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foreveranevilregal · 6 months

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Encantober Day 21: Age

She was twenty-five years old. One day, she had been married to the love of her life; eagerly awaiting the arrival of their little blessing, which turned out to be little blessings. The next, she was widowed and alone with three babies, far away from the home where she had grown up. How she was supposed to do this alone, she couldn’t say. It would have been hard enough raising triplets with help. Every day, she passed by the portrait of Pedro that had somehow been hanging up in the house as soon as it rose out of the ground, running her hand along the frame lovingly. Whenever she did that, the stairs did a tap dance in response. She had a sneaking suspicion that the house and Pedro were connected, but she shook it off, figuring she was just sleep deprived. Taking care of three babies was hard, but to see them growing every day, discovering the world around them…

He should have been here for this.

___

She was twenty-six years old. Today was her birthday. The first one since…well. Since they had moved to their encanto. She didn’t feel up to celebrating, but the townspeople had graciously dropped off some food and a cake they had made for her. Chocolate, her favorite. Pedro’s favorite too. He’d had such a sweet tooth. Alma could barely finish any sweets she had without him trying to steal them from her. Still, she thought sadly, she would give him this entire cake just to have him back again. She would give anything.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was twenty-six years old. The triplets were turning one. They had grown so much! Despite being the same age, they were so different. Pepa was the easiest to tell apart. She was fair and had tufts of red hair sticking out all over her head. Out of the three, she’d been the first to talk, and she cried the loudest. If you dared ignore her, she’d scream like la Llorona. Bruno had started walking first, but he was by far the quietest. Alma had to keep a special eye on him to keep him from getting hurt. Julieta had beautiful big brown eyes and dark brown curls. She’d burbled happily before she could talk and kept reaching out her chubby little hands towards others. Oh, the townspeople adored them! The celebration they gave to the three miracle babies of the encanto was unforgettable. But there was one part she wished she could forget.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was thirty years old. Somehow, she had made it through the triplets’ infancy and toddlerhood. Surely it would be easier from here on out. If anything, all four of them were sleeping through the night, even Pepa, who’d had a few rough months. Of course, hope was futile; a lesson she should have learned five years prior. On the triplets’ fifth birthday, she awoke to three brand new doors, shimmering mysteriously in the hallway. When she went to inspect them, she saw that each doorknob had a different letter carved into it- the triplets’ initials.

By this point, the children had woken up and followed her to the doors. Pepa’s big green eyes lit up with joy as she opened the door to her new room. Suddenly, she realized she had her own personal rainbow hanging over her head. Shouting in shock, she backed away.

That was when Bruno unexpectedly warned her that she’d trip over the banister.

Indeed, Pepa went tumbling over, sliding down the stairs and skinning her knee. Immediately, she broke out into tears, and was even more surprised to feel rain rolling down her cheeks alongside her tears.

Julieta ran down the stairs and went into the kitchen, grabbing an arepa that had been waiting for breakfast. She offered it to Pepa, the way she’d seen Alma do when they got hurt, to distract her from her pain. As soon as she took a bite, the redness on her knee cleared up and the skin healed over.

Alma almost fell over in shock herself. Without any rational explanation, her children had somehow seemingly acquired abilities that were nothing short of magic. Pepa affected the weather. Julieta could heal. And Bruno…could he see the future? Ay. She rubbed her temples. Things wouldn’t be easy after all.

That night, when she brushed her hair before bed, she noticed her first gray hair. The first sign she was getting older.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was forty years old. Amazingly, she had managed to keep her three magical children alive and they getting ready for Julieta and Pepa’s quinceañera. A joint party, of course, but one so lively that no one would miss a second party. Sometime in the last few years, it felt like the veil over Alma’s life had lifted. Colors brightened. Shapes sharpened. And music sounded sweet again. For the first time in a long time, she had allowed herself to dance again. She missed her Pedro, but there was nothing she could do to bring him back. Besides, she and the children had survived. They were safe, and more than safe- they were thriving! Thanks to the triplets’ magical gifts, Alma could give back to the community that had supported them through those first few perilous years. She could try to pay back the massive debt she had accumulated that weighed on her for all those years.

