," she hummed before rushing out of the room, making sure to drag her mother behind her.

Five minutes passed, and the child continued to sit, waiting for her food.

At the sound of the door creaking open, she sat up, anticipating the arrival of the woman with her meal. But to her surprise, it was a little boy wearing a yellow ruana over a white, long-sleeved shirt, paired with black pants.

The boy was small, with a wild head of dark auburn hair that curled in several directions. As he peeked around the door, the little girl caught a glimpse of his green eyes, which sparkled with mischief.

"What are you doing?" The girl asked before coughing into her elbow.

The boy's green eyes narrowed at her, and his lips pulled down into a frown. "It's because of you!" he suddenly exclaimed, racing towards the end of the girl's bed.

"Huh?"

"You stole the attention from me! Today was supposed to be about me getting my awesome gift, and now everyone's talking about a sick little girl."

The girl frowned back at him. "I'm not little," she sniffed, "I'm five."

"So am I."

"Then how can you call me little if we're the same age?"

The boy blushed when he realized she was right. "B-Because you're shorter than me, so that makes you little!"

"How would you know? I'm lying in bed," the girl replied, giving him a skeptical look.

"I just do, okay!"

"Okay, then."

The boy narrowed his eyes at her. "You don't sound like you believe me."

"Because I don't," she replied, "My mamá told me to always agree if you think someone will try to prolong a stupid argument."

"Pro-long. What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but if my mamá said it, it must be a smart word."

"Whatever. Your mamá is wrong, because I know for a fact I'm taller than you," he said, puffing out his chest.

The girl bristled at his words. "How would youㅡ" Her sentence was cut off with a gasp as the little boy suddenly transformed into a man as tall as the door.

"See, I'm tall," the man replied, sending the girl a smirk.

"How did you do that?" the girl wondered, her eyes glittering with excitement as the man turned back into a boy.

"It's my gift," he said with a bright smile. "I can change into whoever I want."

Clapping her hands, the girl wiggled in her bed. "Oh, do me, do me!"

"Alright, calm down," the boy said, walking closer to her. "Let me see what you look like." And with that, he leaned in close to the girl's face.

He was so close that she could see the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, and how his hazel-green eyes held a few golden specks.

After a few more seconds of examining her face, the boy stood back, and in the blink of an eye, there stood the girl.

"Woah," she breathed in awe, watching as her own face showed the same expression.

Holding her hand up, her mirror image did the same until their hands were touching.

"So cool," she breathed out.

The boy shifted back, a proud smirk on his lips. "As it should be. I'm the Amazing Camilo! No one could ever top my powers."

Just as he finished his little introduction, a shout rang through the house. "Camilo Madrigal! Where are you!? It's past your bedtime, young man!"

The boy'sㅡCamilo's face grew one of panic. As the shouts grew nearer, he lost control and shifted into multiple people at once, resulting in funny combinations that the little girl couldn't help but giggle at.

Camilo's shifting stopped abruptly, and he gazed at her with a grin.

Suddenly, the floorboards beneath his feet began to shake, slowly carrying him toward the door.

"Casita, I don't want to go to bed," he whined, plopping down onto the floor. Still, the house continued to move him, despite his pleas.

As Camilo's body was about to leave the room, he grabbed hold of the door frame. "Hey, what's your name?"

The girl, still chuckling at his antics, finally told him, "It's Y/N" and with that, he was gone.

Shifting back onto the pillow as silence encased you, you could only yawn.

Just before getting there, you felt sick to the bone, unable to move.

All the times your parents and bisabuela called your name, you wanted to respond, but couldn't. But now, after eating the tasty soup, you have enough energy to talk.

Hopefully, you'll get better soon.

***Bear with me ppl, just one more chapter then you'll be done with the introduction arc.

I can't help it. I just can't give a half-assed first chapter before moving on, I gotta world build in this peace 😭😭

Did I do good tho? 👁👄👁

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | Yo soy⌟

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[A/N: 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐩 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 3𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 2𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐎𝐕, 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞.]

The sky rumbled ominously with blinding lights as rain poured down from the heavens.

In the crevices of an eroded mountain sat a small cabin, sheltered away from the thundering storm.

Inside the cabin sat a middle-aged woman, who sang olden hymns under her breath as she tended to the sick 5-year-old splayed out on the bed.

"My little one," she sighed in sadness, keeping her tears at bay as she watched how her child's chest slowly went up and down in labored breaths.

Just as she reached forward to fluff the pillow, the door to the creaky opened, and in walked a middle-aged man.

The woman looked up, a tired smile growing on her lips. "Miguel, you're home."

The man smiled back at her as he walked over to the bed, setting the bowl of water on the bedside table before bending over to place a kiss on her lips. "How is she, Jovena? Is she alright?"

"I'm afraid not," Jovena told him, reaching over to dip the cloth in the bowl before gently wiping off the sweat littered across the little girl's forehead. "Her fever hasn't broken. I'm afraid it's getting worse."

Kneeling by the bed, Miguel gave a deep sigh as he watched his wife cater to their sick child.

"If her fever hasn't broken by sunrise, we will have no choice but to ask them for help."

Turning towards the door, Miguel shook his head at the sound of his grandmother's voice, "Abuelita, no. I will not risk the life of my child for help that isn't guaranteed."

An older woman with grey hair hobbled into the little room, her body formed into a hunch. "Nonsense, she will receive help. They owe us after all."

Jovena quickly got up and walked over to the elderly before her husband could say anything, "Abuelita, please, take my seat." Taking her gently by the arm, she led the old lady next to the chair.

The second the elderly woman sat down, her eyes were drawn towards the sickly child. "Miguel,"ㅡshe set her cane to the side to wipe the child's foreheadㅡ"as I've stated before, she needs help. Something we can't give her. We need to take her to them."

"Why should we beg for them to help us, abuela!? After all that we've doneㅡsacrificed for them, they turn around and left us at a time when we needed them most! I refuseㅡ"

"No! No more talking! You'll listen to me because I'll only say it once," the old woman cut him off, her eyes narrowing into slits, "Your child is dying. The sickness has grasped her, taking it to the point where we can no longer provide help to make her better! We can do no more! Now is the time to push away your pride and take her to those that can. I will not allow another life to die on my watch."

The room went silent; the only sounds to be heard were the patter of raindrops against the wood shutters and the wheezes of the aforementioned child.

Miguel allowed his head to drop in shame, knowing deep down that the older woman was right, "Abuelitaㅡ"

"No. I don't want to hear any more excuses, Miguel," the old woman sighed, her age showing with the heavy look on her face. "There was nothing I could do for your mother. But her...."ㅡshe looked down at the sleeping childㅡ"I can save. So please, allow them to help her."

As the man stood, watching his grandmother clutch the rag in her hand as she stared down at his daughter, his dying daughter, he knew what he needed to do.

Looking over at his teary-eyed wife, he reached over to tenderly cup her face before facing his grandmother once more. "Okay, Abuelita. I will take her to them."

☆

The journey took three days and four nights of stormy weather before the small family reached their destination.

A flash of lightning illuminated the area, showcasing a giant rock wall.

"Abuelita, it seems that we've hit a dead-end," Miguel called out through the rain, stopping the mule before a small riverbed, "Did we head in the wrong direction?"

The old woman's voice was carried out from the cloth-covered wagon. "No, we are at the right place."

Miguel looked over at his wife in confusion at his grandmother's words. "But there's a wall of rock. If our destination is beyond it, how are we going to get past it?"

"Patience, dear Miguel. Our goal is there. You just have to look closer."

Taking the old woman's advice, Miguel led the donkey over the riverbed, the wagon making splashing sounds as it followed, stopping until they were directly before the wall.

Hopping down, Miguel walked over to Jovena, lifting her off the wagon with ease, before walking towards the back to lift the white cloth that sheltered those from the rain.

The sight Miguel was met with was his daughter swaddled up in blankets as his grandmother fed her herbal water, singing soft words of encouragement.

Stepping aside to allow Jovena to climb inside to try and cool down the feverish child, Miguel grabbed a nearby cloth to drape over his grandmother's frame before helping her down from the carriage.

"So where is the entrance, Abuelita?" Miguel wondered, keeping the old woman from falling over slippery stones as they walked closer to the wall.

"Right there." She pointed over to an uninteresting crevice in the rocks; it looked nearly identical to the hundreds of others that lined the wall.

Miguel looked unsure of where she was pointing; the space looked barely big enough for Jovena to slip through, let alone him. "Are you sure that's the entrance?"

The old woman gave a tired sigh, yanking her arm from Miguel's arm to hobble over the crease, mumbling harshly under her breath, "Idiota, nieto.Nunca presta atención. Todo lo que hace es hablar, hablar, hablar....*"

After a few seconds of touching the inside of the crease, the old woman found a small button-like pebble. "A-ha!" she cried in victory; quickly pressing the pebble, she shuffled back, allowing the crease to creak open in a door-like fashion.

[A/N: Pretend this is a well-kept secret that only a few people are aware of in order to travel and trade with other settlements.]

Miguel could only watch with raised eyebrows as his 87-year-old grandmother moved the wall wide enough for them to go through with ease.

"What a useless grandchild I have. Just watching as his poor Abuela does all the work," the old woman playfully tsked, wobbling back over to her grandson. "No worries, Miggy, you're still abuela's favorite grandson," she cooed, pinching his cheek before going back towards the wagon.

Turning to follow her, Miguel could only shake his head at her words. "But I'm your only grandson."

Making sure everyone was settled in, Miguel led the donkey through the large space, a shocked sound leaving him and Jovena when the rock slowly creaked back into place after their entrance, whilst Abuela behaved normally as if used to such an eccentric thing.

As the group traveled down the path, the weather fluctuated, from sunny at one moment, to rainy the next, even snowing at one point.

Soon, bright lights twinkled in the distance, as well as the sound of music.

The wagon came to a complete stop at the entrance of a town with a large sign that read "Encanto" and was decorated in several different colors of roses.

Looking back into the wagon, Miguel was met with the sight of his wife gently rocking their fussing daughter in her arms, trying to calm her.

He met his grandmother's eyes, who gave him a sharp nod.

Sucking in another breath, Miguel pushed the donkey to trot further into the town.

Translation: *Idiot, grandson. Never pays attention. All he does is just talk, talk, talk.

***Hello! And welcome to my first chapter of: Tactus Mortis which translates to The Touch of Death in Latin!

At first, I was going to write F/N & M/N for father's name and mother's name, but I didn't like it much, so I looked up the meaning of my own parents' name and found ones that mean the same/are similar in Spanish, so hopefully, none of you don't mind.

Also, I want it to be known that I know zero Spanish unless you count the cuss words and insults my friends teach me, so don't expect a lot, okay?

I'm just tryna do my best in creating a Camilo Madrigal fic I'd like to read because I haven't found one yet and as people say: "If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it," so without further ado, here's the book I want to read and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 00 Chapter 00 | Blurb⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Your body shakes uncontrollably as the voices escalate, their demands piercing through the fragile peace.

❝Please, let me tell my family that I love them!❞

❝My husband deserves to know what his sister did to me!❞

❝Help us... Help us... HELP US!!❞

❝I can't. I can't. I can't,❞ you trembled as you covered your ears in hopes of drowning them out, but it was no use.

Just as you're about to succumb to the overwhelming despair, a sudden grip on your shoulders jolts you, and you brace for the familiar mockery of a spirit's deception. Instead, a voice cuts through the chaos, clear and unmistakably real. ❝Hey, Y/N. Calm down. Please, calm down. I'm here.❞

Cautiously, you open your eyes, meeting two pools of green filled with worry.

Your heart wants to believe it's truly him, but your mind rebels, scarred by too many deceptions; too many times than you could count, you found yourself in a similar predicament, yet when you allowed yourself to relax, you found that instead of really being someone you cared for, it was just a spirit playing jokes.

Flinching back, you shook your head, ❝No. No. No. You aren't real. You aren't real. You aren't real,❞ you chant, body curling in on yourself as you expected a spirit's mocking laughter to follow.

Yet, the laughter never comes. Instead, you feel two hands cover the ones you held over your ears.

They were...warm...a sensation both unfamiliar and comforting.

Spirits have never possessed warmth; their touch has always been a cold reminder of their otherness.

Slowly, your breathing steadies under his touch, and you dare to lift your gaze, allowing yourself to truly see him.

Golden-brown skin that speaks of sun-kissed days.

A wild mane of curls that defied gravity, seemingly untamable, no matter how much it was brushed.

Two gorgeous green eyes that made you feel as if you were lost in a forest of evergreen trees.

And freckles—so many freckles to count—scattered across his nose and cheeks like stars against the dusk of his skin.

Noticing your attention, Camilo offers a gentle smile. ❝There she is,❞ he whispered, his hands moving from your ears to cradle your face.

❝Y-You're real,❞ you manage, the statement half question, half revelation.

Camilo's smile widens, and he hums in affirmation, his gaze softening as he looks at you. ❝Yeah, Y/N,❞ he gently caressed the side of your face. ❝I'm real.❞

You were blessed with the gift of seeing the undead.

Though seen as evil and devilish by many, the Madrigals showed you the beauty that comes with it and that your gift doesn't define you.

Now, turning 17, you find that your gift continues to grow—from being able to just see the dead, to being able to allow them to communicate with the living through you.

You find yourself drowning under the pressure from both the living and the undead, yet before you can completely hit rock bottom, a certain curly-haired trickster vows to be the one to save you.

╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮ There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:

╭ ⁞ ❏. Death/Mentions of death

Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡

Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)

ㅡ This book takes place 2 years after the main plot in Encanto, so just think of it as a canon-divergent, since all that happened in the movie stays true.

