#encanto madremonte au
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Facets of a Shattered Memory II
Series based on my interpretation of the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
Pt. 1
Summary: Starting from where part one left off, we get a look into Isa's life following her escape from Casita and what the next five years of her life were like.
WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Injury, And A Bit of Death
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The first thing that came to her was a memory, it was the only thing that she could say with certainty was the first thing she could remember. It was dark, voices were speaking above her and she was being held. In her ear sounded a choir speaking in unison, the voice high and like the rustling of trees “Amor, cuando despiertes el mundo será un lugar nuevo, pero necesitas saber esto. Tu eras amada, tan amada que no lo podemos describir.”
Another voice, lower with the sound of rumbling mountains echoed below it, “Tu nombre es Isa, nosotras the llamamos Amor. Tu eres nuestra y nosotros somos tuyas, nunca dudes eso.”
She felt movement at her side and a hand stroke her cheek before she woke up for the first time.
(Months of waiting, the heavens holding their breath as the hour draws closer, the jungle quiet in the space where glass shards fused with molten gold, the result buried beneath their roots waiting to wake up as the body is changed.)
It was warm, not suffocatingly so, but enough that her body melted into a languid stretch, slow and pleased. She could feel the soft bedding beneath her and the dips of whatever lay beneath the barrier, it was firm and unyielding, but the nest added a softness for her aching body to relax into. Time felt like it stood still and passed so slowly all at once, the only suggestion of it going by was the feeling of the arm trapped under her body falling asleep.
Oh.
What a wonder.
It was feeling that came to her first, muscles unused for so long aching as bones moved from their place of rest, the stretch of her body triggering sensation and she felt the soft friction of plants against her skin. She noted the gaps in sensation and moved her hand down to feel where her thigh met her hip, feeling the difference in texture and the way it would not bend under the force of her fingers. She felt where it began and where it ended and, in her heart, she knew this was something good; Something meant to keep hurt far and away from her, though she didn’t quite know why she knew, only that she did.
(Somewhere in the depths of her mind, an echo of a forgotten emotion drifted like smoke. The faintest after image of someone's wail and the pulling on her body. As sudden as its emergence it flickered, pulled into golden light, and before it could be registered it was gone.)
The tearing of the leaves beneath her body brought sound to her ears and with great speed her hands clapped soundly over her ears. It was so loud, the texture of the noise itself grating on her newly awoken senses before she slowly pulled them away, adjusting to the new input. As she sat up and opened her eyes for the first time, they moved in tandem with her ears, and it startled her to feel the muscles move of their own accord. With slightly unsteady fingertips she brushed along the shell and traced their pointed shape, wondering at the newness if her own body. Her eyes never stopped tracking her surroundings, it was dark and dim, but as she began to look for the source of light illuminating the space, she realized that there was none and that she could still see despite it.
It was at this moment that she heard the faintest whisper next to her ear and even if it was sudden, all she felt was love and warmth and gold-
“Levántate Amor. Te tienes que levantar para ver las estrellas.”
And in her mind, she saw a vast expanse of dark blue skies and hundreds upon thousands of lights filling everywhere she could see. That was something she knew she had to see, a deep-seated longing to greet that which felt like a promise connecting her to the light-ridden sky. Determination filled her and blood roared in her ears as she pushed herself up, a slight snarl forming in her lips as she began to look for a way out of her ben of vines and leaves. It was then that she heard the singing for the first time, moving from the subtle notes it had been only seconds before to an ascending choir, rising in volume until it was all she could hear.
Isa looked down and there under bare feet were coiling vines, some coming from her skin and others from the roots she had been cradled in, climbing up her legs. She could hear them as if they were only an extension of her soul and if she focused her sight on them, she could faintly see golden strings tangling in the movement of their length. Within her she felt something stir, a primal knowledge that they would move if she told them to, not just the vines but the roots of whatever it was that they came from, and with that she pulled on the golden light within her watched as her surroundings exploded into sudden movement all at once.
The vines sighed and wrapped tightly around her as the roots rose in unison, their laughter low, their creaking heralding the opening of the ceiling above and then there was light.
It wasn’t bright by any means, no, but soft and ghostly. She watched, her pupils dilating, as the light grew larger and the opening wider, until she could crawl out and then her senses were filled with the sounds of a choir’s breathy laughter and fond sighs. It was intense and she closed her eyes to center herself and then looked up into the dark sky and marveled at the sight of golden chords stringing the stars together.
(In the spaces that were and yet were not, the heavens finally quieted the remaining wails of the mourning stars. They looked down at the girl who had been mortal and yet was now more Other, more like them, than her kin. They saw golden eyes where there had been the brown of her mother and her skin was covered in the Jungle and the Earth’s claim.)
As the world took its first breath in the aftermath of what was avoided, a child and those who loved her stood at the beginning of a path that fate had not touched. Far away in a living house, a mother held the remains of her daughter's clothing to her chest and mourned a life lost. Months of waiting for news ending in the tragedy of her loss, but in the wake of this pain a new future began to form. The golden light in the woman’s womb pulsed and the child’s fate was linked firmly to the stargazer in the mountains.
(The stars looked down and for a moment their light twinkled in concert across the sky, light dancing across the world. The road would not be easy, they saw, but in the grand tapestry of their world this change in what was to come was better than it had been before.)
Isa’s ear flicked over to listen to something beside her ear and with one last final glance at the sky above, she moved deep into the forest, quickly disappearing. The only thing giving away what had happened in the clearing was the still open hole in the ground and then it began to close as the animals in the surrounding vegetation began to sing again. It was when the moon above began to dip from its zenith that everything returned to how it had been only hours before, and the only marking left was the overturned dirt at the roots of the tree.
(Sometimes, a child lives, and the world grieves for one less person lost to fate.)
As the days passed, Isa learned how to traverse her surroundings, gradually moving like the predator she had become. On hands and feet, she learned to stalk as the jaguars did and in the trees, she adapted their movements. Weeks passed and then a month went by, her mind and body adjusting to the world around her, but all throughout it, she could hear the gentle singing all around her as she ran through the green and when night came, she could hear that sweet voice again, a guide.
“Mira la manera que se mueven mi Amor. Mira como sus garras se encajan en el arbol y haz lo también.”
“Mi pequeno amor, ven al agua. Necesitas tomar algo, te va dar sed.”
“Ven y siéntate en el sol, Isa. Te va ser bien.”
It was always there when she needed to be reminded of her own limits and to teach her as she learned, sometimes layered with a deep bass from below or the whisper of another woman’s voice. They never scared her, not ever, instead it felt like the gentle caress of sunlight against her skin and every time it happened, she could feel the golden chords inside of her chest sway and she saw the plants around her grow. It fascinated her to no end, doing whatever she could to prolong the sight and the feeling, sometimes hours would pass by as her want for this was indulged.
In some part of her soul, she felt like she should be ashamed of asking for this attention and in turn felt embarrassed for the time she spent lounging in it, but that thought was swept away before it could even reach full formation, the choir around her crooning assurances; she was a child still and none of what she wanted was too far out of reach. What she didn’t know was that as she slept in the cradles woven for her high up in the canopy, the Jungle raged and seethed as she restrained herself from bringing her wrath upon the head of Alma Madrigal. Her counterpart, the Earth, rumbled lowly green eyes sparking with the light of molten rock and far away, a volcano erupted slowly.
(A constellation darkened for the grief they held for child who should never have felt wrong for wanting to be loved. Already her desperation for the slightest loving touch was enough to make them weep, a feeling echoed by their brothers and sisters around them.)
The day came, months after emerging from that primordial womb, that she noticed a pattern with her surroundings. Without conscious thought she had been moving the plants around her at times when she needed them to follow her will; They were independent, yes, but they answered when she called.
When it came time for her to learn about the gold in her chest, she listened as they told her to close her eyes and gasped as she felt the chords vibrate as if on the other end they had been plucked and played. It was different and new, but it felt right. Like whatever was doing it meant only to help and did so with love and care and warmth-
From her right she heard the singing rise and fall, a voice breaking through the sound, telling her to focus and when she did, a rush of power coursed through her. It was warm and gold, chords sinking into her soul for the first time to bring forth the feeling of the tree beneath her and the branch she sat on, but only for a moment as she was brought back to focus on the chorus around her and the sweet voice calling her attention.