And so she danced! Despite the many quiet years, her feet remembered the steps and carried her from one song to the next. The twinge of pain in her knees was new; she’d certainly never experienced that before while dancing. But no matter; she wouldn’t let it ruin her night! Just like she wouldn’t let the way Pepa swished her skirts around when boys were watching ruin it. Or the way Bruno danced with Julieta because otherwise she’d spend much of the night sitting. These girls needed their papá around; to raise them, to love them, to show them what a man was supposed to be. To dance with them on their special night.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was forty-seven years old. It was Pepa’s wedding day. Pepa would be marrying a wonderful man; one who loved her and would take care of her like Pedro promised to do for Alma. Her heart was overflowing with joy for her daughter. Even though the hurricane had been catastrophic, at the end of the day, Pepa had gone home with her husband. And Alma had not.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was fifty years old. This time it was Julieta’s wedding day. She too was marrying a man who promised to love her and cherish her, through anything life would throw at them. Her wedding had been a calmer affair, though no less joyous. Alma laughed, and she cried, and she wasn’t sure which one was giving her more wrinkles around her eyes. But just like Pepa, Julieta did not have her papá at her wedding.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was fifty-three years old. Her first grandchild, a beautiful baby girl, had just been born. Julieta cradled her proudly, humming to soothe her as the baby cried. Alma couldn’t keep the tears out of her own eyes. She was a grandmother. Soon, any day now by the looks of Pepa’s belly, she’d be one again. A joy she should have shared.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was fifty-five years old. Another granddaughter was born. Alma rocked her to sleep in her arms, ignoring the way her joints would seize up sometimes. Their family had been so blessed over the years.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was fifty-eight years old. Isabela, who had just turned five, got a gift of her own! She could make the most beautiful flowers appear. Just like the ones Pedro gave to her. Shortly after, little Dolores also got a gift; able to hear anything no matter how quiet. The magic was growing.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was fifty-nine years old. Her eyesight was growing weaker, but there was no mistaking that this newest Madrigal baby, with his crooked grin and floppy curls, would be beautiful, just like his mamá and papá. Even after all these years, Alma instinctively turned to her side to hand him the baby.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was sixty years old. Another wonderful baby girl. Alma felt something special as she held her in her arms. The girl looked up at her with large inquisitive eyes. She would have been Pedro’s favorite, Alma knew in her heart.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was seventy years old. They had not been expecting any more little blessings, but Antonio had decided to surprise them all, with his wild curls and infectious smile. Alma felt her back stoop as she held him. Even at such an old age, she was blessed to see new life begin. But she wished she could have been blessed to share that old age with her love.

He should have been here for this.

___

She was seventy-one years old.

She was seventy-two years old.

She was seventy-three years old.

She was seventy-four years old.

She was seventy-five years old.

He should have been here for this.

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mmollymercury · 1 year

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Encantober, day 31 ~ Butterfly🦋🦋🦋💖💖💖

"Right back where we started from..."

This took me two days to do, so posting a day late lolll. BUT I DID ITTT I did the whole of encantober😭😭😭 im actually really proud of myself, I think I've learned and grown a lot during October this year! I loved it💖💖💖

Thanks to everyone who reblogged and liked and said the sweetest things to me, honestly they warmed my heart everyday, I'm so grateful🤧🤧💞💞💞💞

#encanto #encantober #encanto fanart #alma madrigal #digital painting #pedro madrigal #alma x pedro #digital art #fanart #art #my art #molly's encantober #💞💞💞💞💞#💫my art🎨

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sokkas-first-fangirl · 1 year

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They clicked together so perfectly and Alma couldn’t remember ever being so happy before. She would have been content to simply sit and listen to Pedro talk about his poems and short-stories forever.