ㅡ Also, no smut since Camilo is underage. IDC if he got aged up, it still wouldn't make it any better; 17 is a minor. Now, Uncle Bruno tho 👀 jkjk. Unless??

ㅡ A few headcanons will be immersed into the story, just to make it a bit towards my liking (you'll know when you see them) and I would like to just paste the link of a few of what I liked; I may or may not include them, who know?

http://hourlyencantohcs.tumblr.com

**Most of these won't be from the reader herself, but fromㅡAAHHH! I want to say it, but I don't want to give away any plots 😭. Just know it won't be the overall theme of the book, just a few scenes. So don't worry, and if it'll make anyone feel better, I'll put a warning in a chapter that has these.

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 ᶜᵐ

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇦‌🇲‌🇮‌🇱‌🇴‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇩‌🇷‌🇮‌🇬‌🇦‌🇱‌ 🇫‌🇮‌🇨‌🇸‌⌝

━ ❝Y/N, remember, it's not about not failing. It's about doing your best and knowing that, regardless of the outcome, we'll all be here for you.❞

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you learn that there is beauty to death as there is for life.

Parts:

00 ┃ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁 - 500 wc

01 ┃ 𝐘𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐲 - 1.3k wc

02 ┃ 𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨 - 2.9k wc

03 ┃ 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 - 1.4k wc

04 ┃ 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨 - 1.9 wc

05 ┃ 𝐥𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 - 3.2 wc

06 ┃ 𝐋𝐚 𝐥𝐮𝐳 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚́ 𝐞𝐧 - 1.3 wc

07 ┃ 𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐣𝐨𝐬 - 3.0 wc

08 ┃ 𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 - 1.4 wc

09 ┃ 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐦𝐢́𝐨𝐬 - 1.8 wc

10 ┃ 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚́ - 2.1 wc

11 ┃ 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚́𝐧𝐝𝐨 - 1.2 wc

12 ┃ 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐨 - 1.3 wc

13 ┃ 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 - 1.3 wc

14 ┃ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐨 - 1.5 wc

15 ┃ 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐚 - 1.8k wc

16 ┃ 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: 𝐌𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐚 - 2.7 wc

⌜𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐮𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐅𝐢𝐜⌟

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　ᴇɴᴄᴀɴᴛᴏ!ᴀᴜ　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

[𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 : '𝐸𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜' 𝐛𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐡 & 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡]

➢ 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ➢ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 ➢ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 ➢ 𝐒𝐞𝐦𝐢-𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚

P.S. This is a FanFic (Fan-made fiction book). The original characters shown in this book is an entire work of fiction unless stated otherwise.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃: January 04, 2022 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃: January 04, 2022 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃: March 25, 2024

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: [30,500]

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winxanity-ii · 1 month

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 16 Chapter 16 | EPILOGUE: Muerto a la vida⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

In the days that follow, the community of Encanto comes together in a way it hasn't before. The Madrigals, always seen as the pillars of strength, now show a vulnerability that draws people closer rather than pushing them away. Your father—a constant presence by your side—helps bridge the gap between the past and present; his stories of your mother and the life you've led serve as a reminder of the resilience that runs in your family.

Camilo, in particular, remains a steadfast figure in your recovery. The two of you find moments of quiet amidst the healing chaos to discuss the events; the conversations often stretch into the night under the canopy of stars that seem to watch over Encanto with a renewed sense of guardianship.

"It's strange," you begin one evening, your voice a soft murmur against the gentle rustle of leaves, "to think of how much fear and pain can lead to... this. To healing, to understanding."

Camilo nods, his gaze thoughtful as he watches the play of moonlight through the branches."I think... I think it's about finding the light in the darkness. About not letting fear win."His eyes meet yours, and there's a depth there, an acknowledgment of the journey you've both undertaken.

"You were there," you say, the words heavy with unspoken emotion. "Even when I couldn't see you, even when I... I was lost. You were there."

Camilo's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a grip that's both comforting and grounding. "I'll always be there, Y/N. That's what families do, right? We stick together."

The simplicity of his words—the sincerity—strikes a chord within you. This moment, this connection, feels like the beginning of something new—a foundation built not on the magic that runs through your veins or the gifts that define the Madrigals, but on the mutual care and understanding that has blossomed between you.

As you hummed in agreement, repeating "Stick together," softly, your eyes locked onto his, finding a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. His gaze softened, a tender warmth radiating from him that made your heart flutter in your chest.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, Camilo raised your intertwined hands, his lips brushing against the back of your palm in a kiss so gentle it sent shivers down your spine. The action, so filled with care and affection, coaxed a giggle from you, your face warming with a blush that deepened the longer you gazed into his eyes.

Those eyes, a mesmerizing mix of green that you could indeed get lost in, held you captive. The freckles that scattered like stars across the bridge of his nose, each one a constellation you longed to trace, drew you in closer. And his lips—those soft, inviting lips that had haunted your dreams with the promise of what could be.

With a breath that trembled with anticipation, you reached up to caress his cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin under your fingertips. "Can I... Can I kiss you?" you whisper, the words barely escaping before doubt could silence them.

The question seemed to take Camilo by surprise, his smile faltering for a heartbeat before it was replaced by a look of wonder, his cheeks dusted with a blush that made him even more endearing. "Of course you can," he whispered back, his voice laced with excitement and a hint of nervousness.

In the next moment, your lips met his in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was soft, sweet, and filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up between you.

Camilo's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, enveloping you in a warmth that seeped into your very soul. You melted into the kiss, each gentle press of his lips against yours sending waves of happiness coursing through you.

As you pulled away, the smile on Camilo's face was radiant, his eyes gleaming with an adoration so pure it took your breath away. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch sending a thrill through you.

The world around you might as well have ceased to exist, for in that moment, there was only you and Camilo, bound together by a kiss that had sealed a promise of togetherness.

"Can I kiss you again?" you asked, your voice filled with a joy that bubbled up from deep within.

"Mi corazon, do you even have to ask?" Camilo laughed, his voice rich with affection.

You giggled, the sound mingling with the rain around you, and leaned in once more. This time, the kiss was filled with a playful passion, a celebration of the connection that had grown between you.

As the night deepens, you and Camilo continue to talk, the conversation meandering through hopes, fears, and dreams for the future. It's a balm to the soul, this sharing of selves, and you find yourself smiling, genuinely and freely, for the first time since the ordeal began.

The path to healing is long and winding, filled with moments of doubt and pain, but also with moments of incredible beauty and strength. You and Camilo, along with the Madrigals and the entire community of Encanto, are walking this path together, each step a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

And as dawn begins to break, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. The events that transpired have changed you, changed Encanto, but in the end, it's a change for the better. For in the face of darkness, you've all found a way to shine brighter, to hold onto hope and to each other.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Camilo would face them together, bound by love, laughter, and the unshakable belief in the strength of sticking together.

***Thank you all for supporting me on my lil book ❤️❤️.

I can't wait to get back into writing for other fandoms. see you guys on my next book! hint: It's set in BNHA 👀

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winxanity-ii · 1 month

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 15 Chapter 15 | Los muertos cobran vida⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As the weight of Siderio's accusations settles over the crowd, leaving a palpable tension hanging in the air, Camilo's voice suddenly pierces the silence, a beacon of defiance in the face of despair. "Let her go, Siderio!" he demands, his tone brimming with a mix of anger and desperation. His posture is one of unwavering determination, even as the rain lashes down around them, leaving him soaked but undeterred.

Siderio's gaze shifts towards Camilo, his expression one of disdain as he spits out, "Oh, you, the shapeshifter." He eyes Camilo with a dismissive sneer, his voice dripping with contempt. "I don't know why you bother. You don't know her like I do, her soul inside and out. You're nothing but a nuisance. Give up," he commands, waving Camilo off as if he were an insignificant obstacle.

But Camilo stands his ground, the resolve in his eyes unshaken. "That's not true!" he retorts, his voice rising above the storm's fury. "And she won't give up, not as long as we're here for her!" His declaration is more than a challenge; it's a promise, an oath made in the face of an enemy who seeks to dismantle everything they hold dear.

The townspeople, witnessing this exchange, find themselves caught between fear and hope, the courage of a young Madrigal igniting a flicker of unity among them. Camilo's refusal to back down, to cede ground to the specter that has taken you from them, serves as a rallying cry, a reminder that the strength of Encanto lies not in individual gifts but in the bonds that tie them together.

Siderio's scowl deepens, the red glow in his eyes intensifying as he realizes that Camilo's resolve, and the growing solidarity among the onlookers, poses a threat to his plans. Yet, in this moment of confrontation, it's clear that Camilo's words have struck a chord, challenging the narrative of division and highlighting the power of collective hope and resilience.

The Madrigals, united in purpose if not in method, encircle you, their faces etched with concern and determination. At the forefront is Camilo, his usual playfulness replaced by a fierce resolve. It's clear that whatever happens next, the path to freeing you from Sidero's grasp will not be easy nor without risk.

Camilo steps forward, his voice steady yet filled with warmth. "Sidero, I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But this... this isn't the way," he implores, his words reaching out not just to the spirit possessing you but to the pain and resentment that fueled his actions.

Your father, standing alongside the Madrigals, adds his voice to Camilo's plea. "Please, let my child go. We can find another way to honor your memory and the pain of those you wanted to save."

As Camilo's words hang in the air, a palpable tension grips the crowd, their collective breath held in anticipation of Siderio's response. The spirit, harboring decades of resentment and sorrow, teeters on the edge of unleashing a wrath that could devastate Encanto and its inhabitants. Yet, it's then, in the midst of this standoff, that you, trapped within the confines of your own mind yet somehow more present than ever, reach out to Siderio with a plea of your own. "Siderio, please," your voice, a whisper in the storm, imbued with the memories of a bond forged in the aftermath of loss.

A memory unfolds, a scene from a time when the world seemed too vast and your grief too deep. You were just seven, the pain of your mother's passing a constant echo in your heart. Beneath the sapling that Isabela had grown in her memory, you sat, a small figure engulfed by sorrow. It was there Siderio found you, his presence a silent offer of companionship in your solitude.

"Hello, chiquita," his voice, gentle, a contrast to the turmoil within you.

"Hi, Siderio," your response, muted, bereft of its usual vibrancy.

In the quiet shadow of the sapling, you looked up at Siderio, his form less intimidating in the shared silence of grief. "How do you deal with missing them?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, curiosity and sorrow mingling in your young eyes.

Siderio floated closer, his spectral presence somehow comforting in the moment. "I talk to them," he began, his voice carrying a wistful tone. "I tell them about my day, my fears, and my hopes. It's as if they're still here with me... listening."

Your eyes widened, a sense of wonder replacing the initial sadness. "Can we make a promise?" you ventured, the idea forming as the words spilled out. "To always be there for each other, even if you're... not really here?"

Siderio's ethereal form seemed to brighten, a smile tugging at the corners of his ghostly visage. "I would like that very much, chiquita."

Encouraged, you extended your pinky, a universal gesture of trust and friendship among children. "Let's pinky promise then," you declared, a smile breaking through your sorrow.

Siderio, amused and touched by the gesture, attempted to wrap his own translucent pinky around yours. But as his hand phased through yours, a soft chuckle escaped him. "It seems we'll have to find another way to seal our promise," he said, the humor in the situation not lost on either of you.

The air around you seems to thicken, a visible manifestation of Sidero wrestling with the emotions these appeals stir within him. For a moment, it seems as if nothing will change, that the grip of vengeance is too strong to break. But then, something remarkable happens.

A soft, almost imperceptible glow begins to emanate from within you, a light that grows steadily in intensity until it fills the entire square. It's the magic of the Encanto, but it's different somehow—infused with empathy, understanding, and a deep, abiding love. It's the collective will of the Madrigals and the townspeople, their desire for peace and reconciliation made manifest.

As the light surrounds you, you feel the oppressive weight of Sidero's presence begin to lessen, his hold on you weakening as he's confronted with the realization that revenge will not heal the wounds of the past. In this light, he sees not enemies but people willing to acknowledge his pain, to offer solace and understanding.

"Sidero, it's time to let go," you find yourself saying, your voice clear and strong, free from the influence that had silenced you. "Let us help you find peace."

There's a moment of resistance, a final, futile attempt to cling to the anger that had defined Sidero's existence for so long. But then, as if exhaling a breath he'd been holding for years, Sidero relents. The red in your eyes fades, replaced once again by their natural hue, as the spirit's essence lifts from your body, coalescing into a form that stands before you.

Sidero, now visibly at peace, nods in understanding and gratitude. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice echoing with the weight of unshed tears and unspoken apologies. With one last look, a silent farewell to you and those who had stood by your side, he turns and steps into the light, his form dissolving until nothing remains but a gentle breeze that caresses your cheek like a benediction.

As consciousness gently pulls you back from the brink of darkness, the first thing you notice is the warmth enveloping you, a stark contrast to the cold grip of the void you've just returned from. Your eyes flutter open, struggling against the brightness of the world you're re-entering. And there, looming into your blurry vision, is Camilo's face, etched with lines of worry and relief. His green eyes, usually dancing with mischief, now shimmer with unspoken concern.

"There she is," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to the chaos that had just ensued in your mind. His hand, warm and reassuring, caresses the apple of your cheek, grounding you to the here and now. Despite the whirlwind of emotions, a small smile finds its way to your lips, a silent thank you for his presence, for being your anchor in the storm.

He helps you sit up, his hands steady and gentle, and before you can fully orient yourself, you're enveloped in another embrace. This one's different; it's filled with a familiar warmth, a protective strength that you've known all your life. Your father's arms wrap around you, his body trembling with a mix of fear and relief.