She tugged when they told her to and imagined the branch she sat on bloom, fruit developing on imagined buds, heavy and ripe for picking. When she opened her eyes, she saw her vision made reality. Where the very end of the wood hung over open air, a white blossom began to rapidly form, its petals opening and from it, fruit grew. She had only enough time to register its rapid swell in size, when she realized it would fall under its own weight and lunged forward to catch it. The momentum of her movement almost sent her completely over the reach of the branch, but in the second it took for her doubt to manifest, she was caught by the branch rising beneath her.
Fruit clutched in one hand and her opposite arm wrapped around the sturdy branch beneath, wide eyes looked down at what she made grow. Golden eyes lit up and a sharp grin spread across her face to replace the initial shock. She sat up as carefully as she could while observing the object in her hand and when she was sure she had balanced herself well, she took the fruit in both hands and brought it up close to her face. For a moment a hesitation came over her. What if it hurt her? She had not needed to eat since emerging from the nest and when she had needed to recuperate, only when she was truly exhausted, she laid where the sun graced the earth until she felt her energy return and drank water from the rivers when she felt thirsty. Even then, it was only when it was needed, so far only having done so twice in the months since being awoken, her exhaustion forcing her to rest and lightly doze in golden rays.
Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the giggling and fond sighs until she felt the slightest nudge, bringing her hand and the fruit closer to her mouth. Startled, she glanced towards where she felt gentle pressure, but saw nothing where familiar fingers pressed into bark and skin, the beginnings of vines growing ever to slightly. In the breeze she heard her protector murmur, “No tengas miedo, mi amor. Puedes comer.”
And when she still hesitated, gentle hands cupped around her own and lips pressed to the crown of her head, the fruit brought to her mouth, and she took her first bite of food. At first, the skin of the fruit almost made her jerk back in surprise, the almost dry taste enough for her to not eat, but her canine pierced the barrier and suddenly something sweet dripped onto her tongue. Suffice to say she didn’t drop the fruit, but bit into it fully, pushing past the initial taste and tasting the meat inside and later when she climbed up into the trees to see where she was going, she noticed pollen falling from little flowers on her thigh.
That was the first time she ate something of substance and though she didn’t need to eat at all, she still ate a bit every day. It was odd, she knew that the animals around her ate frequently, sometimes she would see predators taking kills larger than their bodies to eat in peace, but she never felt the hunger that they did. Did not feel the need to look for food the sate a pain in her stomach or to sink her teeth into something to bring a kill down, a predator without the need to feed. Isa was still young though, often being herded around by intangible forces and creaking trees, the plants around her hiding the small body learning to survive in a new world.
Every moment spent under the vast star filled sky and weaving between ancient, sturdy trees brought its own lessons, but life is not always serene. Though the influence of the gods left Isa to learn her world, wide eyed wonder obscuring the inevitability of how the moments of life played out in dynamic melodies, a discordant note unavoidable. It came nearly a half year after the awakening, rain coming down on the canopy and thunder rumbling off in the distance clouds taking up the entire horizon.
(A far-flung echo of a memory so faint only the vaguest feeling brought with it the notion of contained clouds and uniform weather. A childish chant of clear blue skies and the delighted shrieks of children playing in the sun, a whisper in the cry of the wind-)
The crash of thunder and flash of lightning drew her attention above, the smell of rain and the coolness of the day enveloped her. She’d pulled herself up into the trees, the fog below obscuring her sight, only able to see so far ahead. Isa hummed as she set her sights on the far-off cliff-face, slightly hazy in the fog cover and mumbled to herself, her words carried off in the wind, “Ahi estas...” She’d been trekking for hours, the journey she’d been guided through longer than it would have been had she been older, often needing to stop, rest, and even eat more fruit to keep up her energy. That she’d made it this far, a third of the way, was a testament to how much she had grown in the past months.
When she had awoken, she’d been akin to a newborn on shaky legs and sensitive senses, sometimes needing to be hidden away in a cocoon of secure vines when overwhelmed. Those early days were filled with rest, hidden by the jungle and the earth, listening to the chorus around her. As time had passed and she learned the limitations of her body, Isa had grown leaps and bounds, now able to traverse the landscape with occasional help from the roots and vines, having learned quickly that they followed her will after almost falling from a high tree and the entire tree having bent to cradle her.
Another distant rumble shook Isa from her thoughts and she took a final glance to memorize the direction before scaling down and to the foggy jungle floor, her sight once again obscured and pointed ears flicking in all directions. With the canopy above already darkening the surroundings and the cloud cover overhead, it seemed as though the world had abruptly turned to night as she had reached the ground. With this is in mind she began to move forward, the world around her simply reduced to the sound of soft music, falling rain, and the passing vegetation. Maybe it was her inexperience with identifying distance through sound, the noise of thunder and rain, or simply a circumstance of being caught unawares, maybe a combination of them all, but Isa never noticed the pad of paws following her at a stalk.
Isa was a predator, yes. Claws and canines were parts of her that she used, but she had never been in battle, she was young, inexperienced, and above all sheltered thus far in her existence; she was vulnerable, not unlike the young animals in the jungle, new to life and its challenges, but without someone to physically teach her despite her intangible choir. So, just like any other young animal, she was still prey to those so much more experienced than her.
She didn’t have time to react, so it was when lightning flashed above, a small gap in the canopy allowing light to flash through, that she saw gleaming eyes and turned, eyes suddenly wide as she dropped low, watching the body of a jaguar leap over her. It yowled, a snarl pulling its lips back to reveal elongated fangs and she bared her own in return a sinister rattle erupting from her chest for the first time. It was sinister and it sounded like nothing like she’d ever heard before, but deep inside her, the gold in her soul burning and blinding, she knew that it was right.
That same part of her, until then a slinking set of instincts from the shadows, began to stir and every part of her snarled at the threat being dealt. Quickly, that facet of her being woke up and suddenly she held her body with more grace, feet surer in their placement and muscles bunched up ready to spring; It was as if she had passed a threshold. The choir reached a crescendo, a pitch so high it felt like the stars themselves were singing and though she heard a note of distress in the song, she could also hear bolstering bass from the earth.
It was then that her opponent visibly hesitated for a long moment, the change seen through its eyes letting her be seen as what she was; Something completely Other. But it was soon overcome and the hiss it let out as it bared its own fangs did not waver as eyes narrowed and fur stood on end. The plants growing in her skin shuddered and her ears pinned themselves to her skull, the space between herself and her opponent seeming to close until, like the lightning dancing above, they were on each other in seconds.
(From above looking below, they saw what she did not feel, bark growing thicker like armor and where they cover her shoulders, it crawled up her neck. It covered her face in whorls, a mask and part of her body at the same time, meant to protect.)
They collided with a slam, each gaining a violent purchase on the other and though the feline tried to snap down on her shoulder, Isa struck her hand into the side of its face. Where her nails had been sharp before, meant for the ease of climbing, they were dagger like now and the force of her strike sunk them deeply into their landing points. As it yowled, Isa’s grip grew tighter and her legs wrapped around its body, holding on as it began to move erratically, ignoring the hot pain of claws slicing into her back.
It was only when they slammed into a tree that she let go and scrambled back, on her feet and hunched over golden eyes, a low and dangerous rumble vibrating deep in her chest. The jungle cat had backed up, staring at her and though the deep wounds on its face bled heavily, it did not falter and charged at her once again, its cry of challenge echoing off into the night. The fight did not end as quickly as it might have if Isa had been older and more experienced, but this heralded the beginning of who she would become and thought the jungle and her partner wanted to interfere, to help, the influence of fate held them back.
Every blow was filed with sharp claws and the snap of teeth, bark crawling along Isa’s body, a slow growing armor that rose from her skin. There came a point where pain gave way to the numbing effects of adrenaline and she did not really feel the aching of her gained wounds, only feeling the way new ones appeared on her body as the battle went on. It became a blur of aggression and when she would later look back on the battle, she could not accurately say how long it lasted, only that she felt a bone deep tiredness.