Pedro’s explanation of his writing cut short with a quiet, startled huff of laughter.

A butterfly had landed on his nose. It was a yellow butterfly and Alma swore she could see a tinge of gold to its wings. It gently flapped its wings and didn’t seem in any hurry to leave Pedro’s nose.

Alma giggled and wished for a camera.

“I think she likes you,” she said.

“Well,” Pedro said, smiling at her. “I like her too.”

🦋

Butterflies have always followed Alma throughout her life, through the big moments and the small ones. They were always there, guiding her way, whether she realised it or not.

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briarsworld2 · 2 years

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Touching moments in Encanto ❤️🥺🥲🥰

#Encanto #moments #love #encanto mirabel #encanto julieta #alma x pedro #camilo madrigal #isabela madrigal #touching moments in Encanto #disney plus #disney ships #Disney

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lizzywrites1 · 2 years

Conversation

If Pedro were alive:

Alma: Pedro, why would you do that?

Pedro: Qué? All I did was give them cookies.

Alma: Before dinner. You can’t say yes to everything.

Pedro: But… the sad eyes.

Alma: You need to grow a backbone.

Pedro: But they all have that beautiful glint in their eyes as you do in yours~

Alma, heart is melting but also still annoyed: …You know what??

#He'd be a goofball #I know it #he loves his kids #alma was the strict one #alma madrigal #pedro madrigal #alma x pedro #pedro x alma

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feypact · 2 years

Video

MEET ME AT OUR SPOT . alma/pedro for @canonrenaissance (youtube)

#encanto #encantoedit #alma x pedro #meet me at our spot #fanvidfeed #mine #my videos

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cloudy-encanto · 1 year

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Made this one 6months ago but then I watched it now that Encantober has finished and I’m so attached to Alma and her story, and honestly I’m just sobbing 😭 🦋✨ Mariposa 💖

youtube

#encanto #encantober #alma madrigal #pepa madrigal #bruno madrigal #julieta madrigal #encanto fandom event #october 2022 #amv #youtube #fan edit #alma x pedro

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magicalmadrigals · 2 years

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Dos Oruguitas

The idea for this came about because it is my hc that “Dos Oruguitas” was a song Pedro wrote for his babies while Alma was still pregnant with them and it gave me the idea to explore how it came to be! This is my first time writing for Pedro and Alma, so I really hope that you like it!

“Perfecto...”

Nodding to himself while sat at the piano, Pedro picked up his pencil and made a note of the chords he had just played before he forgot them. He had been working on this for a while now, a song for both his wife and their unborn babies, and he had crumpled up more sheets of paper than he cared to admit, but it seemed as though it was all coming together at long last and he was so excited.

Music was a passion of his, it had been since his seventh birthday when his pa surprised him with the most beautiful guitar he had ever seen, and there was no greater blessing than being able to share that with the love of his life. Alma had inspired all his songs since they met, there was so much to adore about her, and he always made sure to incorporate her into them in any way he possibly could.

It had been about six months since she told him their family would be expanding by three, a shock to say the least, and a good chunk of his time since then had been dedicated to working out which sort of song he wanted to compose to mark such a momentous occasion. He knew it needed to be something beautiful and memorable, something truly special, and he was confident he had achieved that.

So lost in thought, he failed to hear his wife making her way up behind him and almost leapt from the stool when she wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt more than heard her chuckle as she pressed her lips to the top of his head and he smirked, reaching up to take one of her hands in his own and kiss the back of it. “You know you’re meant to be resting.” He murmured gently against her skin.

“Ay, Pedro,” She tutted. “You’re one to talk, sitting here at three in the morning...”

“I know, but I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to get this finished.”

“Can I ask what it is? I think I deserve to know since this room has seen more of you than I have over the past few weeks. Remind me who you’re married to?”