"Muñequita, I was so worried," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. You can feel his breath shudder as he exhales, a father's relief at seeing his child safe. The term of endearment, one he's used since you were a child, feels like a lifeline, pulling you further away from the darkness that had threatened to consume you.

"I'm sorry, Papa," you manage to say, your voice a mere whisper as you cling to him. The apology is for the scare you've given him, for the moments of terror he must have felt watching you collapse, a pawn in a game played by forces beyond your understanding.

But in this moment, as you sit there surrounded by the people who mean the world to you, you realize the strength of the bonds that tie you to this life. Camilo's unwavering support, your father's unconditional love—these are the beacons that guide you back, time and again, from the brink.

As you look around, taking in the faces of the Madrigals and the townspeople gathered around, you see not just concern but a shared resolve. This experience, terrifying though it was, has only served to strengthen the ties that bind you to your community, to the magic that flows through Encanto.

The ordeal with Sidero, the journey through darkness to bring light to a tormented soul, has left its mark on you, but it has also revealed the depth of your own strength and the unbreakable bonds of family and friendship. And as you sit there, nestled in the safety of your father's embrace, with Camilo's hand in yours, you know that no matter what challenges may come, you're not alone. Together, you've faced the darkness and emerged stronger for it.

This moment, a quiet pause in the aftermath of turmoil, is a testament to the power of love and the unyielding spirit of those who stand together in the face of adversity. And as you finally let go of the fear and the apologies, you allow yourself to lean into the love and support that surrounds you, ready to face whatever the future holds, together.

***this book is like my lil baby can't believe i finished it🥹🥹🥹

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winxanity-ii · 1 month

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 14 Chapter 14 | contigo⌟

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As you find yourself at the heart of the ceremony, a sudden, inexplicable force bursts forth from within you, casting Camilo, your father, and the onlooking Madrigals away as if they were mere leaves caught in a fierce wind. Their bodies are flung backward, expressions etched with a mix of utter shock and deep fear, as they struggle to comprehend the unseen power that has just torn through the fabric of reality.

In the midst of this chaos, your form begins a slow, eerily graceful ascent, rising above the cobblestones of the town square. Arms extend outward, your posture mirroring a figure of crucifixion, head lolling backward in a silent plea to the heavens. Your eyes, now glowing a deep, menacing red, fixate on the darkened sky above, a silent witness to the storm that rages not just outside, but within.

Around you, the rain intensifies, each drop a torrential downpour that seeks to drown the world in its sorrow. Yet, remarkably, not a single droplet touches you; they veer away at the last moment, repelled by an unseen shield that encircles your levitating form. This bubble of dryness amidst the deluge becomes a symbol of your isolation, the physical manifestation of the barrier that now separates you from everything you hold dear.

From below, your father's voice cuts through the storm's cacophony, desperate and laden with an agony that mirrors the tumult in your own soul. "Muñequita, please!" he cries, his plea a beacon of love in the overwhelming darkness. But it's as if you're in another world entirely, his words unable to bridge the distance that this unseen force has created.

Inside, trapped within the confines of your own mind, you're a spectator to your own body's betrayal, screaming for release, for any semblance of control. Yet, your cries echo back, unanswered, in this prison of darkness until a chillingly familiar voice whispers, offering no comfort, only resignation. "There's no use. You might as well give up."

Turning, you're met with Sidero's visage, a ghostly figure who had once been a source of comfort, now the architect of your despair. Relief at the sight of him quickly morphs into confusion and then horror as you realize what he meant.

"Sidero," you start, voice trembling with a mix of betrayal and disbelief, "why?"

He looks at you, his expression a complex tapestry of sorrow and resolve. "I suppose it's time you knew the truth," he begins, his voice echoing strangely in the confines of your internal prison.

The space around you shifts, colors and shapes melding into scenes from a past not your own. You watch, helpless, as Sidero narrates the tale of his life—and his death. "I was just a boy, no older than you are now," he says, the scenery changing to show a vibrant town, its life snuffed out by disease. "My family, my friends... I watched them fall, one by one, to an illness we had no means to fight."

You see him there, a young boy with eyes too old for his face, the specter of death looming over his town. "Encanto was a mere legend to us, a whispered fairy tale of magic and miracles. But when I passed, and I saw it... saw them," he continues, the vision morphing to show the Madrigals in all their vibrant glory, "I realized the truth."

The bitterness in his voice is palpable as he recounts how he latched onto you, a lifeline to the physical world, during a moment of your own vulnerability. "You were so close to death, so close to joining me in the void. But you lived. And through you, I saw my chance for... justice."

The word hangs heavy between you, a condemnation of the Madrigals' perceived selfishness. "They had the power to heal, to save, but they chose to hide away. My family, my town, we could have been saved. But we were left to suffer, to die, because they wouldn't leave their precious Encanto."

The visions Sidero conjures are vivid, heart-wrenching—images of suffering and despair outside the magical borders of Encanto, a stark contrast to the peace and prosperity within. "And so, I made you my vessel, a bridge between the living and the dead. Through you, I'd bring them to their knees, make them see the cost of their isolation."

As the last of his words fade, the visions dissolve, leaving you back in the dark recesses of your own mind, facing the ghost who had been your friend, your confidant. Now, he stands revealed as the architect of your torment, a spirit consumed by vengeance and a twisted sense of justice.

"Sidero, how could you?" The question is a whisper, a reflection of the hurt and betrayal that courses through you. His plan, his hatred for the Madrigals, has turned your gift into a curse, made you the unwitting perpetrator of his revenge.

As Siderio's scowl fades, replaced by a look of what might be construed as regret, he steps closer, his movements slow, almost hesitant. "If there was another way, I'd do it," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the cold anger that had filled the space between you moments before. He reaches out, his hand coming to rest gently against your cheek, a gesture that once would have offered solace now only serves to heighten the sense of betrayal coiling within you.

You instinctively turn away, repelled by the touch that now feels like a violation. His hand falls away, and a huff of frustration escapes him. "You'll understand sooner or later," he insists, the softness giving way once more to bitterness. "Those Madrigals are selfish, caring for nothing but themselves." His frown deepens, the scowl returning as his eyes begin to glow an ominous red, mirroring the storm of emotions raging within him.

His rant escalates, anger and resentment fueling his words until they are a venomous tirade against the Madrigals. "They deserve to pay for their crimes," he declares, the intensity of his fury sealing you away, leaving you a silent witness to his full possession of your body.

In the heart of Encanto's town square, with the Madrigals and townsfolk gathered in a tense circle, the atmosphere thickens with anticipation. Your body becomes a conduit for Siderio's fury; his voice, emanating from you, is laced with venom, each word a dagger aimed at the heart of the Madrigal family.

"People of Encanto," Siderio begins, his tone dripping with disdain, "you stand here, blind to the selfishness that festers within the walls of that magical house." The crowd shifts uneasily, the air charged with a growing sense of unease.

"For years," he continues, "the Madrigals have hoarded their gifts, basking in your adoration while just beyond these walls, people suffer, people die—abandoned and forgotten." Murmurs ripple through the assembly, faces turning towards the Madrigals, seeking denial, seeking reassurance.

"Alma Madrigal," Siderio's voice booms, "patriarch of this so-called blessed family. Tell them, tell them about the families that could have been saved, the lives that could have been spared if only you had stepped beyond your precious boundaries."

The accusation hits like a physical blow, and Alma stands, her posture that of a leader, yet the sorrow in her eyes speaks volumes. "We did what we thought was best to protect our own," she starts, her voice barely above a whisper as she attempts to explain, to justify. "The world beyond our home is fraught with danger. We couldn't risk exposing our family, our children, to that—"

"Protect your own? Excuses!" he scoffs, his voice growing bitter, as he recounts the loss of his own family, the helplessness and despair that marked his final moments. "My family... we could have been saved. But you chose to keep your gifts to yourselves, hoarding your miracles while the rest of us perished. What of the children who starved, while your tables overflowed with food? Your gifts, a beacon of hope you chose to extinguish for those not fortunate enough to be born within your enchanted borders."

Gasps and murmurs swell in the crowd, the image of the Madrigals as protectors and heroes cracking under the weight of Siderio's words. Children cling to their parents, their eyes wide with fear and confusion, while the younger Madrigals, those who had grown under the shelter of innocence and pride, look to Alma, their foundation, now questioned.

"You speak of danger beyond the walls, but the true danger lies in your greed, in your refusal to share your miracles," Siderio rages on, his anger palpable. "While you chose to watch from your walls, people died. Families were torn apart. And for that, you shall all pay."

The declaration, a curse spoken through tears and centuries of pent-up bitterness, leaves the square in stunned silence. Alma, the matriarch, the symbol of the Madrigal legacy, stands diminished, her struggle to defend her family's choices laid bare before those she sought to protect and those she inadvertently harmed.

***poor siderio 💔💔.

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winxanity-ii · 1 month

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 13 Chapter 13 | solo⌟

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Before the dawn had fully broken, you found yourself in the quiet sanctity of your room, kneeling before the large, ornately framed painting of Santa Muerte. The air was heavy with the scent of marigolds, the flowers traditionally believed to ward off evil spirits. With a deep, steadying breath, you closed your eyes, allowing the serene silence to envelop you, save for the soft whisper of your own voice as you began your morning prayer.

"Hear my prayers, Santa Muerte, mother of death, most Holy of all. May you give me strength to continue your work with your very presence. I ask, oh Holy Mother, that with your scythe you protect me from the dark spirits that wish to weaken my faith. Oh Miraculous Muerte, cleanse my soul for today and the days ahead so that I may continue to be your ever-faithful servant."

The words flowed from you in a reverent cadence, repeated twice more, each iteration accompanied by a bow of deep respect. Upon completing the third recitation, the two candles that flanked the painting flickered out in unison, a sign you took as an affirmation of your prayer being heard. A warmth, comforting and reassuring, washed over you, leaving a gentle smile on your lips as you rose.

Gathering the candles and other ritualistic items, you carefully put them away, knowing they would be called upon again for your nightly prayer. The moment of spiritual communion bolstered your resolve, infusing you with a sense of purpose and protection as you prepared to face the day ahead.

☆

Despite the spiritual fortitude you had drawn from your morning prayer, you were dead on your feet, your heart heavy with exhaustion as you made your way through the cobblestone streets of Encanto towards the town square. The encounter with Camilo, still fresh and stinging, weighs on your mind, casting a shadow over your already daunting task. Despite this, you muster every ounce of strength to push through, driven by a sense of duty and the fear of letting down the Madrigals, your father, and the spirits counting on you.

The ceremony is set to begin under the fading light of the day, the town square filled with the faces of those you've grown up with, those you've helped, and those you're about to guide in this sacred ritual. As you step onto the stage, your heart beats a frantic rhythm, not just from nervousness but from a deep-seated dread that something, somehow, might go wrong.

Drawing a deep breath, you begin, your voice carrying across the crowd. "I want to start by thanking Doña Alma and the Madrigal family, for not just their unwavering support in preparing for today, but for their constant guidance and love. Without them, and without all of you, none of this would be possible."

You then turn your attention to Isabela. "Isabela, if you would, please bring forth the sacred thistle." As you speak, Isabela steps forward, her hands dancing in the air, coaxing the earth to yield its treasure. A single thistle rises from the ground, its petals glowing with an ethereal light, a symbol of resilience and protection. It's not just a plant; it's a beacon, guiding spirits back to the world of the living.

"Louisa," you continue, your gaze shifting to where she stands, ready at the large cauldron. "Please place the thistle within." Louisa moves with purpose, her actions resonating with the significance of the moment. The thistle drops into the cauldron, its essence merging with the flames, sending plumes of fragrant smoke into the air.

Inhaling deeply, the smoke's mystical properties begin their work, easing the tension in your mind, opening the pathways to the spiritual realm. You feel the veil between worlds thinning, the presence of spirits drawing near, their whispers like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

Your eyes sweep across the crowd, landing momentarily on Camilo. A pang of unresolved pain tightens your chest at the sight of him, the echoes of his words still haunting you. You tear your gaze away, the ache in your heart a stark contrast to the purpose that drives you forward. Unbeknownst to you, Camilo watches, confusion and concern etched into his features, unaware of the turmoil that brews within you, believing the day to have been just another moment shared in the continuum of your intertwined lives.

With the stage set and your spirit attuned to the task at hand, you begin your speech, a call to the spirits to join in this sacred assembly. "Tonight, we stand at the threshold between worlds, not as strangers but as kin. We invite you, our ancestors, our loved ones, to share in this moment, to feel the warmth of our fires, and to know that you are remembered, cherished—AHH!"

But the words are abruptly severed, a lance of pain stabbing through your skull, so sharp, so sudden, it steals your breath away. Your speech fractures into a cry, the sound torn from the depths of your soul. The world tilts, darkness nibbling at the edges of your vision, and you collapse, knees buckling beneath you, the stage rising up to meet you with a jarring thud.

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd, a wave of shock that mirrors the confusion and fear that grips your heart. In the fleeting moment before darkness claims you, you catch a glimpse of Camilo, his expression a mix of alarm and desperation, moving toward you even as you succumb to the void, the ceremony forgotten in the wake of an unforeseen crisis that threatens to engulf you whole.

Above, the sky turned ominously dark, thick thunderclouds unfurling with an intensity that seemed to match the turmoil within, icy rain began to pour down in sheets. Camilo, his curls plastered to his face by the deluge, wrapped his arms protectively around you, attempting to shield you from the relentless downpour. "Mamá! What are you doing?!" he cried out, looking towards Pepa with a blend of confusion and desperation.