She’d had the upper hand for most of their battle having sliced three out of four legs to give her the benefit of its pain induced weakness. Where it seemed to struggle in the aftermath, she would worsen the injury count and she gained confidence when it continued to tire, but in her growing confidence she became blind to a fact she had witnessed so often; nothing was more dangerous than a cornered animal. Isa was doing well, yes, but she was so young, only really a child and by virtue she was not skilled in the art of combat nor defense. So, when she failed to see the desperation, failed to notice its gaze darting around and sharpening, she was not prepared for it to run into the vegetation.
For a moment, she stood in disbelief and confusion, her tense stance loosening in the quiet. It took a few seconds before she realized that while the threat had disappeared, the nearby animals did not begin to vocalize and she began to turn slowly in a circle, eyes flickering from left to right trying to see movement and her ears followed suit. Isa’s. Heart began to beat faster than ever, the inability to locate where it had gone spurring her to panic and all she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears.
Isa is young, a still inexperienced child in a world that had her fate tied to the land and the stars above. So, when she gave into panic and could not hear the movement above, the quiet growl of a stalking predator, the stars closed their eyes and her protectors held each other as it dropped onto her from above. She did not have time to run or dodge, only brace as she snapped her head up at the sound of a cracking branch and saw the danger coming from above. When they collided this time, it was the jaguar who had the advantage and sunk its teeth into her shoulder only barely stopped from reaching her neck by the instinctive reaction to flinch away from danger.
Where before the adrenaline rush had prevented the pain felt in battle, it had passed enough that it could no longer shield her and she felt the blinding agony as claws tore at her thigh and fangs violently sunk into her. This was no longer a moment she had the upper hand; In this moment Isa became prey and she felt desperation leaking into her mind. All at once she began to thrash under the weight of her opponent, her right-hand balling into a fist to strike against its face as her left hand lay tensed in pain-induced paralysis.
(Around her the choir wailed and the earth trembled as the child, their pequeno amor lay prone on the ground, fighting to stay alive, the hollow rattling of calls cutting off, replaced by shrieks. Their hands were bound by fate, the future waiting for what would happen next, but they called out to her as the crescendo finally crested and the golden chords grew taut, instinct taking over and her mind became sharp-)
She did not think, not really. It was done in an instant, one moment crying out in pain and the next a sinister rattle echoing above the snarls on top of her. She did not really remember what happened clearly, only that her fear turned into rage and her hand was suddenly at its throat, claws piercing into tender flesh and her teeth cutting into its jugular vein, blood spilling onto her tongue. Isa felt it unlatch from her shoulder, a gag in its throat as it tried to get away, and she heard it give a gurgling cry as it tried to get her off. She did not let go as it slammed itself into the trees, only biting down harder and when it tried to go for her throat, she only held it away with her free hand, claws sinking into its face once again.
It ends slowly, so different to how it started, but it ends all the same as blood continued to spill from her mouth onto the jungle floor, soaking into the earth. Golden eyes glowing behind a wooden mask slit, a dangerous focus and determination flooding them as she counted the seconds and stared up at the canopy above. The struggle begins to die down, its movements become sluggish, and where the sounds it was making had been normal until that point, they now held a wet gurgling quality to them. Isa kept counting, a steady rhythm, and when it gave a final spasm above her, it went limp. She waited and waited and waited, jaw still clenched around a mouthful of fur and covered in cooling blood until she felt and heard its heart stop beating, so close to its chest she could tell the exact moment it happened. It takes three hundred and ninety-five seconds, a little over four minutes she translates without thought, for it to end.
Isa came back to herself slowly, like moving through tree sap, pushing the heavy body off until it slides to the side, but she doesn’t get up immediately. She laid there for what seemed like hours covered in the blood of her opponent and though a distant part of her felt like she should mourn, Isa in her entirety only felt relieved that she had survived. Propping herself up in one hand and clutching her thigh wound with the other, she lowly brought herself up to sit, gritting her teeth as pain flared sharply. Looking down at the cooling body beside her it suddenly registered that though she may have won this battle, she was covered in blood and the part of her that had woken up urged her to stand and leave, the scent of so much blood sure to bring in bigger things. Now taking in how small it was compared to others she had seen, she pushed herself up as fast as she feasibly could and began to move.
With the urgency to get away, Isa remembered the cliff and the shelter she would have found there as she half-limped away, it may have been minutes or seconds, but at suddenly recalling what she’d been doing before her head swiveled left and right, looking for a clue as to where she was heading, ears listening for anything that may be coming toward her. Seeing nothing but green and thick jungle, she hissed in frustration moving a little faster until she heard moving water and almost throwing herself into the space as she stumbled over in her own pain.
Stopping herself just before breaking out completely into the open, Isa scanned the riversides and when she saw no animal nearby, she stumbled into the river. Holding her breath and closing her eyes as she ducked under the surface, she never saw the water wash away the now red water, too preoccupied with smoothing her hands down the places stained in red. The jungle around her tightened at the edges, restless to help and the plants in the water barred anything from coming towards her, still in the ways they should not be. It was only when her lungs began to burn for air that she rose to her knees and took a gasping breath, coughing up excess water and wincing at the sting of open wounds on her body.
The haze of battle and the rush of new instincts began to fade, the rushing water seeming to sweep it away as her mind settled. The lightning overhead illuminated the sky above, its chaining branches stretching out like the roots of the trees and wind buffeted around her, dancing around to unheard music. In this moment sat in the river, soaked to the bone, and heaving for breath the light in Isa’s chest pulsed in time with the stars. For just a moment, Isa looked like the woman she would become, the future flickering over the present; a ghostly golden image of what was to come. It could have been minutes, more than she must have registered really, but when she finally brought herself to equilibrium Isa hauled herself to her feet and marched towards the tree line.
It didn’t matter that her body ached or that her blood began to run down her skin, all of that and more was shoved back as Isa climbed up on heavy limbs. She clenched her teeth as the wood contacted open wounds, but she soldiered on as she moved through the branches and into the canopy. It wasn’t quick, but when she crested the very last leaves, she breathed out a sharp sigh of relief as she saw the lightning illuminate the landscape. Sat there above the ground, she relaxed a little more and looked for the cliff she’d been heading towards before. She ignored the phantom feeling of claws and teeth cutting into her skin, looking this way and that until she caught sight of her destination and begun to move from branch to branch, willing each wooden limb reaching out for her to step on with so much focus she almost fell from the trees.
Ever so slowly, she moved across the expanse of branches that remained between her and the cliffside, the flashing lighting the way as the storm continued to rumble above. The closer she got to where she needed to be, the taller the cliffside seemed to become and when she finally reached the base, its imposing height created a phantom pain in her arms, reminding her of days learning how to climb and run on shaky legs. She had come so far and though she knew that it was essential to reach the zenith of its height, where the jungle sung to her was safe, Isa also knew that she would not make it all the way, not yet.
For a long moment, Isa stared up at the cliff and debated whether to find a different side with more handholds if she really had no choice but to climb, but then a small tugging on the gold in her chest caught her attention. Looking down at her feet, roots began to breach and cover the surface of the ground, starting to twine around her ankles. It was almost silly, the way Isa forgot about plants leaping to do her bidding, though her control was shaky and new. Hesitance to even think about committing to this plan warred against her creeping exhaustion, but as she looked up from the ground to the surroundings and the sky, Isa steeled herself and walked up to the rockface.
Gently placing a hand off the cliff, Isa focused on the awareness of the plant life above and below, breathing deeply as golden chords laced themselves more firmly into her perception of the world around her. Recalling the way she connected to the tree, she let the power flow through her, the feeling so natural that she just knew that’s how it was meant to be and pushed her voice through to the waiting roots and branches.
For a moment all was still and she thought that maybe it hadn’t worked, a crease forming on her brow as she whispered to the open air, “Por favor...”