Turning in place on the stool, he looked up at her for a moment before bringing a hand to her stomach and stroking his thumb against the proof of their babies. “I am married to Alma Madrigal, the worst reina del drama the world has ever seen and the most beautiful creature I have ever met,” He revealed. “How was that?”

“Truthful, if not a bit offensive,” She laughed. “So, are you going to tell me?”

He gave her an overexaggerated groan. “Why can nothing ever be a surprise?”

“Because, I think you and I have had enough surprises to last us a lifetime.” She patted her bump, smiling when one of the babies moved underneath her hand.

“Si, I think you make a good point,” He nodded before taking his hands from her waist and turning on the stool slightly, the two of them sharing a smile when he patted his knee before she walked around him and sat down on it, wrapping her arm around his shoulders to keep balanced. "You should know, it isn’t perfect.”

She shrugged in response. “Let me hear it and decide that for myself.”

He didn’t even try to resist the urge to kiss her, slipping his arms tight around her for a moment and leaning in to capture her lips with his, and he revelled in the gentle hum that came from the back of her throat as his lips clung to hers when he started to pull away. His love for her was unparalleled, he knew of no other word to describe it, and he was determined to remind her of that fact all his life.

He wasted no time in beginning to play the song he had composed once he was sure she was comfortable, allowing her to sink back against his chest while she listened to him play, and he rested his chin on his shoulder as his fingers danced up and down the keys. He risked a glance in her direction every now and again and the permanent smile that appeared to be etched into her face delighted him.

“I know this has been a work in progress for a while now, but that’s all I have for the time being,” He explained when he reached the end and leaned back a bit, letting his hands settle on the underside of her bump as her head dropped back against his shoulder and she looked up into his eyes. “It must be perfecto - you and our babies inspired me to write it - so I want to take my time with this, amor.”

Reaching up to rest a hand on the side of his neck, she traced the line of his jaw with her thumb before pulling him down into a chaste kiss and brushing the end of her nose against his when she peeled back. “I think it is muy hermosa as it is,” She told him in a voice no higher than a whisper. “It only needs some lyrics and then it will be as perfecto as all the others. You can do that another time though.”

“Should I take that as an order to come to bed?” He asked with a smile.

“Si,” She rose from his knee. “I would like to sleep beside my husband tonight.”

He reached for her hand then, kissing her knuckles. “Your wish is my command.”

Standing from the stool, he put an arm around her waist and started leading her across the room to the door before opening it and allowing her to step out ahead of him. He held back for a moment, looking at the piece of paper still sitting on the piano, and smiled before closing the door and following her to their bedroom.

This one, much like the people he had written it about, was going to be special.

There was no doubt in his mind about that.

No doubt whatsoever.

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wikluk · 2 years

Note

Fic title—

Hold Tightly to Our Memories

hold tightly to our memories

I thought about some Alma/Pedro angst.

Like... days immediately after Pedro died are difficult for Alma. She's overwhelmed by all that had happened, by taking care of three babies all at once, or being a young widow and caring about other people.

She's barely functioning, too busy and tired and everything. So her only escape is... dreaming. And so, she has very vivid dreams. She sees Pedro in them. She's dreaming about what was in the past, about moments when they were happy and in love. Moments when everything was alright.

And so, when Alma feels not her best, she always escapes to the world created by her memories, where she remembers the life she once had, and relives in her head all the memories they had created.

#ask game #title ask game #alma madrigal #alma x pedro #angst #dreams #fluff #domestic life #fanfiction ideas

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sorryiwasasleep · 1 year

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The sheets were new.

It broke Alma.

Pedro would never live in this room, in these sheets, in these walls. She would never be able to roll over into his familiar scent again, strong even when he was absent from the bed.

He was gone. He gave them, their babies, the chance to live, but in doing so he was lost. And can never be found.

She won’t even get the chance to bury his body. It was taken away by the mountains, along with her last glances of the terror and heartbreak on his face. And the blood.