Pepa, standing amidst the gathering, wore a mask of confusion and worry that mirrored the sentiments of everyone around. She fought against the weather, her powers striving to dispel the storm and restore the serene skies. Yet, it was as if an unseen force rebuffed her efforts, each attempt repelled with a force that seemed to cause her physical pain.

Felix, observing the toll it was taking on her, approached with a gentle firmness. "Love, stop," he urged, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of the storm. Pepa's attempts to combat the weather ceased, though her expression remained fraught with concern.

A collective unease enveloped the crowd, the shock and fear palpable in the air as they witnessed the unexpected turn of events. The ceremony, once a beacon of unity and celebration, had been forgotten, eclipsed by a crisis that seemed to pull you into its depths further away from their reach.

Then, in a moment that feels both like an eternity and an instant, your eyes snap open. But they're no longer the brown eyes familiar to your friends and family; they blaze with a glowing red light, fierce and otherworldly, a stark contrast to the person they know.

The town square falls into a hushed silence, a collective breath held in anticipation, fear, and awe. The manifestation of your power, now intertwined with a mysterious and dark force, sets the stage for a confrontation that no one, not even you, could have anticipated.

***Bear with me ppl, just a few more chapters, promise i won't leave y'all hanging lol. sorry for not updating friday 💔and not me having an exam tomorrow 💀 finna cram study so hard then have an existential crisis with the realization that the professor gave me weeks in advance to learn the materials for a reason🥴

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 12 Chapter 12 | me bueno⌟

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Today felt different for Camilo, lighter somehow, as if the morning air carried a hint of promise. From the moment he woke, his mind was teeming with thoughts of you. Lately, the dynamics between the two of you had shifted; gone were the days of him playing childish tricks on you followed by your exasperated scolds, instead replaced by meaningful conversations tinged with understanding and, dare he admit, a touch of affection. Somewhere along the line, without him even realizing it, his perception of you shifted, and now he finds himself drawn to you in a way he can't quite explain.

Racing down the stairs of Casita, he barely managed to grab a bite, his response to Pepa's inquiring gaze muffled by a mouthful of bread. "Just heading out," he muttered, the underlying message clear in his haste: he couldn't wait to meet you.

The jog to your shop did little to quell the smile that played on his lips, a smile born from the budding realization that his feelings for you might be evolving. Arriving at your shop, breathless and eager, he's met with disappointment—the door is locked, and a note reading "Be back, on lunch" greets him instead of your familiar face. Frustrated, he kicks at a stray pebble, contemplating how to kill time until your return.

That's when he spots Mirabel making her way down the road, her steps drawing her ever closer down the path towards him. A spark of mischief ignites within him, and before he can second-guess the impulse, he shifts into your form, taking on your appearance with an accuracy that spoke of his keen observational skills, just as Mirabel called out in greeting.

Turning around just in time to meet Mirabel's approach with a smile he imagines you might give—sweet and kind—he greeted, "Hey, Mirabel!" His voice, now yours, carried the unique timbre and inflections that were distinctly you.

The conversation flows easily at first, Camilo slipping into your mannerisms with practiced ease, navigating through the pleasantries and everyday small talk: discussing the shop, the clients, and the simple ebb and flow of daily life.

Everything proceeded without a hitch until Mirabel, with a hint of curiosity, ventured a question that veered into more personal territory and asked, "So, how have you and Camilo been?"

Caught in the moment and perhaps too invested in his impersonation, Camilo found himself responding with a sincerity that caught even him off guard. "Oh, we've been good. He's actually pretty cool," he found himself saying, momentarily forgetting his guise amidst the authenticity of the moment.

Mirabel's response was immediate silence, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she digested the words. "Camilo, cool?"

Realizing his slip-up, Camilo panics internally. You would never openly praise him like that. With a nervous laugh, he nudges Mirabel, hastily, "Ha! C'mon, Mira. You should have seen your face. We both know those words practically contradict each other's existence!"

Mirabel's skepticism didn't wane as she eyed Camilo critically, her "Yeah?" laced with doubt.

Yet, seizing the moment to salvage his ruse, Camilo leaned into his facade with gusto. "Oh, come on, Mira. You know me better," he quipped, channeling your supposed exasperation. "That tramposo, always a whirlwind of mischief. As if I'd suddenly sing praises of his antics."

Her suspicion seemed to waver, replaced by a chuckle, a sound of relief mingling with amusement. "For a moment there, I thought... Well, never mind. You had me going." Her laughter, though brief, was a testament to Camilo's convincing performance. But then, with a glance at the sky and a sudden recollection, she exclaimed, "Oh! I'm supposed to help Mamá with the pastries. Can't keep her waiting." With a swift goodbye and a wave, she hurried off, leaving Camilo alone with his triumph and relief.

No sooner had Mirabel disappeared from view did Camilo release a pent-up breath, his hand instinctively finding its way to his chest, as if to steady his racing heart. "That was too close," he muttered to himself, a smirk playing on his lips, proud yet shaken by the narrow escape.

But the silence that followed was abruptly pierced by a familiar, albeit unwelcome, voice in his head. Sidero's spectral tone carried a mix of amusement and intrigue, "You must really like Y/N so much to morph into her as much as you do," the spirit teased, his words weaving through Camilo's thoughts with an ease that was both unnerving and invasive.

Heat crept into Camilo's cheeks, painting them a shade of embarrassment he seldom wore. "I-It's not like that," he stammered, the words tripping over themselves as he scrambled for a defense. "I was just—just trying to trick Mirabel, you know? A simple jest between cousins." His voice, usually so confident and filled with bravado, now faltered under Sidero's scrutinizing presence.

The spirit's laughter, devoid of warmth, echoed in his mind. "Good," Sidero concluded, leaving an ominous weight behind the word. Camilo, flustered and confused, found himself at a loss, his earlier confidence evaporating into the cool evening air as his mind goes blank.

☆

The weight of the day seemed to dissipate as you drew closer to your shop, the sight of Camilo waiting outside igniting a spark of warmth within the fatigue that clung to your bones. "Camilo!" you call out, arms laden with a heavy basket filled with oils and herbs.

The buoyant mood that had carried you back to your shop, quickly dissipated as Camilo's presence, usually a source of playful banter, morphed into something unrecognizable. His stance, stiff and imposing, did nothing to prepare you for the words that followed your lighthearted jest. "What, Toño sicked his animals on you?" you chuckled, attempting to bridge the gap with humor.

But Camilo's response was a far cry from the laughter or playful retort you anticipated. Instead, he offered nothing but a cold, piercing stare that seemed to look right through you. Confusion and a hint of concern began to bubble within you, and just as you were about to voice your worries, Camilo's words cut through the silence like a sharp, unexpected chill. "You know...I thought I'd try to get to know you better. Don't know why I bothered. You're so stuck up, so utterly convinced of your own righteousness. It's like you can't see past your own nose."

Each word was a calculated strike, but it was the depth of his critique that left you reeling. You could only stare as Camilo's expression twisted into one of disdain, his nose turned up, lips curled into a sneer that was so unlike him. The harshness of his tone, the coldness in his eyes—it was as if you were seeing someone entirely different. His words, laced with contempt, seemed to echo around you, each syllable a heavy blow to your spirit.

"It's like, every interaction and every conversation, you're there with your judgments and condescension." The laughter and light-hearted teasing that had peppered your conversations were absent now, replaced by a critique so pointed it felt personal, intimate even.

"I don't like you," he finished before leaving, his words slicing through the last threads of hope you had for what your relationship with Camilo could have become. This wasn't just a dismissal; it was a dismantling of the very foundation you thought you were building together.

The hurt was so profound, so jarring, that it rendered you motionless, your gaze dropping to the ground as a protective measure against the onslaught. It wasn't until a wetness touched the hand not occupied by the weight of the basket that you realized tears had begun to silently trail down your cheeks. Looking up, half-expecting raindrops to blur your vision, the realization that these were your tears—your response to Camilo's cutting words—left you hollow. "Oh..." was all you managed, a whisper lost to the void left by his departure.

***Uh....forgive me?

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 11 Chapter 11 | llamàndo⌟

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Wandering through Encanto, your eyes fixate on the ground, each step a mechanical motion rather than a conscious choice. The voices have reached a crescendo, an overwhelming cacophony that screams and shouts, begging for your help, relentless in their pursuit for attention. No matter how hard you try to shut them out, their presence is a constant ebb and flow of noise, now louder than ever, only to fall into eerie silence for fleeting moments, moments that grow shorter with each passing day.

During one such moment of silence, you find yourself on the outskirts of town, dragging your feet, a shadow of your former self. Your father's worry has deepened, a mirror to Camilo's concern, which has transformed into outright alarm, adding another layer of weight to your burdened shoulders. He notices the subtle flinches, the distant look in your eyes that often darts to unseen threats, and the shadows that cling to the edges of your vision. Despite his probing, you push away his questions, a barrier built of false assurances, unwilling to voice the fears that consume you.

A heavy sigh escapes you, the decision to head back home weighing on your mind, knowing your father is likely out on another of his deliveries. Just as you take a step toward the familiar path home, a sharp sensation pierces your head, a harbinger of the voices' imminent return. Tears well in your eyes, your hands tremble uncontrollably, and your breath becomes rapid and shallow in panic. "I can't do this. I can't do this," you whisper to yourself, a mantra of despair.

Without conscious thought, your feet carry you to the one place that has always offered a fragment of peace—your secret spot, a secluded nook cradled by the tall tree Isabela grew in memory of your mother. Shielded from the world by the long, flowing vines cascading from the branches above, you collapse at its base, your small form enveloped by nature's embrace.

Your body shakes uncontrollably as the voices escalate, their demands piercing through the fragile peace.

"Please, let me tell my family that I love them!"

"My husband deserves to know what his sister did to me!"

"Help us... Help us... HELP US!!"

"I can't. I can't. I can't," you trembled as you covered your ears in hopes of drowning them out, but it was no use.

Just as you're about to succumb to the overwhelming despair, a sudden grip on your shoulders jolts you, and you brace for the familiar mockery of a spirit's deception. Instead, a voice cuts through the chaos, clear and unmistakably real. "Hey, Y/N. Calm down. Please, calm down. I'm here."

Cautiously, you open your eyes, meeting two pools of green filled with worry.

Flinching back, you shook your head, "No. No. No. You aren't real. You aren't real. You aren't real," you chant, body curling in on yourself as you expected a spirit's mocking laughter to follow.

Yet, the laughter never comes. Instead, you feel two hands cover the ones you held over your ears.

They were...warm...a sensation both unfamiliar and comforting.

Spirits have never possessed warmth; their touch has always been a cold reminder of their otherness.

Slowly, your breathing steadies under his touch, and you dare to lift your gaze, allowing yourself to truly see him.

Golden-brown skin that speaks of sun-kissed days.

A wild mane of curls that defied gravity, seemingly untamable, no matter how much it was brushed.

Two gorgeous green eyes that made you feel as if you were lost in a forest of evergreen trees.

And freckles—so many freckles to count—scattered across his nose and cheeks like stars against the dusk of his skin.

Noticing your attention, Camilo offers a gentle smile. "There she is," he whispered, his hands moving from your ears to cradle your face.

"Y-You're real," you manage, the statement half question, half revelation.

Camilo's smile widens, and he hums in affirmation, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "Yeah, Y/N," he gently caressed the side of your face. "I'm real."

In the serene quiet that follows, the only sound is the gentle rustling of the leaves above, whispering secrets to the wind. Camilo's touch remains, a comforting warmth against the cool air of the evening. It's in this moment of calm that he breaks the silence, his voice carrying a weight of concern that seems almost out of place for the usually jovial boy.

"Y/N," he starts, his gaze never leaving yours, "I've noticed...you've been different lately." His observation hangs in the air between you, a statement of fact that you've been desperately trying to ignore. "You seem distant, lost in thought, and you flinch at things that aren't there. I'm worried about you."

His words, spoken with such genuine concern, cause a flutter in your chest—a mix of warmth from being cared for and a sting of vulnerability from being seen in a state you've tried so hard to conceal.

Despite the truth in his words, your initial reaction is defensive. "Have you been watching me?" you ask, a hint of accusation in your tone, even though a part of you is touched by his attentiveness.

Camilo's confident demeanor falters under your scrutiny, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he stammers, "I-I mean, not in a weird way! I just... I care about you, Y/N. And when someone you care about is hurting, you notice, you know?"

His earnestness, coupled with his embarrassment, brings a soft smile to your lips despite the turmoil within. It's hard to remain guarded in the face of such sincere concern. "Thank you for caring, Camilo," you whisper, the words barely a breath as you lean your head against his shoulder. The gesture feels natural, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you amidst the chaos of your life.

Camilo's initial surprise at the contact fades into a contented silence, and he gently wraps an arm around you, offering a silent promise of support. In this moment, with the cool breeze dancing around you and Camilo's warmth beside you, the weight of your burdens seems just a little lighter.

"Anything for you," he murmurs, his voice carrying a strength that you find yourself leaning into. "We'll figure this out together, okay?"

And for the first time in a long while, surrounded by the protective embrace of nature and the reassuring presence of a friend who has become so much more, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you're not as alone as you thought.

"Okay."