Then she heard the groaning and creaking of wood, loud and suddenly all around her as the trees began to lean down towards her, branches like the reaching arms of a loved one coming to lift her in the cradle of their hold. For the first time, the songs around her quieted and she heard something new begin to form and sing in time with the beating of her heart and harmonize with the rumbling of new instincts. As the branches reached her, they held still and Isa, worn to the bone and mind filled with new things to adjust to, stepped shakily onto it and told it to rise. Ascending the rocky wall, it felt like her heart was at once both beating with adrenaline and serene in the power she held, but overcoming all other feeling was joy. Joy that after so long walking she had reached her destination and joy at the thought of finally being able to rest from the battle she had been in, to heal her wounds in peace.
Where the tree could not continue, roots broke from the earthen wall and lifted her farther as she stepped onto them, the rightness of the action spurring her faster and faster as a laugh bubbled up from her chest; It was exhilarating, it was exciting, and it felt like freedom. Reaching the very top, Isa stumbled a few steps forward and crashed to her knees, the brilliant high of her joy and the final remnants of her adrenaline fading to nothing but a effervescent bubbling as her mind began to fog over with her need to rest.
(Something in the darkened night reveled in the unfettered feeling. Something that was denied and now reclaimed, laughed at the past and bared its teeth at the notion of being caged once again.)
She would wake up hours later, wounds scabbing over, and new instincts woven into her being so thoroughly it was as if she had always had them. It would take time to relearn everything she had known before and even longer to learn about every new facet of herself, the day marking a year since Isa woke up in that dark cradle passing her by. The fight with the jaguar had taught her there were larger dangers than she was in this jungle and though she had won that fight, had clawed her way inch by inch to live, she was still young and inexperienced. The songs around her had changed just as she had, quieting itself to a low thrumming in the back of her mind for the most part, only a singular voice humming the melody louder than the rest. It spoke to her, taught her everything from the new perspective, steel hardening her voice and driven by worry, not that Isa knew that last part until many years later.
It was arduous.
Some days Isa would run for hours on end, a burst of energy burning through her and guiding her into a run, hours passing her by until she was caught in vines and roots. Little by little her stamina increased and alongside it, her strength as well. By the time half a year passed since the jaguar, she could run farther and faster, though she most definitely was not the fastest thing around. Isa was still a child and even if she did have new instincts and had changed physically as well, her limitations had only slightly changed to accommodate the final transition into becoming more than she had been in the Before. Before waking up in the cradle, before knowing the melody of the jungle and the rumble of the earth beneath her feet, before knowing what it was to be cradled by a hundred different arms, before-
(Memories that had tried to surface before, didn’t even make it to the surface as they lost their strength and surrendered to the dark, sinking down into the abyss where concrete memories were unmade into fragments of sense)
Here in the valley where she had spent long hours dozing in the sun and watching the night sky change its image is where she grew into herself over the next few years, until one day, nearly three and a half years after having woken up, Isa saw something.
Or should she say someone?
It’d been from up and across a large gap in the trees that she had first seen someone that looked a bit like her, with warm skin a few shades darker than hers. It had startled her so much that she had nearly fallen from the nest of branches that she had been resting in, having grown far too big to even lay across a singular branch anymore. As it was, she had only just been able to use this method again, but she was never more grateful for the fact that the trees themselves would have warned her if she were in danger of falling.
It was odd, like looking into the river and seeing half of herself in the body of another, but that description was wrong as well. From where she perched, she could hear noise coming from whoever this was and though she could catch snippets of words that she could understand there were some that sounded different that she had to take a moment to really figure out what they meant, like an echo of vague understanding. They were wearing colorful coverings so different from the fronds of leaves and bark that covered her own skin.
They were shorter than her and though they seemed confident in their walk she could see that they had no muscle in their body to indicate a strength that would warrant it. It was quick and though she would have let them go, something told Isa that she needed to follow them, that the jungle was dangerous, and someone as ill prepared for it as them would be in danger just by being alone.
So, climbing up until she was on her hands and feet, Isa crawled along the winding branches, following parallel to the person making the trek. Inside her chest, the golden chords seemed to settle as she watched over this new charge. As she kept pace, she felt the bark begin to creep up her neck and spread across her face, a mask falling into place as she kept watch out of sight and moved the vegetation to her whim. It was seamless, the way she moved beside them without this person being none the wiser, but to Isa it felt almost fated. As if her being there to keep them safe was what she had been meant to do, just as her care of the rainforest felt so right.
As this person kept moving and she followed them silently, she got closer and closer until she could see them clearly and from above them. It was almost startling the way she had to suppress a concerned whine and the instinct to drop down to figure out why she suddenly felt so tense at them being alone. Why did she feel so protective, like the jaguars were their cubs and the way she knew her invisible guardians were in the beginning? Looking around and casting out her awareness, she could not see anything around that would harm them, but something urged her to get them out, to deliver them where they needed to go and out of the dark jungle that they had been walking through. For someone like Isa, who had lived here in the jungle for years, had sharpened her teeth on the bones of animals that had hunted her and fought her way through every challenge, it was with learned power that she was able to walk through different places with her challenges halved.
This person smelled like prey and though she may not have the same instincts as those of the predators who lurked in the dark, she knew with certainty that if it came to blows against one of the many dangers, they would not survive the fight and that made her heart lurch. They would not be able to fight off a jaguar or run away from danger, not really. So, her soul becoming resolute, she closed the vegetation behind them as they moved, so slowly and noiselessly in the dark that they never glanced back to notice.
Minute by agonizing minute passed at a pace of leaking sap and for every moment that she spent closing the trails that the inhabitants of the forest left behind, she cast her awareness as far as it could reach, intently focusing on monitoring all that moved. As she did so, the bark on her skin grew in whorls, covering her body. She almost looked like a living tree, were it not for the skin peeking through and the movement of her body as she flitted from branch to branch. If the woman had looked up, she would have seen golden eyes peering through her from the trees, but she did not.
At least not then.
It was as they were reaching the edge that Isa felt something begin to crash through the trees, hearing far before this person did and she found herself reacting on instinct. Muscles bunched and tensed as she prepared to drop down onto the jungle floor just as a young jaguar emerged from the trees with a growl that stopped her charge in their tracks, the scent of fear beginning to make itself knows as something dangerous entered the space. In truth had she been the only one there, she would have hissed at it, tried to scare it away without needing to fight it, but the moment she clocked the way it stalked her charge she had begun to let go of the branch.
In the instance it took this person to register the danger coming from the tree line, backpedaling to try and get away, their sight was obscured by something else.
Sara del Monte had only been trying to get home, the daylight having begun to fade when she realized she needed to get home. It would have been smarter to use the well-trodden and paved paths of the Encanto to get home, but she thought it would have wasted less time to get home on time to use a shortcut often used by her neighbors to get to and from their slightly secluded homes. It was a mistake to use a path she had not known at night, but by the time she realized that she was lost the light had already faded and she had no idea where to go.
It had been a miracle she found the opening in the brush and the path by extension. It seemed that she only really knew where the path continued when she got close enough to reach out and touch the edge of a wall she’d thought had been there seconds before. It had gotten better after the first ten minutes; eyes having adjusted to the little light coming through the leaves. However, she was keenly aware of time passing, far longer than it should have taken to get home and she knew...the fact she hadn’t encountered any of the bestias nocturnas was worrying.
Animals do not go quiet for no reason. They do it to hide themselves from the predators that walk the land, to try and survive as long as possible.
It was almost inevitable, the low growling of something dangerous coming from her left, but still it startled her into turning to face the beast coming out of dark. She had started to back away, feet slipping a bit on the earth, when from above came a low, hissing rattle before she was blocked from sight.
For a moment, she didn’t know what had happened, what had dropped down to join her and Jaguar, but before Sara could even begin to puzzle out what was in front of her, it rattled. It wasn’t like the soft rattling of a child's new toy, but deep and hollow, shaking her chest with the strength behind it. All she could do was stare wide-eyed at whatever was in front of her and the suddenly whining Jaguar.
‘Dios mio....’ was the only thought running through her mind. It was a moment where her flight and fright instinct was torn in two, instead settling on freeze. Sara was not a big woman; she was one of the smallest women in her family. So, when whatever in front of her stood up and towered over her, head and shoulders easily clearing her own by a large margin, she could only stand and listen to the rattling.