There was so much blood.

And now Alma is all alone, with three infants and a giant magic house filled with virtual strangers, other refugees with no where else to go.

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. What to say, what to do, what to think. All she knows is that there’s a hollow pit inside of her chest and she feels like she could get swallowed up by the earth at any second.

She wishes that god wasn’t cruel and had granted the miracle a second before the blow landed, not the second after.

She wishes that they could have left sooner, or thought to leave before her pregnancy got too far along for it to not be safe.

She wishes they had killed her instead. Pedro would know how to handle the babies better than her she’s sure. He’d know what to say to all these people.

Alma is fumbling, scrambling for purchase on slick ground and she thinks she’s losing herself along the way.

She fell to her knees at the end of this bed, in this room, so familiar, but not. Because it might look like her and Pedro’s home, but it wasn’t. And it would never be. Her teary gaze found its way to the windowsill where she had placed her wedding candle.

She wondered if it’d ever burn out. She wondered if she should put it out. She wanted to smash it against a wall at the fact that it didn’t save Pedro.

That all she has left are her babies. She walked on her knees over to the crib that had appeared for them and looked over the bars.

Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno. So alike and yet so different. The only people she had left in the world.

She would have to be mother and father. Play both parents and pray that it was enough. That she was enough.

Oh, how she longs for Pedro to be beside her. To hold her and assure her everything would be alright.

The ghost of his lips was still on hers and she knows it will break her more the day she can’t recall the feeling.

She just wants Pedro back.

#encanto #encanto fanfic #encanto ficlet #encanto alma #alma x pedro #alma madrigal #abuela madrigal #pedro madrigal #young alma madrigal #grief/mourning #loss of a loved one

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foreveranevilregal · 2 months

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Encantober Day 27: Grave

So...I know it's almost March and Encantober ended months ago, but I promised myself I'd finish it, and here it is. I had more ideas for this prompt, but I lost my outline so I'll add them in once I post it to AO3. @encantober-official

Dewdrops clung to the grass as Alma made the habitual walk to where her Pedro lay. There was a slight chill in the early morning air; she pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She loved the stillness of those early hours before the town awoke.

A misty haze hung in the air, blurring the outlines of the headstones lining the graveyard. As she approached, the headstones grew clearer. The one marking Pedro’s grave was large and ornate; intricate designs carved around the edges. After the funeral, after the burial, after she’d had time to process the tragedy, she had insisted that the spot where he lay be marked with something truly special.

“Hola, Pedro,” she said simply, resting her hand along the top of the headstone. A caress meant for his cheek, given to cold damp stone. She smiled wistfully, taking in the familiar sight. Alma tried to visit regularly, but today was different. Today marked the anniversary of when her Pedro sacrificed himself to give her and their children the chance for a better life. Technically, it might have been yesterday. She wasn’t entirely sure. They couldn’t exactly check their pocket watches while they were fleeing for their lives. But she liked to think it happened after midnight. The oppressive darkness surrounding them sure made it feel like it was the middle of the night, and that was good enough for Alma. She couldn’t bear the thought that lives so important to her could enter and leave the world on the same day, brushing past each other like a breeze blowing by a candle flame.

So, as a family, they chose to commemorate it on October 18th. That way, the children could celebrate their birthday unmarred by the tragedy. It was better that way.

“Ay, Pedro…” Tears spilled down her cheek. “We had quite the year. Antonio got his gift. He can speak to animals. Isn’t that wonderful? You loved animals so much. I remember the adventures we had with those horses. With Toñito’s gift, it’s like part of you lives on inside him.” She shook her head, the corners of her lips tugging up into a smile. “But I’m sure you already knew that. No doubt you had a say in his gift.” It wasn’t an opinion she had ever dared to voice to anyone else, but Alma had a sneaking suspicion that Pedro had lived on in the house that had mysteriously sprung up in the valley across the river. Their Casita.