***Hope you liked what I've written so far!

The next update may be either this weekend or even Thursday, depending on how motivated I am. But seeing as I've been writing and editing for the past 6 hours, I like to think I'm pretty motivated

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 10 Chapter 10 | me està⌟

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As you kneel in the soft earth behind your and your father's cottage, your hands work methodically, tending to the small garden that has become your sanctuary. The gentle hum of life around you, from the buzz of bees to the rustle of leaves, usually brings you peace. Today, however, it's marred by something else—a series of whispers that seem to call out your name, each utterance more desperate than the last.

"Y/N... help us..."

You pause, your hands stilling in the dirt as you look around, half-expecting to see someone standing there. But the garden is empty, save for the plants and the fleeting shadows of clouds above.

"Did someone call my name?" you murmur to yourself, a frown creasing your brow.

The question hangs unanswered in the air, the whispers fading as quickly as they came, leaving you with a chill that seeps into your bones.

It's later, while you're with Mirabel, that it happens again. You're listening to her recount the day's adventures, her voice a comforting constant, when suddenly, your name slices through the air, sharp and clear.

"Y/N!"

You jerk to a stop, heart hammering in your chest. Mirabel's words taper off as she notices your distress. "What's wrong?" she asks, her brow furrowed with worry.

You force a smile, pushing down the icy fear that the voice has stirred within you. "It's nothing," you lie, but the shadow of your nightmares seems to loom larger, even under the bright sun of Encanto.

The dreams have become more vivid, more terrifying as well. One night, you're standing in an endless void, the darkness pulsating with the sorrow of unseen spirits. They reach for you, their hands cold and desperate, their faces a blur of pain and longing. Their cries fill the air, a cacophony of despair that you can't escape, no matter how hard you try to wake.

Another night, you find yourself in a forest, the trees gnarled and whispering secrets in a language you feel in your bones but cannot understand. A fog rolls in, thick and suffocating, and within it, eyes glow with malice, watching you, waiting. You run, but the forest seems endless, and the voices grow louder, calling your name, begging for release.

These nightmares, once fleeting shadows in your slumber, have become chains that bind you to a world of fear and darkness. Each morning, you wake feeling more drained than the last, the vibrancy that once defined you now dimmed to a mere flicker.

Mirabel's hand finds yours, her touch warm and grounding. "You can tell me, you know," she says softly, her eyes filled with an earnest concern that makes the walls you've built around yourself tremble.

But you can't bring yourself to voice the truth, to admit how close the darkness feels, even in the heart of Encanto. Instead, you squeeze her hand, grateful for the lifeline she offers, even as you feel yourself sinking deeper into the shadows that now color your days and haunt your nights.

☆

The clatter of dishes and the soft murmur of the evening wind through the open window provide a backdrop to your mechanical actions. You're washing dishes, your movements slow and devoid of the usual care you put into your chores. Your mind is far away, lost in the maze of your worries and the exhaustion that clings to you like a second skin.

The sound of a cup slipping from your grasp snaps you back to the present, the ceramic shattering on the floor with a noise that seems too loud in the quiet of the kitchen. You stare at the broken pieces, the sight somehow summing up how you feel inside—fractured, scattered.

"Y/N," your father's voice breaks through the fog that seems to envelop your thoughts. He waits until you're both seated around the fireplace, the crackling of the flames a gentle, comforting sound in the silence that has grown between you.

He looks at you, concern etched deeply in his features. "I've noticed you've been... distant lately. Is everything alright?" His voice is gentle, probing, filled with the worry that has been growing in his heart.

You lower your head, your hands clenching into fists in your lap. "I'm fine, Papa," you murmur, the words barely a whisper. But even to your own ears, they sound hollow, unconvincing.

He sighs, the sound heavy with unspoken fears. "Y/N, I know something's troubling you. You don't have to go through this alone." His hand reaches out, resting lightly on your shoulder, a silent offer of support.

But you can't bring yourself to open up, to reveal the depth of the darkness that has taken root within you. "I'll be okay," you insist, forcing strength into your voice that you don't feel. "I just need to tough it out."

Your father's gaze lingers on you, filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. "You're much stronger than you realize, Y/N. But even the strongest among us need help sometimes."

You nod, the gesture small and fraught with the tension that coils tight in your chest. As you sit there, enveloped in the warmth of your father's concern, your mind drifts to the Madrigals—each of them showing their worry and care in their own unique ways. Louisa, with her immense strength, has been more present than ever, volunteering to help your father with the heavy lifting required for his business. It's her silent way of saying she's there, a rock you can lean on.

Antonio, the youngest of the Madrigals, has taken to bringing his animal friends to visit you. Each small creature he presents with wide, eager eyes seems to offer its own form of comfort, their innocent affection a balm to the aching loneliness and fear that have taken root in your heart.

Mirabel, with her boundless energy and optimism, has taken it upon herself to drag you out for walks. These aren't just strolls through the vibrant streets of Encanto; they're filled with conversations about everything and anything. Mirabel doesn't press, doesn't probe; she simply talks, allowing you to join in when you feel like it. It's her way of providing a distraction, a momentary escape from the shadows that cling to you.

And then there's Camilo, the ever-present trickster, who has toned down his pranks around you, replacing them with frequent check-ins. It's unusual for him, always ready with a joke or a transformation, to simply be... there, offering silent companionship or a smile meant just for you. It's his way of showing he cares, even if he doesn't say it outright.

You realize how each of these gestures, small and seemingly insignificant on their own, weave together a tapestry of care and concern that you've been too wrapped up in your own worries to fully appreciate. The thought of letting them down, of not living up to the responsibilities your gift entails, tightens its grip around your heart.

"I don't want to disappoint anyone," you reveal, the weight of your words heavier now with the realization of their collective efforts to support you. "Especially not Doña Alma. I can't fail the ceremony."

Your father wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug. "Y/N, remember, it's not about not failing. It's about doing your best and knowing that, regardless of the outcome, we'll all be here for you. The Madrigals, your family, we stand together," he says, squeezing your shoulder gently, a silent reassurance. "You could never disappoint us, Y/N. We're here for you, no matter what. Don't carry this burden on your own."

As the fire crackles in the hearth, casting warm light over the both of you, you lean into your father's embrace, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. His words, meant to comfort, do offer a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. Maybe, just maybe, with the Madrigals by your side, you can face whatever comes. But the fear of disappointment, of not being strong enough, remains a specter that lurks in the back of your mind, casting long shadows over your resolve.

Lying on your back, the quiet of the night wraps around you, a blanket too thin to ward off the torrent of worries plaguing your mind. Despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your eyelids, sleep eludes you, chased away by the fear of the nightmares that lurk just beyond the veil of consciousness.

Turning onto your side, you release a sigh into the darkness, the sound heavy with weariness. "Sidero," you call out softly, a whisper that cuts through the quiet.

Instantly, he materializes before you, his form taking shape in the dim light of your room. He mirrors your position, laying on his side with eyes that hold a softness you've grown to find comforting. "Are you alright, chiquita?" His voice is gentle, a contrast to the turmoil swirling within you.

Another sigh escapes you, this one laden with an exhaustion that seeps into your bones. You close your eyes, a brief respite, knowing full well the terror that awaits in slumber. Opening your eyes once more, you find Sidero still watching you, his presence a steady anchor in the tempest of your emotions.

"Am I ready?" The question spill from your lips, a whisper of vulnerability amid the storm of your anxieties. It's more than just doubt about the ceremony; it's an inquiry into your own strength, your capacity to uphold the legacy and duties that have been passed down to you.

Sidero's form solidifies further, his presence becoming more pronounced beside you. "You've always been ready," he reassures, his voice soothing the edges of your frayed nerves. "You carry within you the strength of your ancestors, the love of your family, and a resilience that has guided you through the darkest times. This ceremony, this duty, it's about more than just leading; it's about uniting, healing, and honoring. And no one is more suited to that than you."

His words, though intended to comfort, only momentarily pierce the dense fog of your doubts. Yet, as you lay there, the whispers of the unseen battles you face echo around you, a constant reminder of the challenges that lie ahead.

Sidero, sensing your turmoil, raises his hand, the cold sensation of his touch sending chills down your spine as he gently caresses your face. The silent question you've harbored for so long finally finds its voice, "How come you've never moved on?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, laden with an unspoken yearning for understanding.

For a moment, Sidero is silent, his expression unreadable. Then, with a skill that belies his ethereal nature, he shifts the conversation. "Do you have another secret ghost friend I don't know about?" he teases, an attempt to lighten the mood.

Despite the shift in topic, you offer him a weary smile, grateful for his unwavering presence. "Thank you for being here with me," you whisper, the gratitude in your words wrapping around the both of you like a gentle hug.

Sidero hums, a sound that vibrates with affection and an unspoken promise. "I'll always be with you. You're precious to me, more than you could possibly imagine," he says, his voice carrying a weight that tugs at the very fabric of your soul.

Your eyes flutter closed, a battle against the tide of sleep that threatens to pull you under. "Stay with me," you murmur, half-dreaming, half-pleading.

"I will," Sidero whispers back, a guardian in the night. "Rest now, chiquita. I'll be here when you wake."

With the ceremony heavy on your mind and Sidero's promise cradling your thoughts, you finally succumb to sleep, a sliver of peace in the tempest of your fears.

***I'm sorry y'all, i'm in love with siderio so ignore the shameless self-insert moments🥹🥹

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 09 Chapter 09 | a los míos⌟

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"My children! Where are my children!?" A familiar cry fills your ears as you stand near the river, watching as a woman kneels on the water's edge.

The chilling night air seems to thicken, with a palpable sense of dread enveloping you as her cries pierce the stillness. Her plea, a haunting lament for her lost children, sends shivers down your spine. Once again, you find yourself a spectator, watching her cries echo for the world to hear. Finally, gaining enough courage to step forward, your voice barely a whisper against the howling wind, "Are you okay? Do you need—?" But your words get cut off when the woman lunges, hands outstretched, aiming for your throat.

Panic seizes you—a primal fear that you're about to meet your end at the hands of this tormented soul. And then she is upon you, her weight bearing down, her screeches filling your ears, a sound so terrifying it seems to echo across realms, a call to the children she will never find.

Her fingers, cold and unyielding, wrap around your neck, squeezing the breath from your lungs. You struggle against her grip, but her strength is otherworldly, her anguish fueling a rage that seems to darken the very air around you.

"My children! Give me my children!"

You can feel her pain, her loss, and her unending torment as it seeps into your very being, threatening to consume you. As she falls upon you, her cries become all you can hear—a cacophony of grief that drowns out all else. Her form collapses onto you, the pressure unbearable, her screeches piercing your soul.

Her face is a grotesque mask of grief and rage, her eyes bleeding and her mouth agape in a silent scream that threatens to swallow your soul.

"Give them back—"

You jolt awake, gasping for air, the echo of her cries still ringing in your ears. Sweat coats your skin, your heart races, and the darkness of your room feels suffocating and oppressive.

Your eyes, heavy and bagged from nights of restless sleep, barely register the dawn creeping through your curtains. Despite the exhaustion that sinks deep into your bones, you drag yourself out of bed, determined to face another day. Lately, the physical manifestations of your gift's toll have become more frequent, a concern you've shoved to the back of your mind, too much to do.

The dawn greets you with a hesitant embrace as you make your way towards your shop, the cobblestone streets of Encanto barely stirring under the soft light. The sun, a shy observer at first, gradually asserts its dominance in the sky, painting the town in hues of gold and warmth that seem to promise a day of tranquility and hope. The air is crisp, carrying with it the promise of a new beginning, as you pass only a few early risers, their nods of acknowledgment a silent testament to the shared ritual of greeting another day.

As you walk, a faint sweet smell tickles your nostrils, elusive and yet distinctly present amidst the morning air. You pause, trying to pinpoint its origin, but the scent dances away as quickly as it came, leaving you with a sense of inexplicable nostalgia. Shaking your head, you dismiss it as a trick of the mind, perhaps a memory clinging to the edges of your consciousness, and continue on your path.

Arriving at your shop, the familiar sight of its facade brings a sense of comfort. The building, with its aged wood and vibrant hanging flowers, stands as a beacon of solace and understanding in the heart of Encanto. You unlock the door, stepping into the quiet sanctuary you've built, the air inside cool and welcoming.

The first task is to invite warmth and light into the space. You slide open the curtains, allowing the sunlight to spill across the floor, its rays catching on the motes of dust in a lazy dance. The room brightens, the shadows retreating to the corners, as if in respect for the day's work ahead.

Next, you light the incense, the spark catching easily, the flame briefly illuminating your focused expression before giving way to a thin trail of smoke. The scent of sage fills the room, cleansing and purifying, creating an atmosphere of calm and preparation. You move with practiced ease, setting out tea in delicate cups, the liquid a rich amber, its steam carrying whispers of comfort and peace.

With everything in place, you stand at the center of your shop, closing your eyes for a brief moment to offer a prayer. It's a simple plea for guidance and strength, a request for clarity in the day's dealings, for the ability to offer solace and understanding to those who seek it. The words, spoken silently to the morning light, are a promise to yourself as much as they are a petition to the unseen forces that guide your hand.

As you open your eyes, ready to face the day, a sudden muffled crinkling sound fills your ears, accompanied by a high-pitched tone that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Your vision flickers, the edges of your sight blurring as if the world is trying to fade away. It lasts no more than a few heartbeats, but the disorientation is profound, leaving you grasping at the counter for support, a hand pressed to your temple as you struggle to steady yourself.

For a moment, you stand there, the echoes of the sound still lingering in your mind, the sensation unsettling in its unfamiliarity. You shake it off, a determined set to your jaw as you write it off to being tired, perhaps the remnants of a restless night's sleep. It's a lie, a small deception you tell yourself to push through the uncertainty, to maintain the semblance of normalcy in a life that is anything but ordinary.