(Like the moving of the earth and the snap of breaking branches so large that they could be heard over the entire jungle. A hollow, deep sound that at once could be used to scare and to coo-)
In a flash of movement, she was alone. Whatever it was that stood in front of her was gone and the Jaguar that had once been standing before her teeth bared, had disappeared. The only thing that assured her that it had even been there was the fading yowling heading in the direction of the deep jungle, faster than she could comprehend. She had stood there for long moments, trying to bring her heart back from the racing tempo it had begun to beat. Every attempt was met with stuttered breathing until she was breathing so fast her head began to swim.
She had almost been attacked. So far from her home and nowhere familiar she had been face to face with something that could have dragged her into the dark never to be seen again had whatever been between her and it not dropped down. What had happened? What was that? Where was she? How did she get so lost?
Sara wanted to go home to her family. To her mother and her little brother, where nothing bad would happen and she wasn’t stuck in the dark-
A sudden low rumbling brought her back from the edge, soothing and shaking her chest with the vibrations. She sat up from where she had fallen during her panic and searched for wherever the sound was coming from with wide eyes filled with tears. Later, she would admit that had she not seen those eyes she would have believed that everything had been a trick of the mind and adrenaline saving her from death, but as the soft light of the moon streamed down from the canopy it caught on the golden, glowing eyes of something in the tree line.
It was strange. For the first few moments that she had seen it, Sara had been prepared to run as far and as fast as she could to escape. But....they did not move any closer and in fact moved deeper into the trees. In a standstill that lasted longer than she could accurately say, neither of them moved; one struck still in startlement and the other to not scare. Those golden eyes looked at her and all Sara could think as nothing happened was, ‘they don’t look angry...’
Quite the opposite, she mused as her body untensed, and she took a small step forward in curiosity. They were higher up than anything she had ever seen with animals, almost reaching six feet. And the golden hue was more welcoming than terrifying in the moments she stared at them. The pupils dilated like a cat's eye when looking at something curious, like her own cat looked at her when she would come home after a long day at work. Really, all that was left to complete the image of the eyes was the noi-
And that was when a low cooing, rumble shook the leaves, leaving a calming emotion in its wake; an imitation pf what a purr must be for whatever it was. Sara smiled, not able to help the grin creeping rapidly across her face at the familiar sound, but as she moved to take a step forward once again, the noise petered out and was replaced by a much softer rattle than the one it had made before while moving farther backwards into the trees.
“Espera! Wait!”
The eyes that had been moving back stopped and focused on her once again, a curious look in them. She hadn’t a plan on what to do, nothing and everything on the tip of her tongue, but all she can say is, “A dónde vas?”
She could almost kick herself for asking, but for all the embarrassment that begins to suffuse her body those golden eyes face her fully and tilt, like the face they belonged to cocked its head to the side. Taking another step closer, she spoke again, “I-I want to thank you.... si tu no hubieras intervenido-” she cut herself off, needing a moment to clear her throat and her eyes. Another rattle brought her attention back from where it had wandered and those eyes moved a bit closer, leaning down to be level with her own.
In the lowlight, it wasn’t skin that she saw. Instead, the face that stared back at her was wooden and growing around it were plants sprouting from the sides, flowers blooming as she, because it was, stepping a little further into the light. She was covered in bark and her hair was intertwined with flowering vines, but what took her breath away wasn’t any of this. When she moved the jungle moved, the earth shaking with every step, and when she stopped roots wrapped around her feet, branches reached down for her and when she breathed it felt like everything around her did too; Like the very environment around her was her body and they were stood at its heart.
There was so much caught in her throat, so much she wanted to say but a sudden cry from the jungle had he looking around in fear and moving closer to her guardian. Anything she would have said was locked away and as she looked back up at those eyes, they in turn softened at her scared expression and she stood up.
They stared at her and in a moment the jungle began to move. Tree trunks leaned to the side, vines twisted themselves away, and the roots of so many plants shifted until a path carved itself out of the green and dark; a path more direct than the one she had been trying to find. Under her feet the ground began to shift and before she could even register what was happening, roots burst from the earth and lifted her into the grasp of the branches. It took her a moment to really recognize that the floor was not simply being turned but moving away from the clearing and along the path, the woman of the jungle keeping pace and overtaking her progress until she could see lights down below them at the end of the incline, she knew overlooked the town.
Isa knew that she had to get this person down from where they were, but the only way she knew how to reach the lights as quickly as she needed was to be down the cliffside. Any other route would take her longer, especially as she was carrying this woman alongside her, and a command this long was still a little more than she could handle for long periods of time; at least for now. So, looking back at her, Isa closed her eyes for a brief second and listened to her ever present guides.
(She was human, and they were not. She was not meant to know about them, not yet. Spirits or gods were never meant to be seen by them, but Isa was different. She had been flesh and blood before she had ever been theirs, like them, more than human-)
La Madre Tierra reached out and her voice, the groaning of the mountains, “Sería mejor qué no se acuerde de ti, mi amor.”
The Jungle, a chorus of a hundred different whispering voices and their leader, crooned in her ear, “Tal vez no completamente, mi amor.”
And Isa knew, just as she knew that she was something more than the animals that wandered through the jungle and the person cradled in her branches, that this woman would sleep and her mind would cloud. She would remember the impressions of her being, would recognize that something other had come to her rescue, but Isa would not be revealed. Flowers bloomed on the branches of the branches and vines holding Sara up and her eyes grew wide in wonder, not noticing her rapidly increasing fatigue.
She tried to speak, her eyes still staring at the the pale blooms, “Tan...He-hermosas...”
The last thing Sara would remember among the collection of hazy memories of golden eyes, low rattles, and sweet-smelling flowers was saying one thing.
“Madre....monte-”
(Names have power, they cement themselves in the souls of those who are given them. Spirits and gods take the names that their people give them, a claiming of their gaze and being claimed in return.
Isa was once flesh and blood, but she was more now; Something completely Other.
Her Name was Isa and Amor, but now this name, falling from the lips of the innocent, was solely Hers.)
In the coming hours, Sara would be found sound asleep at the edge of the town and Isa, looking down from the edge entrance of the mountains, breathed in time with the jungle and left the jungle of her childhood and off beyond all she had ever known.
She would be back, her heart lying here, but a hundred different voices speaking as one and the sound of the earth rending would beckon her forward, guiding her into a new chapter.
(Far away, in a house over-looking the town, a little girl stared up at a dim door and the face of carved on it. Wide eyes the color of her father’s stared up in unconcealed awe and for a moment, her eyes flickered a beautiful green.)
The following two years were a whirlwind of memories that she cherished so much. Isa had known that she had been part of an extraordinary world, but she never understood the gravity of what she was. After helping the woman in the Jungle, Isa had grown curious. For a year she had spent time hopping in and out of the valley, going farther and farther out until she had made a patrol of every place that she had seen thus far, her awareness broadened with each step taken
Time was not a concept that Isa really paid mind to.
Isa was seventeen and her life had been defined by the cyclical changes that the seasons brought, and she had been changing alongside them. Where she had needed to climb, she simply reached. Where her feet had slipped, she gracefully crossed. Where she had strained to bring a vine to wrap around her, had needed the Chorus to aid her, the jungle did without thought. It was her body as much as her own was and the separation between what was her and what was golden chords didn't exist any longer.
(Madremonte, they whispered in the dark of night. Gifts left at the edge of the jungle, taken by the time daylight breached the sky, and the memories of golden eyes and the moving of the jungle. Madremonte, they called her when lost souls found their way to Encanto with tales of raiders being dragged into the dark with the sound of an insidious rattle-)
It had been five years since she had woken up and two years since she had guided her first person to safety. That time seemed like a lifetime ago and she was so different now to who she was then, so much faster and stronger than she had been. Predators that had once challenged her now stopped when they felt her presence, often either showing a sign of submission before something greater than them or avoiding her altogether, though she was noticing a much more relaxed reaction from them as of late.