Clearing her throat, she continued. “We lost our gifts and got them back again. Mirabel…she saved us all. You would be so proud of her, Pedro. She’s just like you. Thanks to her, our magic is stronger than ever.” She sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “And Brunito came home. We are all together again. Well…” she choked back a sob, “not all of us.”

She pulled a candle out of her pocket. It wasn’t the magical candle that had sustained them for all those years. Instead, it was an ordinary candle; one you could pass by a thousand times and not throw a second glance. But love had a way of turning the ordinary into something extraordinary, and it had been their love of candles that had first brought them together. Carefully, she lit the candle and placed it near the headstone. She closed her eyes, murmuring a quick prayer.

The sun climbed slowly up the horizon, streaking a brilliant yellow through the gray. Alma traced the letters on the headstone, bargaining with herself for more time. Couldn’t she stay just a little while longer? But in her heart, she knew she couldn’t. Giving the headstone one last lingering look, she nodded stiffly and turned to head back home.

The sun was higher in the sky than Julieta would have liked by the time she made it to her papá’s grave. Despite her best efforts, she just hadn’t been able to finish cooking all the food any earlier. Between tending to injuries and checking on her children, it had taken her far longer than anticipated to prepare the foods she wanted to bring with her. Over the years, through some clever sleuthing, she had learned what had been some of her papá’s favorite dishes. Every year, without fail, she had prepared them for him on today’s date. Although she knew the occasion they were marking, she preferred to think of it as saving him leftovers from their birthday, because that thought didn’t make her want to burst into tears.

Agustín accompanied her on her trek, both for moral support, and to help her carry the sheer amount of food she had prepared. “I, uh, think your papá will be really happy to get all this food.” He winced, hefting the basket higher on his arm to alleviate the soreness of the weight.

“Ay, Agustín, is the basket too heavy?” Julieta studied him concernedly. “Maybe I should have asked Luisa to help…”

“No!” His face turned red from exertion. “Let her rest, mi amor. She’s been working so hard lately. Ever since you got your gifts back, it’s like everyone forgot how to get by without them again.”

Julieta pressed her lips together, guarding her tongue. She knew he was right, but now wasn’t the time to fight that fight. Now she wanted to honor her papá and show him how much she loved him the best way she knew: through food.

Finally, they reached the graveyard. Agustín placed the basket on the ground with a heavy thud. It was filled to the brim with the foods Pedro had enjoyed most, both sweet and savory. His stomach gave an involuntary gurgle.

Julieta chuckled at the sound. “Is someone hungry?” She teased.

“No…” Agustín lied.

“I told you; you should have eaten before we came up here.” Julieta tutted, shaking her head good-naturedly.

“But I wasn’t hungry then!” He argued.

“So you are hungry now?” An amused smile played on her lips.

“Yes! I mean, no! I can’t think,” he complained, rubbing his temples.

“I’ll feed you as soon as we get home, how’s that?” She patted his cheek playfully. “But don’t even think about touching this food. It’s all for papá.”

“I would never!” He insisted, horrified at the assumption.

But Julieta had moved on from the banter, spreading out the various dishes in a cluster around the candle she saw tucked into the corner. Mamá must have been here already. Her candle was still burning brightly, she noted with a smile. Hopefully it would make it through the day.

Once she’d arranged everything to her liking, she addressed her papá. “Papá…we never got to know you growing up, but it was your sacrifice that allowed us to have such a good life.” The words came easily to her, having heard her mamá repeat them time and time again. “I know it’s not enough of a thank you, but I made all your favorites. It would have been better if you could taste them for real, if they could have helped you stay with us, but this will have to do.”

Agustín wrapped his arm around her shoulder, giving her a nod of approval. They stood there for a few minutes, basking in the faint warmth of the morning sun before Julieta bid her papá farewell and they headed back.