With a deep breath, you straighten, casting one last glance around the shop, now ready to welcome those in search of guidance. The day awaits, and with it, the promise and challenge of the unknown. You step forward, the guardian of this threshold, ready to meet whatever comes with open arms and an open heart.

☆

The day passes in a blur of faces and voices, spirits and the living mingling in the space of your shop until it's time to close up. As you say goodbye to a departing customer, you're startled by the sudden appearance of Camilo, his usual grin in place as he leans against the doorframe.

"Closing up shop? Or trying to escape before I can bother you?" he teases, stepping inside as you start to pack up.

You let out a sigh, the weariness of the day weighing heavily on your shoulders. Despite your exhaustion, you muster a semblance of your usual spirit. "If only it were that easy to escape your antics, Madrigal. Unfortunately, I seem to be stuck with you."

Camilo's grin widens, stepping further into the room, his presence filling the space with an energy you find both infuriating and oddly comforting. "Ah, but you have to admit, life would be dreadfully boring without me."

You chuckle, a soft, tired sound that belies the sharpness of your next words. "Boring? Perhaps. Peaceful? Definitely. Imagine all the things I could get done without you turning up like a bad penny."

There's a beat of silence, and you expect Camilo to come back with a clever retort, something to spark off your usual back-and-forth that somehow always leaves you both laughing. But instead, there's a shift in the air, a change in Camilo's demeanor that catches you off guard; he looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion that mark your face

His smile fades, his posture softens, and when he speaks again, his voice is laced with genuine concern. "Hey, are you okay? You seem...off today. More tired than usual."

Your defenses rise, irritation prickling at the back of your neck. You're not used to Camilo being this observant, this gentle. It's unsettling. "Off? I'm fine. Just tired of cleaning up the messes you leave in your wake."

Camilo flinches, the playful glint in his eyes dimming. He steps closer, his movements tentative. "I didn't realize I was causing you so much trouble. I... I just thought we were having fun."

You want to snap at him, to tell him that not everything is a joke, that you're not always in the mood for his games. But as you look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and the unspoken apology there, your resolve wavers.

He raises a hand, as if to reach out to you, to bridge the gap between jest and earnest concern. But then he hesitates, the hand dropping back to his side as if he's unsure of his welcome.

Your sharpness, your readiness to bite back, fades as quickly as it came. You're left feeling exposed, the fatigue and the frustrations of the day suddenly too heavy to bear alone. "I'm sorry, Camilo," you admit, the fight draining out of you. "It's not you, not really. I'm just...tired. Worn thin."

Camilo nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I get it. And I'm sorry, too. I should've seen it sooner." He offers a small, tentative smile, an olive branch extended in the hope of forgiveness. "And...I know I don't show it, but don't have to pretend with me, you know. If something's wrong, you can tell me."

You're surprised by his sincerity, the earnestness in his voice catching you off guard. For a moment, you consider opening up, sharing the weight of your nightmares and the toll they've taken on you. But the thought of revealing that vulnerability, especially to Camilo, makes you hesitate so, you change the subject. "Will you walk with me to the house for dinner? I could use the company."

Camilo nods, the worry still etched in his features, but he respects your wish to move past the moment. "Of course, I'll walk with you."

You return the smile, albeit weakly, a silent acknowledgement of the truce between you. "Thank you for caring, Camilo," you say, the words soft but sincere, a small admission of the comfort his concern brings.

He steps forward, this time without hesitation, and though he doesn't touch you, his presence is a solid, reassuring thing. "Always," he says simply, and in that moment, you realize that beneath the jokes and the pranks, Camilo's friendship is a constant, unwavering thing.

And as you both leave the shop together, the weight on your shoulders feels just a little bit lighter.

***Hello, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter; I'm slowly but surely am introducing Y/N's gift (though you know it from the description) in a way that just doesn't dump it on you in the first chapter.

This also allows me to build on how she got it as well as her parents and bisabuela (i didn't forget them, I got a plan for the angst muwahahah).

Also, thank you for being patient. It wasn't easy going to my aunt's funeral and I'm happy that you all understood and didn't rush me to update, so hope the Camilo interaction suffixed. See you all next time~

p.S - Did y'all peep who the first part of the chapter was on??? I made it pretty easy to guess tho, hahah.

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 08 Chapter 08 | llegando⌟

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A heavy sigh left your mouth as you exited your little shop, hands aching from separating and unraveling all of the thistles of sage Isabela was so kind to grow for you.

Though tired, you felt yourself grow relaxed from the peaceful atmosphere around you; the colors of fire hearths and mandarins, extending far along the sky cloaked you in an orange-gold light as the sun set below the horizon.

Halfway home, you spot a hunched-over figure in the near distance. The closer you got to the field, the more you were able to make out a familiar yellow ruana. "Is...Is that Camilo?"

Now, you had half a mind to ignore him due to being utterly exhausted from having to spend an entire day surrounded by his presence, but you couldn't help the burning curiosity growing in your mind, wondering what he was up to.

Coming to a complete stop behind Camilo's crouched form, you could only watch as he carefully dug a hole in the ground.

Unable to stand there another second, you cleared your throat to catch the auburnet's attention.

Camilo froze at the sound before letting a deep groan leave his mouth, "Mirabel, I already told you that I'll be home before dinner. Now leave me aloneᅳ" a strangled choke left his mouth, eyes widening once he turned around and saw that it was you, instead of his cousin.

Seeing that you were eyeing the hole behind him, Camilo awkwardly kicked the bundle of flowers to the back before giving you a shaky smile, "H-Hey, Y/N. What are you doing out here?"

"I could be asking you the same, Madrigal. So what are you doing out here? It's almost night," you said, gesturing towards the darkening sky.

"Nothing."

"That"ᅳyou made a show of leaning over to point at the pile of plants behind himᅳ"doesn't look like nothing," you said, eyes narrowing a bit as you took in the violet petals.

Why does that look so familarᅳ

"I-It's really nothing," Camilo stuttered, moving over to block your vision. "I just thought it'd do me some good to go out and get some fresh air."

"Then why are you digging a hole in the ground?"

"Because it's...therapeutic?"

When he saw your face, Camilo rose his hands up in defeat. "Fine, you caught me. I'm not out here to get some air, I'm actually here to plant a few flowers in honor of Isabela being such a kind soul and showing me how beautiful nature is."

"What good is that? Isabela can grow thousands of flowers in a second if she chose to. It's her gift, remember?"

Camilo's face fell at your words as if just realizing how right you were.

Before you could open your mouth to take another jab at his obvious lies, Camilo beat you to it.

"You know what, Y/N? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you like me with how much you seem to worry about what I'm up to."

With widened eyes and a burning face, you felt your mind fizzle into molten lava of misery. "Like you!?" You screeched in horror, taking a step back from his cackling form. "I could never! I don't even know why I bothered coming over here." And with an angry huff, you stomped away.

☆

Camilo could only watch as you stormed off, a wave of relief washing over him; he had been on edge the entire day, and seeing you walk up to him in the field had made him even more nervous. He had hoped that you wouldn't notice the flowers he was planting, but of course, you had.

Glancing over at the bundle of violet flowers, Camilo let out a deep breath. "That was close."

☆

Even as you found yourself on the porch of your house, you still felt yourself brimming with frustration. "I can't believe he said that...I would never! I have standards..." you muttered under your breath as opened the door.

The second you walked inside, the faint scent of food entered your nose, immediately throwing you off of the course of your thoughts.

Pushing everything to the back of your mind, you quickly shed your cloak, excited to eat your father's cooking.

"Oh, wow," you awed, eyes practically shining as you saw the spread of food on the dining table.

Light steam hovered over the bowl and plates of food, bringing with it a blast of mouthwatering aroma.

Just as you were about to reach down and grab a bit to snack on, your father's voice echoed all around.

"Aht, aht, aht! Not so fast. Go wash your hands before digging in," he lightly scolded, setting two bowls of ceviche de camarones on the table.

Not even bothering to stay behind and whine, you raced to get ready, arriving just in time for your father to bring out a few more dishes.

But even as you filled your entire plate with food, you couldn't help the pout that found itself on your lips as you thought of Camillo's weird behavior. It was unlike him to act so jittery and suspicious, and you couldn't help but wonder if the trickster was up to something.

As you mull over the possibilities, lost in thought, your father couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of your concentrated expression, your cheeks bulging with food like an angry chipmunk. "What seems to be bothering you, my muñequita?" he asked, using the affectionate nickname he had given you as a child; his voice was gentle and kind, and it was clear that he genuinely wanted to know what was troubling you.

You blinked owlishly at him while swallowing your food. At first, you thought about lying, but the warm and encouraging look he was giving you pushed you to spill the truth. "Camilo was acting weird today," you started, putting down your fork and leaning back in your chair. "I saw him in a field, digging a hole and planting flowers. When I asked him about it, he just stuttered and said it was therapeutic. But it was so strange. I don't know why he would do something like that."

Your father listened patiently, a small smile on his face as he watched you talk. When you finished, he chuckled and teased you, "Sounds like Camilo likes you."

Your face burned with embarrassment and you quickly denied it, "No way! Camilo is just...Camilo. He's always doing weird things like that. It's probably just some prank or joke."

Your father apologized, still laughing a little, and gave you some serious advice, "Well, maybe there's something going on that he's not ready to talk about yet. It's important to give people space and time when they need it. Either way, you'll figure out what to do, muñequita. You always do."

Later that night, as you got ready for bed, a cool breeze blew through your window, brushing against your face, and carrying with it a sweet, floral scent that made you pause. You took a deep breath, trying to identify the fragrance, but it was oddly familiar, yet you couldn't quite place it.

The second lungful of air left you feeling uneasy, as a sort of fog crept over your mind, causing your head to spin for just a few seconds. You shook your head, thinking that it was just lingering stress from passing assignments, and shrugged the uncomfortable sensation off.

As you closed the window, the sweet scent lingered in the air, and you couldn't help but allow your thoughts to drift off to Camilo and his strange behavior earlier that day. You wondered if he was somehow involved in this or if it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

Shaking your head, you tried to push those thoughts aside and focus on getting some rest. You climbed back into bed, pulled the covers up to your chin, and closed your eyes. But as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that something was wrong. It was as if a dark cloud had settled over you, casting a shadow on your otherwise peaceful night. You tossed and turned, your mind racing with unanswered questions and a growing sense of unease.

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 07 Chapter 07 | tus ojos⌟

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[A/N: bold; indicates an unknown voice.]

As you lay in bed, your mind lost in the world of dreams, you felt at peace.

However, the comforts of your dream were soon broken when you found yourself being woken by the voice of your grandmother, Alejandra. "Time to rise, my nieta."

Creaking open an eye, you were met with your open window. Watching as the sun bloomed on the horizon, its golden rays stretching into the once-night sky, you groaned at the telltale signs of a new day.

Rolling over, you threw your blankets over your head to block out the growing light. "Abuela, please. It's too early," you whined, curling onto yourself.

An airy chuckle was heard as your grandmother gave your head a gentle pat. "It's never too early to start a new day, my nieta. Now come; your presence is needed downstairs." With that, you were left with no one but yourself.

Knowing that she was right, you gave another sigh before heaving yourself out of bed to get yourself together.

☆

As you walked out of your room, cloak draped over your arms, you expected to find your father sitting at the small dining table with breakfast waiting for you, not the bane of your existence, happily chatting with him.

"So I said, 'What is that? Not a houseㅡ'" Before allowing Camilo to finish, you loudly cleared your throat, catching the two males' attention.

"Good morning, my muñequita. How did you sleep?" Your father smiled over at you.

"Yeah, how did you sleep, Y/N? I hope you didn't lose any sleep thinking about me all night," Camilo purred, leaning on his elbow to stare up at you with half-lidded eyes.

Ignoring him, you made your way over to your father, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead before sitting down beside him. "I had a restful night, Pápa. And you?"

"I haven't slept this peacefully in a long time," he answered, taking a sip of his coffee.

Accepting his answer, you reached down to grab a piece of toast from the platter in the middle of the table, only to pick up crumbs.

Looking down with furrowed brows, a shocked squawk left your lips; the platter was empty.

"What happened to the toast?" Your question trailed off as your eyes followed a crumble trial, the crumbs ending up on Camilo's plate.

The auburnet was chomping on the toast without a care in the world, his upbeat hums leaving him with each bite.

"Did you...did you just eat all of the toast?" Your voice was low as you glared over at the teen.

Licking stray jelly off of his fingers before taking an exaggerated sip of orange juice, Camilo gave a shrug. "What can I say? Your father is a talented cook," he smiled before shifting into an elderly man.

"It was toast," you growled, hands clenching into fists, "a whole platter of toast. And you just ate it all like nothing, you overly hungryㅡ"

"Uh, I'll just go make you something else to eat. No need to stress yourself, muñequita," your father awkwardly laughed, interrupting your insult before getting up to head to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight, you stood up, slamming your hands down onto the table with a growl. "I don't know what you're playing at, Camilo Madrigal, but my father is off-limits."

Still shifted as an elderly man, Camilo playfully twirled his withering beard. "Hmm, and may I ask why?"

In the blink of an eye, you grasped Camilo by his shirt, yanking him towards you. The movement was so sudden that it shocked him to the point of changing back into his original form.

"I'll say this once, and only once," you hissed, glaring into his wide eyes, your face a centimeter from his own. "I will not allow you to take him from me and corrupt him with your little shenanigans, you chameleon. So take this as a warning; you're threading on thin ice."