Her awareness was vast and though she was not omnipresent, she knew that if there was something that needed her attention she would know quickly as the whispers of her chorus would bring it to her attention if it was beyond her range of hearing. Isa was scarred in places she had not been before.
New ones crossing her body where the bark did not grow over them, and others only seen in the thick growth of it. The roundness of youth had left her almost completely, leaving hard earned muscle and a tall frame that reached a near seven-foot height. Her canines had grown and when she smiled, they poked out more than they had before; they had been put to good use in the past two years.
Out there, where the cradle of her childhood ended, Isa had found villages and towns filled with people so close to the jungle that she had seen the beauty and cruelty man could offer. Often, women and children would wander into her domain, unaware of the silent presence that followed them, watching, learning. Isa had seen men set out, grim faced with their minds on finding food and followed them as they downed their catch, completely missing golden eyes from the tree line. She watched all of them and when they were lost, when they needed a miracle, she felt herself soften and provide.
When families fled their homes, they found trails that led them through the jungle. They never noticed the trees falling on top of the raiders on horseback or the roots dragging those above them into the earth so quickly they had no time to cry out. When the starved searched for food, fruit trees grew near their homes, but it was with children that she acted. They were so in awe of everything around them, wide eyes, and so small compared to the world.
It had started with a little boy, curly-haired and eyes the color of tree sap. He had wandered off into the trees and away from his home, moving farther and farther away until he had realized that he didn’t know where home was anymore. He had sat down on the jungle floor and cried, but around him the jungle slowly moved itself around him. He was so small and so precious, but he was so vulnerable here in her home where he could easily hurt himself, so Isa had dropped down and her mask retracted. It was odd having her face uncovered around people, but deep in her bones she knew that a child was the exception, would always be the point where she would break away from the normal and act.
He had been afraid at first and she understood why, but as she trilled a soft rattle and playfully guided the vines to dance around and bloom, he laughed and reached for her. He was so small and in comparison, Isa was a giant to him, unafraid though he was, but oh how she melted when he giggled and grabbed her nose. Some part of Isa knew right then and there that come hell or high water, she would die before she let a child come to harm. She could have spent hours playing with him, but a far off where no mortal person could hear, she heard the cry of a woman calling out and the beginning commotion of others joining her call.
In the end, Isa had brought him closer to her chest with one hand and with the other she climbed into the trees with a leap. It was hard, moving with another attached to her, especially when he began to squirm in her grip, but as she began to hum a lullaby that she loved with the hope of calming him, he settled. She had gotten close enough to the calls that she could see light faintly moving through the trees. Moving back a bit, the roots of a large tree emerged from the ground, and she crouched down.
Willing moss to grow to make a bed for him to lay on, she moved him a bit away from her and looked down at his sleepy face. She smiled and the sweet scent of a nearby flower flooded his senses, “Buenos sueños, chiquitin.”
As his eyes closed and he went limp with sleep, she stood back up looking back at the lights getting slowly closer and disappeared into the dark jungle.
(It was a crash in the jungle that drew them further in.
When they found him curled up in the roots of the tree, they were relieved and, in the morning, when he was back home and his family asked him what happened, he would tell them how scared he had been when he couldn’t find home. He would tell them of golden eyes and a kind face, of soft rattles and the moving Jungle. He would tell them She saved him.)
Isa had tried to remain hidden from the knowledge of those unlike her.
(Some things walk into the light no matter how much you wish to hide them. Maybe not the whole of it, but fragments of things people saw while running like roots pulling evil men under...)
Had never allowed people to remember her and sent them to sleep.
(Or fruit appearing on new trees that weren't there before.)
But for this child she had shown her face-
(Sometimes it is golden eyes watching from the far shadows.)
Her eyes-
(And rarely, even the moving jungle)
Her smile.
(Whispers in the dark of shared experiences, belief growing through the years, gifts left at the edge of the jungle as offerings disappearing come morning.)
So, when she heard the cries of another scared child from her perch on the cliff and the low rumbles of a Jaguar getting closer, it was no surprise that she dropped everything-
(Stopped watching the house on the hill and followed the pull in her chest-)
And ran.
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I have returned! It only took more than a year and whatever muse I was using to come back, but I have returned lol. Anyways, we'll be seeing Mirabel in the next part so be on the lookout for that.
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Madremonte in a nutshell:
Mirabel: Hello family! *holds out Isabela* this is my emotional support forest deity. Please be nice to her.
Isabela: *hisses*
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Madremonte AU fanart!
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@c-rose2081
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@c-rose2081 Pretty much all your AUs are taking over my life and I do not mind whatsoever so like...I hope u don’t mind being @’d randomly by me cause hyperfixation go BRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
But for now, I offer u a quik doodle of smol Madremonte Mirable!
#Encanto#mirabel madrigal#encanto madremonte au#gently hold the smol mirabel#college kinda got me in a chokehold#but encanto AUs provide me serotonin
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youtube
Know who you are - (Madremonte AU)
Just a short video, animatic type, of an idea that would explode if I didn't get it out of my mind.
After reading about the Madremonte AU by @c-rose2081 on Tumblr, certain phrases that Luisa said remind me a bit of Moana and how Mirabel felt attracted to the jungle although everyone said that it was dangerous and ended up going there to seek help i prevent your home from being destroyed; the concept of Madremonte which, in a way, is like a Colombian version of Tefiti...
My mind connects points very quickly and I couldn't help but imagine some scenes. I don't know if what I did would fit the plot exactly, but I had to get it out.
At first I was just going to make a sketch, then I decided to make several and ended up making this video.
I hope you like it.
En español tras el corte:
Solo un pequeño video, tipo animatic, de una idea que si no sacaba de mi mente explotaba.
Después de leer sobre el Madremonte AU de @c-rose2081 en Tumblr, ciertas frases que decía Luisa me recordaros un poco a Moana y como Mirabel se sentía atraída a la selva aunque todos decían que esa peligrosa y termina por adentrarse allí mara buscar ayuda i evitar que su hogar se destruya; el concepto de Madremonte que, en cierto modo, es como una versión colombiana de Tefiti...
Mi mente enlaza puntos muy rápido y no pude evitar imaginarme algunas escenas. No se si lo que hice encajaría con la trama exactamente, pero debía sacarlo fuera.
Al principio solo iba a hacer un boceto, luego decidí hacer varios y terminé haciendo este video.
Espero que os guste.
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Madremonte au
Dolores is always pinning up Mirabel's hair in fun styles and the attention is nice until she says "ow" too many times or doesn't want to wear a certain dress.
She’s stopped protesting years ago because Dolores doesn't raise her voice but she does get mean. Her voice becomes just as cool and sharp as a blade.
Her prima knows how to make her feel small.
But it’s fine.
Mirabel likes spending time with her prima.
She likes the accessories in her hair and shopping is fun even if she has to stay quiet.
She likes being top of all the gossip even if Dolores talks at her more than to her.
She likes the dancing lessons and the fuss and the girl talk even though she has nothing to say.
She doesn’t like that Dolores may whirl on her if Camilo winds her up too much.
She doesn’t like that she's discouraged to play with the village kids because she's too old.
She doesn’t like that she had been forced to practice her accordian very very quietly when she was still learning because Dolores just couldn’t take the noise.
But her prima is like a sister to her and spends time with her willingly. All that other stuff doesn't matter when they do sleepovers and Dolores does her makeup and makes her hair as extravagant as she can.
Mirabel just wishes she could tell her prima her secret feelings. Instead she whispers it to the never wilting flower on her windowsill when she's sure no one can hear.
For you @c-rose2081
Related stories; 1,2,3
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About Madremonte au When will you do teh oneshots of Luisa and Julietta pov of Mira and Isa living away and visiting? And can you include a Isa x Juli x Luisa bonding time fluff on it?
One Shot based on the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
This specific oneshot is their initial return to Casita after their resurrection from the statues and one of the visits afterwards. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Memories Remembered and Made
Julieta remembered when her oldest, her little sunflower, was still young enough to need her and deny needing that motherly help. Isabela had always been an independent child, always running in the fields her aunt had watered and constantly getting underfoot when given the chance to go into town with her mother. However, she could not have predicted just how independent she would become in the few short years after Luisa, her then youngest, was born.