#alma madrigal #pedro madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustin madrigal #julieta x agustín #alma x pedro #encantober #encantober 2023 #foreveranevilregal writes #writing encanto #to the two of you who will read this: thank you #i just want to finish this and be done with it

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prophetic-hijinks · 7 months

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Generations

#brunomadrigal #Bruno madrigal #alma madrigal #Pedro madrigal #Bruno x oc #Catalina madrigal #encanto #encanto oc #fanart #elena ruiz

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sokkas-first-fangirl · 2 years

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Isabela looked just like her at that age. No, Alma thought with a proud smile. She is far more beautiful than I ever was.

Isabela drew the admiring gazes and smiles of everyone in the village, and it was quickly becoming apparent that no one admired her more than young Mariano Guzman. His smile was downright love-struck; he leaned over his balcony to watch Isabela go past and he blushed furiously when she smiled at him. And what a sweet young man he was! He paid Isabela such lovely compliments. “The most perfect rose,” he called her. “An angel.”

And he was right. Her dear Isabela was perfect. There was no finer young woman anywhere.

Her granddaughter was always so sweet; she always had a kind word to say. She was the perfect little lady; graceful, beautiful, mannerly and gentle. A rose in every sense. And with her wonderful Gift over flowers, it only emphasised her beauty. Was there ever such a perfect young woman before?

Surely not! Alma thought, walking through the Encanto, arm-in-arm with Isabela. My Isabela is one of a kind.

And Mariano was such a gentleman! Oh, it would be such a perfect match, exactly what Isabela deserved! Mariano was always so polite; he was kind, artistic and the most handsome young man in town. He was from such a good family; the Guzmans had always been a pillar of their community and his abuela was a long-time friend of Alma’s.

In some ways...Well, he reminded Alma of Pedro sometimes. Perhaps it was Mariano’s enjoyment of poetry (his abuela and madré were so proud of it), or his sense of style.

Pedro had certainly been perfect. Her soul-mate, the love of her life; her other half, taken far too soon.

That was the last thing Alma wanted for Isabela. No, Isabela would have the perfect life. Of course she would! How could she not? Isabela herself was already perfect. She would have the wonderful life she deserved; the life of her dreams, as Br- he once foretold. Isabela already had the perfect Gift. Grace and poise came so naturally to her. Our angel, Félix fondly called her, and it was an apt description.

Her little rose; her Isa, her darling granddaughter.

Isabela would have the perfect marriage. The perfect husband and perfect children. The perfect, safe home that she deserved.

Alma would make sure of it.

As they paused in the town square, Alma spotted Mariano on his balcony. He was sitting at a little table, notebook and pen in hand and he quickly abandoned them at the sight of Isabela. He stood, leaning over the railing with that sweet, gentle smile Alma had noticed the past few weeks.

Oh yes, Mariano was smitten.

Alma smiled and kissed Isabela’s cheek, tucking Isabela’s hair behind her ears.

“I do believe Mariano likes you, mi vida,” she said gently.

Isabela paused, her eyes flickering towards the Guzman home. She gave a flustered little giggle and turned her back on the house.

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t know about that, Abuela. Maybe.”

Always so modest! Alma thought.

With that, Isabela stepped forward into the centre of the square. To Alma, it seemed like the golden rays of the sun sought out her granddaughter only to illuminate her further, like a spotlight, bathing her in golden light and announcing her presence to all.

As always, many villagers stopped to smile fondly, to whisper and watch as Isabela spun in a circle, arms outstretched with a joyous smile as rows upon rows of beautiful flowers sprung forth at her silent command.

All the while, Alma watched her with a proud smile, her heart glowing like the sun above them.

Her hand wandered to her locket and her smile grew as Isabela tucked a rose into her hair.

“Gracias, amor,” Alma said, pulling Isabela into a hug.

I promise, she thought, holding her close. I promise, mi amor. It will be perfect for you.

40 notes · View notes