Seemingly coming out of shock, a smirk grew on Camilo's lips. "Well, I have no idea what you're talking about, but if you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask, muñequita."

Your brain short-circuited for a moment, unable to register what he said. After a second, it dawned on you.

Muñequita?

Feeling as if your face were on fire, you pushed Camilo back into his seat before sitting down on your own, embarrassment filling your whole being.

He used my father's nickname for me against me! You thought in horror.

When your father returned with a plate of breakfast for you, he was met with silence.

Camilo continues to enjoy his toast, and you scowl at your hands.

Shaking away his curiosity, he sat on the plate before you, giving your head a gentle ruffle. "Here you go, muñequita."

"Thank you, Pápa," you grinned before digging in.

Though your father wasn't as talented as others when it comes to cooking (read: when it comes to Julieta), you still appreciated that he tried, which made it all worth eating the soggy eggs and semi-burnt toast.

"If you don't mind my asking, Camilo, why did you come by this morning? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy having you for breakfast, but you don't come by unless it's to help me pack my wagon to barter with those outside of Encanto."

"Yeah," you spoke up, picking up your cup of orange juice. "Why are you here, Camilo?"

"I'm here because it's your turn to have the Amazing Camilo help assist you with today's chores."

You couldn't stop the spray of orange juice that left your mouth and nose at his words. "My what?"

Your father immediately jumped into action, grabbing a nearby napkin to help you clean the juice, fretting over your now ruined shirt.

An amusing grin grew on Camilo's lips at the enraged look on your face. "Oh, don't you remember what was said at our last meeting? Abuela thought it would be beneficial if I used my abilities to help take a bit of the load off of everyone's shoulders," he explained, leaning back into his chair. "So today's your lucky day because I'm all yours."

"B-But..." you felt your head swimming, trying to decipher his words. "How could you even help? You don't have my gift! You can't do what I do!"

"Oh, but I can~" Camilo sang, doing jazz hands. "My gift entails me being able to take the form of whomever I wish. This includes gifts."

Your father halts his fretting at this, the confusion apparent on his face. "But wouldn't that make youㅡ"

"ㅡoverpowered. That would be absolutely correct, Señor L/N. But instead of being able to copy my family and Y/N's gifts, I can only replicate about 1/2 of them while shifting into their forms. For example, while shifting to Antonio, I can only understand broken sentences from animals. Or when I shift into Tío Bruno, I can only see a bit of the future, kinda like riddles."

"So what about Y/N? What can you do while shifted into her?" Your father wondered, intrigued by Camilo's gift.

"Well, while shifted into Y/N, I can also communicate with spirits, except I can't see them like she can, I can only hear them."

Suddenly, as he explained this to your father, you recalled a similar notion happening when Alma did the same to the rest of the Madrigals and yourself in the last meeting.

He was right. Alma did explain to you all how she was going to reduce your workload.

With fewer chores as well as Camilo's help.

You specifically remember that part because it was then you got on your knees to beg her to allow yourself to be crossed off the schedule, explaining how Camilo's assistance wasn't needed nor wanted.

But it seems your plight of stress was ignored.

Groaning softly to yourself, you rubbed the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache forming.

"Well, thank you for helping Y/N with this, Camilo," your father smiled, settling himself back into his seat.

"It's no problem, Señor Miguel," the auburnet waved off, "it's the least I could do."

Help!?

You don't need help!

Especially from someone as incompetent as Camilo Madrigal!

Before you could open your mouth to say that, as well as a few more colorful words, your father spoke up once more.

"I'm happy as well as thankful that she won't have to deal with this on her own, or stress herself out over it," your father smiled as he reached over to give Camilo a firm pat on the shoulders before gently ruffling up your hair again.

Swallowing your words and insults, you forced a sickeningly sweet smile onto your face before turning towards the mischievous trickster. "Yeah, thank you, Camilo," you gritted out through clenched teeth.

"No problem, Y/N," he smiled back, toasting his glass of juice to you.

"Well, hurry up and change. The two of you have a long day ahead of you," your father prompted while nodding at your juice-covered shirt.

"Of course, Pápa, I'll be right back." With that, you stood to change, but not before glaring at Camilo once more.

☆

The coolness of the early morning was deceptive; the gentle heat of the sun, basking the air around you with warmth, the fallen leaves from nearby trees depicting the autumn weather; it was a truly beautiful sight.

Any other day, you would have enjoyed the sights around you, yet the nuisance beside you stopped you from doing so.

"ㅡthe look on your face was honestly the best part. I mean, I can't believe you actually fell for me pretending to be Antonioㅡ"

You felt the twitching of your eyes in agitation as Camilo droned on and on. Since the two of you left your house, he'd spent the entire walk talking about all the times you fell for his tricks.

"ㅡIf I'm being honest, I can't wait to summon a few spirits! This will be the most epic thing to find ways to trick people!"

You came to a halt at his words, swiveling around and delivering a ferocious glare to the auburnet. "This is not something to joke about! One wrong move can result in dire situations and shouldn't be taken lightly."

With a laugh, Camilo waved you off, "Relax, Y/N, you worry too much."

"No. Don't play with me, Camilo Madrigal. I'm being serious," you huffed, crossing your arms. "Now, promise that you won't go off summoning spirits without me being there to make sure nothing goes wrong. It's imperative that I'm there to not only make sure it goes well but to also cleanse you afterward."

Camilo sighs, scratching the back of his neck, "C'mon, Y/N. Aren't you sure you're being a little tooㅡ"

"Promise me!" You hissed, gripping the front of his shirt.

"Fine, fine, whatever. I promise," the auburnet huffed, with a small roll of his eyes.

Now, with his promise spoken, you found yourself relaxing. "Okay, great," you said, releasing him with a dust of your hands. "Now hurry up, because I have an early appointment with the Salazar's."

☆

The smell of incense was strong as you wrapped up your final appointment of the day.

"Thank you so much for seeing me," Mateo smiled, standing up from his seat and reaching into his pocket to retrieve a coin pouch.

A frown graced your lips at this, "Señor Mateo. I told you, myᅳ"

"That your service is free. You've said that several times before the séance has even begun," Mateo cut you off, placing two galeóns on the table. "It's the least I can do. I didn't have a schedule to see you today, yet you took time to help me." With one more smile, Mateo left your small shop.

Sighing, you placed the coins into a nearby jar.

Turning around, you are met with Camilo lounging across a stack of pillows.

"If it were me, I would have accepted it," he spoke, waving a stick of incense in the air. "Free money is what it is. Free~"

"Camilo"ㅡyou rubbed the bridge of your nose, letting out a deep sighㅡ"what are you still doing here? I thought I told you to go home."

"Can't, the shift isn't over yet, muñequita."

"Please, refrain from ever calling me that," you groaned, grabbing your cloak from the stand.

Camilo's brow rose at the sight of you donning the dark material. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go ask Isabela to grow me a few thistles of sage. I need a fresh batch to burn after having so many spirits visit," you told him, pulling the hood over your head. "So don't do any Camilo-ish things while I'm gone."

"Camilo-ish things? What's that?" The auburn asked, balancing a few jars of salve on the tip of his nose.

"That. That's what I mean about Camilo-ish things," you said, stomping over to grab it and place it back in its rightful place. "Now, I'll say this one more time. Don't do anything. I'll be back shortly." With that, you left the room.

As soon as you left the hut, you felt a foreboding feeling sweep over your body. "Goddess, why do I feel like something is going to go wrong?"

☆

Plopping himself down back onto the pile of pillows, the auburnet sighed to himself. "God, I'm bored," while blowing a piece of curly hair out of his face.

After a few more minutes of this, Camilo found himself unable to cope with the boredom. "That's it! I have to do something!" With this in mind, he stood up and began lurking around the room.

"What to do, what to do, what to do," he hummed, nosing in containers and jars; the curiosity didn't last long due to Camilo finding only different kinds of jars.

Leaning against a nearby window, Camilo could only watch as the outside world continued to move beyond the glass.

He groaned once more, turning away to stomp towards a mirror, where he shifted into you and started making funny faces. "'Don't do this' and 'Don't do that', yap, yap, yap," Camilo taunted, waving his hands in the air. "Pssh, like I'm going to do anything."

"Who are you and where is Y/N?" a voice whispered into his ear.

"What theᅳ!" Camilo nearly jumped a foot into the air, his head swiveling side to side as he tried to figure out who had just spoken. "Hello? Anyone there?"

"I said: Who are you and where is Y/N?"

Camilo's (read: your) face scrunched up in confusion at the question. "Y/N?"

"Yes, Y/N. My eyes tell me you're Y/N, but I know her soul, and yours isn't hers. So I'll ask once again, who the hell are you?"

Camilo felt a sudden chill flow down his spine, an unsettling feeling that weighed him down as the voice grew harsher.

"Well?"

"I-I'm Camilo...Camilo Madrigal," he pathetically stuttered.

"The shifter?"

"Y-Yeah..."

"Hm. So why are you here and where is Y/N?"

"Y/N went out to gather some sage or something, and I was here to assist her with her appointments today," Camilo answered, nervously wringing his hair (read: your hair) in his hands.

"Hm," the voice hummed in thought, "Very well, I'll wait until she returns."

"Oh, alright," Camilo croaked out in a high-pitched voice.

"Can't you see me?"

"Um, no? Am I supposed to?" Camilo scratched the back of his neck, unsure if this was something he should tell Y/N.

"Interesting. So you said your name is Camilo, right?"

"Y-Yup, that's me."

"Ah, I think I finally recognize your name."

"You do?"

"Of course, Y/N talks about you all the time."

Camilo didn't know why, but he felt himself growing a bit excited at the prospect of you talking about him. "S-She does? What did she say?"

"That you're a menace to society. A trickster that constantly plays tricks on her, or as she so puts it, 'the bane of her existence.'"

Camilo felt all of the happiness within him deflate at what he said. "O-Oh. Yeah, I guess she's right," he awkwardly smiles, letting a half-hearted chuckle escape his mouth.

"No need to worry, Camilo, she does say good things about you," the spirit spoke up.

Once more, Camilo found himself growing excited. "Can you tell me?"

"Hmm, I could, but that would be a breach in the friendship Y/N and I share if I did."

"I mean, it's just a few things, right? C'mon, tell me," Camilo whined, uncaring of how it looked to be begging to an open space.

The voice seemed to give a light sigh at his begging. "Alright, alright, calm down. I'll tell you, but under one condition. In the corner of the room is a container that contains dried up plants. I want you to take a few and spread them around town, mainly where she sleeps. Oh, also keep a bud on you at all times."

Following the voice's instructions, Camilo was surprised to find a small bundle of violet plants; they almost resembled buttercups. As he stared down at the box, he couldn't help but feel a tad bit unsure. "I don't know, I'm not supposed to touch anything or leave the room," he spoke, his hand hesitating over the bundle.

"You want to know a few things Y/N likes, right? Well, one of the things she enjoys is hepatica flowers. They remind her a lot of her mother and help lessen the pain she gets every time she communicates with spirits."

Camilo nearly gasped in shock.

Pain? You never spoke of being in pain. Why didn't you tell anyone?

"She gets sick? How bad is it?"

"Oh, it's very bad. Some days she can't even get out of bed, but she pushes herself to do it because it's what's expected of her," the voice sighed, its tone low and worried.

Camilo found his will wavering; how could he not do something that would help you? "Are you sure this would help her?"

"I'm 100% sure this will help her."

"Alright, I'll do it," Camilo smiled, grabbing the bundle.

Standing up, he felt a giddy sensation fill his stomach at the thought of being able to do something other than cause you annoyance.

Just as he was about to do what he was instructed, Camilo suddenly realized something. "Hey, what's your name anyway?"

"Sidero. Sidero Patricio."

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | lo contrario⌟

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[A/N: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐂 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 "𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨" 𝐈 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦~]

"ㅡI knew you were waiting for my demise to get with that Maria woman, you low-down, good for nothing bastard! The fact that you moved on before my body had even settled into the ground tells me everything I need to know! Every day you spend time going to that harlot's house instead of being at home grieving for me! I pray to my ancestors above that you fall victim to El Boraro and he rips your cojones from yourㅡ"

"And that will be all. Thank you very much, Señora Luciana. I will be sure to let Señor Mateo know of your grievances," you told the spirit before sending her away.

As soon as she was dispersed back to the other side, your body gave a tired sigh, your ears still ringing at the ungodly screeches left by the vengeful spirit. You should have known better than to accept Mateo's request; Luciana was a loud woman while living, and death surely didn't put a dent in her voice.

"So what did Luciana say? Did she say anything about me?" Mateo asked, hands holding on to the picture of his recently deceased wife with bright eyes.

You winced at his hopefully face, "Um, yes. She's happy that you aren't too distraught from her passing and wanted you to know that she loves you," you told him, lying through your teeth with a forced smile.

Mateo's shoulders sagged in both sadness and relief. "That's good. Since her death, I've been receiving crocheting lessons from Maria to pass the time," he told you with a sheepish smile, "Luciana always begged me to learn with her, and every time I told her no. Hopefully, the lessons will pay off and she will like the blanket I made for her headstone."

You felt your heart internally crack as Mateo stared down at the picture with sad eyes, gently caressing the frame; oblivious to his dead wife's sadistic wishes for his suffering.

Poor man, even beyond the grave, his wife somehow jumps to conclusions, you thought with a shake of your head. May he never die, or he'll be stuck with her shouts for an eternity, literally.

"Anyways, thank you for your help, Y/N. I will be sure to return for my next appointment," he told you as you held the door open for him.