She could still remember her sister racing down the street towards her, the dark cloud above her head mirroring the increasingly overcast sky, feet pounding on the stone road. She remembered the way the blood drained out of her face and the mask of worry transformed into one of sheer terror as Pepa took her arm and said, "You need to come home, Julieta! Isabela is gone and her door has dimmed!"
It didn't matter that she had left Luisa with Senora Ortiz or that she had skinned the length of her arm when she had slipped onto Casita's tiles as she flew through the front door. All that Julieta could think was that her oldest was gone and not behind the protective walls of their home. That she had let her mother keep her oldest caged, like the birds that were sold at the market, their feathers untidy and clipped to keep them from flying away; that her baby had flown away despite her wings being clipped and her very own gift seemingly turning against her. After that, all efforts to bring her sunflower home blurred together.
They searched for a long time, days bleeding into weeks, which bled into months. The entirety of the able bodied adult Madrigals and the rest of the Encanto, all of them looked for Isabela. Julieta and Agustin calling out in a daze for their wayward daughter, their calls turning into wails and screams as one by one they went unanswered. The only reason Julieta even stayed home was because she'd found out she was with child once more. Slowly, the search parties dwindled, until one day, almost a year after the fact, a cartographer found her daughters favorite blue dress. It was half buried, torn, and covered in blood.
When Alma Madrigal called her children, sat her oldest down, and mournfully presented the dress? Well, all Julieta remembered was hitting the floor and hearing a keening wail she would later know was ripped from her throat.
The years flew past, only marginally slowing down when Mirabel was born and becoming more terror induced as the patches of stone began to appear, fear causing her to isolate her family from the rest. Luisa, her little mountain, took over the main care of her sister as her mother became more and more frail looking in the wheelchair she frequently used. Rules were set, enforced, and ignored, Mirabel quickly growing and rising above the cages, looking more and more like the sister she never knew.
So when Casita crumbled to the ground and the faces of her youngest and oldest were carved into the statues within the hollow of that tree, she began to think that maybe it was cruel fate that her daughters would be ripped away from her loving embrace in the end.
Only, that wasn't how their story ended.
When Isa and Mirabel emerged from their would be tomb, it took all that Julieta was not to collapse into her wheelchair and sob. Her children had returned! After years and months of 'what if's' and 'if only's', all of her babies were together once more. But then Isa had looked at them and her heart began to sink.
Where once had been eyes that had mirrored her own, there were irises made of dim gold filled with wariness and desperation. Where ears had ended in rounded edges, tapered ends moved by their own volition, twitching at every sound they registered. Sharp fangs barred to all who stepped closer, plant life that had grown on her body stood on end making her seem larger than what her impressive height was. When Alma had tried to come towards them, a rumbling growl erupted from deep within Isabela's chest as she pushed a mildly dazed Mirabel behind her.
And that when it hit her; Isabela was protecting her sister from her family. No sooner that she had finished the train of thought, Isabela swung her sister onto her back, scaled the walls of Casita, the tiles trying to keep them inside, but it was no use. Julieta's voice, which had never gone beyond a low murmur in the past 15 years, strained itself hoarse and Luisa cried for the first time since she realized her Isa had gone missing. Their family tried to comfort them, but it was slow in effect and quick to draw their ire. What use was comfort when their missing and dead family fled from home, away from them? Did they not care? For days afterwards, they would burst into tears, ones a mixture of relief and worry. The other's, ones of fear, shame and happiness.
And then, against all perceived odds, they came home.
It had been close to dusk, the last hour of sun burning off in the horizon line. She had been at the counter making the dough for the bread, soft orange light filtering in through the open window. Head down, she hadn't expected the light to be blocked and least of all to look up into the apprehensive eyes of her sunflower as she hung down from Casita's walls with Mirabel on her back.
"Dios mío!"
Julieta couldn't believe it. Was this some cruel dream? One meant to torture her with wishes she never thought would come true? But no, her daughters didn't disappear or turn back into the statues her nightmares had forced her to witness. Isabela's eyes began to fill with mild discomfort and irritation, her body shifting to release the tension in her muscles. The quick patter of multiple pairs bare feet on tile approached and she only had time to hold out her hand to stop Isabela from fleeing.
"Julieta?!? Que paso? What's wrong? Let me- Isabela? Mirabel?" Her husbands voice, her clumsy husband who she loved, but wished at that moment would shut his mouth. Julieta turned her face slightly to address him never taking her eyes off the children fully, "I'm okay, Amor. Nothing's wrong, but please be a little more quiet?" Please stay calm. Don't move or come closer, is what she wanted to say, but with her girls so close she didn't dare say it so obviously if Isabela decided it sounded too much like threat.
She turned back to face them fully, "Would you like to come in?" Please don't leave me! Don't disappear again! Isa seemed to scan the family behind her, and at Mirabel's nudge of encouragement, she sharply nodded in assent and moved forward, further through the open window. Julieta moved her chair back, giving them room to climb inside and suddenly they were in front of her. Isa was taller than most of the family, seeing eye to eye with her other sister who trembled in the doorway, looking at them with tears in her eyes. Mirabel, who normally had her patches of stone in well hidden areas, had them dotting her body in scale like patterns, mirroring the way Isa's gift had sprouted on her own body. Everything that they had been, had changed and Julieta couldn't will herself to care at all. Her children were here and that was all that mattered.
During her inspection of them, her daughters had faced her fully, Mirabel having climbed down from her sister's back and moving forward to stand in front Isabela a hesitant look in her green eyes. Well, then. That wouldn't stand to stay. So with great dread, Julieta asked "Mirabel? Que paso?"
Mirabel, eyes filling with determination, proceeded to explain their presence. They needed food, anything that wouldn't rot away out in the Wilds and could last them as least a week. They didn't intend to stay, she thought with dismay, they were going to leave. But, hadn't they survived so long away from her motherly gaze? Had her oldest not beat the odds and survived out in the jungle thought to have claimed her life? And had her youngest not essentially raised herself away from the arms that should have protected her? Mirabel hadn't fought to stay when Isabela picked her up and fled, and she certainly hadn't come back sooner. Was this house even home for them? Did Isabela remember them? Deep in her aching, weeping soul, Julieta knew the answer to all those questions.
Turning so she faced the counter once more, where the cabinets filled with dried meat and non-perishable food was stored in the cabinets above and below, she asked, "How long do you think you can wait for me to pack up the food, bebe?" How long do you plan to stay after?
Mirabel's brief glance towards Luisa inching closer and Isabelas curling lip revealing her fangs was answer enough, "We can wait for you to pack it up and be on our way, Mami." Not any longer than we have to.
And so, Julieta got to work putting together the healing food that would hopefully keep her daughters safe, the rest of the Madrigals crowding in the doorway. The sound of cabinets opening and closing, the thumps of wrapped food dropping into the wicker basket she used to carry food, and the shifting of fabric were the only sounds accompanying her actions, that is, until she got to the sweets in the cabinets above. As she moved to stand, Luisa came forward an almost desperate expression on her face.
"Déjame ayudarte Mama! I'll get the conchas." Those had been Isabela's favorite, was left unsaid amongst those in the family who remembered the girl sneaking to swipe the pan dulce from the platters her mother made.
As Luisa moved closer, Isa pulled her youngest closer to her body, seeming to curl around her in a way that took her breath from her lungs. They look so much like the statues, she thought with no small measure of pain in her heart. When Luisa had carefully handed the bundle of pan dulce to her mother she turned from her, to her sisters looking like she might lunge for them at any moment.
Julieta put her hand on her daughters arm to still her movement and closed the basket. She smiled at them and handed it to them carefully, watching Mirabel give it Isabela who grew vines to keep it closed for the journey home, wherever that place was. Julieta watched as her mariposa climbed her sunflower and teared up as they looked at her. Golden eyes relieved to leave with no recognition of who she was in front of and green eyes sad, but filling with eagerness to do the same.
As they climbed out the window and off into the darkened jungle, their family exploded into cries calling them back. Everyone trying to talk over one another about what they could have done to convince them to stay, but Julieta just stared out after them, a small but sad smile playing on her lips.