Shutting the door, you slid down to the ground with a big huff.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, what a bad medium you are, Y/N. Lying to your customers," a voice taunted in your ear, causing you to groan in annoyance.

"Please shut up, Sidero. I'm not in the mood," you said, looking over to the smiling spirit.

Sidero was the first spirit you met when your gift manifested at 5-years-old. After nearly falling victim to pneumonia, you were fortunately healed by Julieta's gift, but due to your near-death experience, it seemed to awaken your gift: the gift to communicate with those beyond the living.

At first, when you told others about the people you would see walking around town, they assumed you meant the townsmen until you began describing them, saying the names of those dead, and even speaking of things that happened before your time.

The town was in shock: a child that wasn't a Madrigal had received a gift?

Many, as well as the adults of Casa Madrigal, were stumped, wondering how you had such a gift when there wasn't a single door within Casita that had your name plastered across its surface.

It was then, with a heavy heart, that your mother admitted her lineage.

Apparently, long ago, the women of the Muertez line were blessed by the Goddess of Death, Santa Muerte, and given an array of abilities that were related to death.

Your mother talked of the tales of your ancestors, women who were priestesses to the deity. They used their abilities to dispel myths about death, teaching people that it wasn't the end of life, but rather a part of it.

She admitted that she didn't think you would get a gift, seeing that the lineage wasn't blessed with one in nearly six generations, the last being your great-great-great-great grandmother, Adriana Muertez, who could temporarily bring life into corpses or inanimate objects using the heart of an animal.

She also confessed to keeping it from your father because of what happened to her family. Because of the nature of the Muertezs' gifts, they were known far and wide, but then, after hundreds of years of peace, they were turned on by those they helped.

Though she didn't experience it, her mother did. She explained how her mother, your maternal grandmother, told her how she watched many of her family members get burned at the stake for witchcraft. To save her, your grandparents took your mother and ran, leaving the name Muertez behind to cover their tracks.

Eventually, everyone seemed to accept it, which greatly surprised your mother, who thought they would harm you. Alma even promised to always ensure harm would never come to you because a gift is a gift, no matter its nature, and that no child should be harmed because of it.

And soon, seeing spirits hanging around became the norm, especially for the noiret-haired teen named Sidero Patricio.

"You're never in the mood to deal with me," he whined, allowing himself to float upside down while staring you in the face with a pout.

Sidero was handsome, but not in the conventional sense. He had an appearance that would have made him stand out in the crowd if he were alive. Standing at around 5'11, Sidero was tan with two unfathomable dark-colored eyes paired with inky black hair.

Waving him off, you pushed yourself up from the floor, dusting your clothes. "Because you're always yapping away in my ear," you told him, walking around to light cleansing incense.

"Only because I care about you," the spirit argued, following close behind you much like a puppy would. "If I didn't, I would have dispersed to the other side, leaving you without me, your only friend."

An incredulous squawk escaped your body, "WhatᅳI have friends!"

"I'm sure you do, chiquita."

You couldn't help but bristle at the nickname before turning to Sidero with a raised brow, "Stop with the chiquita, okay? I'm not little anymore. Plus, if we're going to get literal, it should be the other way around with me calling you chiquito since I'm almost two years older than you."

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N..." Sidero sighed, setting himself on the ground. "You may be older than me physically, but I've got decades on you, chiquita," he teased, smiling over at you.

Knowing that he got you there, you waved him off once more, "Still, I don't know where you got that I don't have friends. I'll have you know, I have many friends."

"The dead don't count, and since I'm a part of that demographic... you see where I'm going with this."

You knew he was only trying to rile you up, but you couldn't help the annoyance bubbling in your chest. "Sidero Nacio Patricio, I am this close"ᅳyou held your pointer and thumb an inch apartᅳ"to banishing you to the land of the dead and not allowing you back until next week."

Instead of him apologizing like you assumed he would, Sidero just laughed as he walked over to you. "Oh~ I can't believe you went and used my full name on me, Y/N," he stood in front of you, gently pinching your face, "Am I in trouble?"

When his hands came into contact with your face, you couldn't help the rack of chills flowing through your body, feeling as if you were drenched in a bucket of ice water.

Stepping away from his touch, you walked away to grab your cloak. "Pah! It's impossible to threaten you when you never take me seriously."

"Of course, I don't. This is the fifth time this week you've told me that, yet when you do it, you end up summoning me back not a day later. And if I didn't know any better, that makes you seem a bit friendless~" he sang, leaning back to float on the surface of a chair, giving the illusion that he was sitting down, with a wide grin.

"Why youᅳ" Your insult was cut off by the sound of knocks at your door.

"Y/N, it's me, Mirabel. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a bit," you shouted back before turning to the Sidero. "Well, since I spend so much time with the dead, I guess I'll send you home so I can be with the living," you drawled, sending the noiret a fake-sharp glare. "See you tomorrow, Sidero."

Playfully rolling his eyes, the spirit sent you a wave. "See you next time I'm summoned, chiquita." And with that, the spirit was gone.

When you opened the door, you were met with Mirabel looking over your shoulder with a puzzled expression, trying to see who you were talking to, only to find an empty space. A look of understanding came over the teen's face. If she didn't know what your gift was, she'd have thought you were insane for talking to the air.

"Let me guess, Sidero?"

"As always," you told her, walking out of the shop, shutting the door before beginning your trek towards Casa Madrigal for dinner.

Instead of walking straight through town, the two of you took the shortcut so your conversation wouldn't be interrupted.

"I didn't see you at lunch today. What was so important that you couldn't come?"

"Ah, you know, existing."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah," you sighed, shoulders slumping in both regret and guilt as you recalled the shrieking voice of your last client. "It's been a hectic day today."

"It couldn't have been worse than usual," the noirette stressed, not understanding why you were more worn out than usual.

"Believe me, Mira, it was one of the worst days I've ever had."

"Try me."

"I had the Castillo's as a client today."

A wince came across Mirabel's face at the name, immediately understanding who you were talking about, "Geez, I'm so sorry. You're right. You had a pretty sucky day," she said, giving you a pity pat on your shoulder.

"Yeah."

"But hey," she spoke, a bright smile growing on her lips. "If it makes you feel any better, I asked mamá to save you a few buñuelos once I realized you weren't coming for lunch."

You swiveled around to face her, gripping her by the shoulders with sparkling eyes. "Mira, I will literally kill for you."

"No need for that, Y/N," she giggled as the two of you walked up towards the large mansion.

Before either of you could even think of opening the door, Casita was, as always, a step ahead.

"Thank you, Casita," you both replied to the happy house, laughing as the tiles beneath your feet created eccentric shapes and colors.

As you and Mirabel were about to turn the corner towards the dining room, Julieta came out of the kitchen with a tray of tamales in her hand.

"Mamá, let me help you with that."

"Thank you, Cosa linda," the noirette smiled as Mirabel took the tray from her.

As Mirabel was off taking the food to the dining room, Julieta turned to face you and said, "Can you help me with the remaining dishes?"

"Of course, Señora Julieta." With that, you followed the graying-noirette into the kitchen.

The fragrance of delicious food was the first thing that hit your nose when you walked in behind the healer.

Immediately, your eyes zoned onto tonight's dessert: a tray of Merengón de Fresas.

Your mouth practically watered at how delicious it looked, how juicy and sweet the strawberries, peaches, and mora looked sitting on top of the bed of fluffy whipped cream.

Seeing your distracted gaze, Julieta shook her head with a smile as she handed you a pot of arroz atollado. "So did you enjoy the buñuelos? I decided to try something new and added a pinch of cacao powder. I hope they turned out well enough."

It took a moment before you were able to register what was said to you, "Eh? I didn't get any buñuelos. Mirabel said that you saved me some because I missed lunch," you told her as you both walked out of the kitchen towards the dining room.

A puzzled expression quickly filled out on Julieta's face at your words. "I did. That's why when I saw you walking down the hall earlier, I asked if you'd want them now and you took them."

"Señora Julieta, you must be mistaken. I haven't been here since this morning. Plus, I couldn't have done that. I just came in with Mirabel."

The two of you were left in silence before looking at one another, understanding immediately filling your minds. "Camilo," you both sighed in unison.

That trickster should have been the first thing to come to mind when Julieta asked if you enjoyed the buñuelos, yet he wasn't because of your distracted nature.

You couldn't believe he'd do that to you!

Well, actually, you could, but still, he committed identity fraud to hurt you in the worst way possible: to steal your buñuelos!

Oh, the horror!

You haven't had them in weeks due to both your absence as well as Julieta's rule to make a dessert once a week, and that devil went and stole it from you.

Seeing the waves of sadness flowing off your form as you pouted over the loss of your desert, Julieta gave you a gentle nudge with her hip, "Don't be too upset, linda. If it makes you feel any better, I'll whip you up a few buñuelos and personally deliver them to you tomorrow, alright?"

Feeling a smidge better, you gave the older woman a small smile as well as a "Thank you," before walking into the dining room.

Everyone wasn't present at the moment, the only ones there helping set up being Mirabel, Agustín, Julieta, Dolores, and yourself.

Agustín was the first to notice your arrival, getting up to grab the pot out of your hands, allowing you to go over and set plates on the table with Mirabel.

After getting everything together, the others began trickling in, the only ones absent being Camilo and Alma.

"Mira, I never knew I could kill a man until Camilo came into my life," the words left your lips, eyes narrowing at the empty seat before you as you sat next to your best friend.

"Huh? What did he do?" The girl wondered, turning towards you with a puzzled face.

At her question, you couldn't help the scowl that grew on your lips. "That tramposo pretended to be me and ate the buñuelos Señora Julieta saved for me."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah. I swear, he has it out for me. Out of everything he could have done, he had to do that."

Mirabel hummed, "I suppose, but you can't blame him. It was you who missed lunch, after all. You'd think that since you love mamá's buñuelos so much, you wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Yeah—wait, what?" You were taken back by her words; she was siding with Camilo!?

When had she ever, in your twelve years of friendship, sided with that trickster!?

Besides, she was the one who told Julieta to save you a few pastries!

"Mira, whatㅡ?" Before you could finish your question, Alma and Mirabel walked into the room.

It was at the moment that you saw her enter with the matriarch that you knew you'd been duped for the second time today.

Releasing a sigh, you turned to face 'Mirabel' only to find Camilo already staring at you with a wicked grin. "Hello, Y/N. I heard you had some interesting things to say about me. Care to reveal them? I'm all ears."

You wanted to scream right then and there. Why, on Santa Muerte, couldn't you realize that it was Camilo? And how come the rest of them didn't tell you it was him? They obviously knew, seeing as they showed no reaction when the real Mirabel walked in with Alma. You couldn't help but feel that they wanted you to fail and continue to be deceived by him.

"Camilo," you started with a false smile, "If you don't move, I will ask Antonio to put his animals on you again."

You both knew that it wasn't an empty threat; a couple of weeks ago, you got Antonio to put a few of his pets on Camilo due to him aggravating you, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that they knew where Camilo was no matter how he looked because his scent always stayed the same.

Camilo must have realized that you were serious because he stood up, allowing Mirabel to sit in her seat, but not without leaving with a cheeky last word. "If it makes you feel any better, they were delicious. Tía Julieta really outdone herself with that batch."

You just stayed silent, allowing your eye to twitch out your frustration as he happily whistled as he sat before you, winking before beginning to dive into the food.

"Don't let him get to you, Y/N. He just enjoys getting a rise out of you," Mirabel said, handing you the salad bowl.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," you muttered, fixing your plate and eating like everyone else.

Besides the usual trickery from Camilo, dinner was exquisite; you couldn't believe you willingly missed two weeks of Julieta's delicious food just because of work; never again.

As everyone was finishing up, Alma stood up to give the evening family meeting.

"As we all know, Día de Muertos will be arriving in less than a few weeks, so we have much to prepare." Her voice was soft yet strict, easily capturing the attention of everyone at the table. "And since the celebration allows our deceased loved ones to come back to visit us, I believe it would be best if you, Y/N, took control and plan the ceremony this year."

Your eyes bulged out of your skull, choking on your water in surprise at her words. "W-What? Me?"

"Yes, cariño, you."

"B-But shouldn't it be planned by you, Doña Alma? You've done it for so long."

Don't get it wrong, you were honored to be chosen to be in charge of something that suited your gift, but she wanted the entire ceremony to be planned by you!?

"Yes, but seeing as what your gift entails, I, as well as many others, agree that you are perfect for the task. Unless, of course, you feel that you aren't ready?"

She was right; it's only natural that someone of your lineage is in charge of an event related to spirits crossing over to the living and visiting loved ones.

Hosting such a big event like this reminds you of the stories your mother would tell you; stories depicting the ceremonies the women of your family bestowed on the people around them, allowing them the opportunity to showcase their gifts from your goddess.

"No...I would like to do it," you said, looking up to make eye contact with the matriarch.

A grandmotherly smile filled out Alma's face. "Well, in that case, it is settled. Y/N will be in charge of planning the upcoming celebration. Let's make it everyone's priority to assist her with whatever she needs. La Familia Madrigal!"

"La Familia Madrigal!" And with that, dinner was dismissed.

***I didn't necessarily know where to end the chapter, so please forgive the need for dragging it on. I hope you enjoyed the extra info I dumped on you all regarding Y/Ma's family history, as well as my OC!

I've also been getting messages about when I'll update, and I'm sorry to say that I'm unsure. I try writing whenever I can but it isn't always guaranteed every three days due to school and tons of work. So I'll try to update often, but I can't be too sure; hope you all understand.

Anyways, see you next update.

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