A week later they returned, with the same request and the same time frame of stay. They came near dusk, asked for food, and left after their business was done. Then came the next week, and then the next, they returned to Casita, always through the kitchen window and always when Julieta was alone in the kitchen.
And then one day, they came during the early morning, when Julieta and Luisa were the only ones up. The sun was barely peaking through the mountain when a tap at the window drew their attention. They were hanging there waiting patiently for the window to open and when it did they climbed through, landing less than two feet away from Julieta.
"Hola, mami!"
She watched fondly as her mariposita climbed down her sister, her sunflower, who huffed as her fingers pulled a little too forcefully at her hair, "Hola, mis amores. What are you doing here so early?"
Her daughter grinned and quickly untied a bag that hung next to the basket, "We came back to get some more clothes and food! The clothes I took got dirty quickly and I need something clean to wear while I wash the rest." Isabela gave her a look leading to Mirabel sheepishly ducking her head, "And I might have accidentally used up all of our food. In my defense, I didn't think exploring near the river was that dangerous!"
And so, she sighed and let Mirabel go up to wash her clothes, leaving Isabela to stand in the kitchen inspecting the room around her. It had been the first time Luisa and her mother had been alone with Isa since she had come back and the girl-no, woman seemed the most at ease she had been during their visits; Maybe it was because the entire family wasn't there.
Turning back to the breakfast she steadfastly continued to make the meal, nudging Luisa who had her excitement and want to speak Isa barely veiled behind nonchalance. For a few minutes it was quiet, until a quiet rattle sounded close to her. At her side was Isa, closer than she had ever been before, crouching, and intently looking at the pattern of her apron. Lightly tracing the small embroidered image of a sunflower, she looked up and tilted her head and made a small sound of inquiry.
Luisa's breath hitched next to her, and Julieta put a hand on her own, "Do you like the sunflowers?" A nod of affirmation was all that answered her question and she smiled, but when she turned away in hidden disappointment a voice continued.
"Favoritos."
Luisa's eyes widened and Julieta almost jumped in surprise, but all other options as to who it could have been were all asleep. Isa had returned her gaze to the flowers, but it was clear it had been her. Isabelas voice, which was slightly deeper and rattled slightly, was the one who spoke, though her ears twitched in what appeared to be slight nervousness. She had stepped away from them in the time it took to register what she had said.
Julieta smiled, leaned forward slightly, and softly said, "They're one of my favorites too."
"And mine!" was Luisa's more exuberant response, though she softened it after Isabela pinned her ears back and her expression became a little more wary.
After a moment, her eyes softened and her lips twitched up for a second before she resumed inspection of the slowly lightening room. It became quiet once more and the two women in blue returned to making breakfast, Luisa glancing at her sister as though she wanted to say more but refrained form doing so.
As the sun climbed the sky and the rest of the household shifted in their sleep, Julieta couldn't help but think that maybe fate was being kind.
#encanto madremonte au#julieta madrigal#luisa madrigal#mirabel madrigal#isabela madrigal#madremonte au#encanto au
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I Would Walk Backwards into Hell for You
One Shot based on my interpretation of the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
Trigger warning! Blood, Injury, Violence, Possibly Death, Swearing, and Description of Injuries.
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“Some people, they'll never accept him, but some will and he seems to know how to find the good ones.” -Grandma Paguro, Luca
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It becomes easy to track prey when its skin has been split open and blood begins to spill. Predators had adapted their senses to such a degree that they could pick out the metallic iron scent of blood from miles away. It didn't matter how far something tried to hide itself or how much distance one could try to put between them and sharp teeth, a hunter would always pick up the scent.
In much the same way, they can identify familiar smells; the flowers around them combined with the river, the smell of rot within another rival's territory, and the smell of rain about to fall. So, it should not be surprising that the oldest Madrigal grandchild immediately sprinted into the jungle at the smell of blood coming in the direction of her home with Mirabel. And neither should anyone have been surprised at what happened to the would-be murderers.
It was supposed to be a quick and easy trip from their hidden home to Casita. Isabela had seen how focused Mirabel had been on her sketches of the new flowers that had bloomed in the nearby river and had insisted on going by herself to Casita. It was supposed to be an opportunity for her to keep drawing and for Isa to begin to make her trips alone.
She had kept one ear trained on her sister as she had left, "No te preocupes Isa! I'll be fine." The smile on her face had comforted her anxiety about the situation then, but imagining it now as she ran and vaulted over dead trees, the screams of men off in the distance and the smell of fear, she wanted to tear her teeth into whoever made her bleed.
Isabela was finishing her visit to the Madrigals when the wind shifted and the smell of blood came from upwind. She had thought it had been an animal. It wasn't strange that other predators brought down a kill in her area of the jungle, most of the prey animals having moved closer to it for the protection it garnered. Her ability to sustain herself through photosynthesis had remained and that made her a somewhat safe option to prey animals. She was a predator, yes, but she had never needed to hunt like so many others. She had almost ignored it until she realized that it didn't smell like that of an animal.
Snapping her head around to look over the walls, dread had begun to pool in her heart and he stomach began to drop. She stood from where she was crouched next to Antonio and tuned out any noise coming from around her. Her ears flickered, she started to breathe deeply, and her muscled began to tense; she had never looked more like a hunter than she had now.
At her sudden movement, the little boy startled, "Isa? Isa what's wrong?" But she wasn't completely there anymore, Isabela was now completely focused on the smell. To the east there were a couple of homes built into the jungle, the people who lived there preferring a more secluded home to the bustling streets of the Encanto. She had seen their inhabitants before in passing, but their jobs didn't have a great risk of injury, so that meant, "Mirabel!"
The tree in the middle of the courtyard had suddenly, and almost violently, moved. Isabela had all but thrown herself onto the incoming branch, running up to the very end and was launched over the eastern wall. When she reached the ground, plants and trees began to sprout, helping her reach the jungle quickly and into the already reaching arms of the forest. Bark began to climb up and cover the little skin that had been exposed, the familiar weight of her mask settled along her temples and over her face.
Branches reached for her and a path was cleared as she sprinted through the dense greenery, roots erupting from the ground and strengthening to allow the trees to move. Vines wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the air, whipping around like snakes ready to strike. The jungle itself was livid and raged against the earth, animals that had been sleeping ran from the warpath being carved in Isabela's wake, and Madremonte, who had never once lost her temper, was out for blood.
It was almost too easy to track the smell of spilled blood once she reached the edge of her territory. Hearing the snap of wood, she turned on her heel and watched as Mirabel stumbled out from the right and lifted her into the trees before she hit the forest floor. Looking at her sister Isabela began to feel the beginnings of a growl rumbling in her chest as her more obvious injuries were noticed. Mirabel had a deep slash wound running down the length of her arm, her temple was bleeding as if she had been struck from the side, and there were cuts and bruises on her hands. Looking into wild eyes, she grabbed her sister 's shoulders and grit her teeth, "Que paso? What did this?"
Her sister took in a ragged breath and curled in on herself, "Cazadores, Isa. They snuck up behind me and they had machetes; They were hunting us, Isa."
Any thought of scaring away a large predator was completely ripped away from her. Hunters had been a somewhat common fixture in the jungle as far as she can remember, they were the ones that brought in meat that wasn't fish caught in the calmer parts of the rivers. There had been poachers before, those who had tried their luck in hunting the jaguars and rarer animals, but never had there been hunters who focused on her. She had been a legend and a guardian of the jungle, barely a superstitious entity in the minds of the residents of the Encanto. She didn't exist for the better part of a decade and Mirabel was a Madrigal, she would have been protected, but obviously that wasn't the case anymore.
Far below them, she heard the snapping of branches and slowly turned her head down in the direction of the noise, ears flicking into the best position to listen closer.
"She couldn't have gone that far. She was bleeding and I slammed the bottom of the machete into her head."
"Well, la perra isn't here. We had her right where we needed her! Just one more minute and her head would have been ready to present to Senora Madrigal!"
"Both of you quiet! We can still find her. It's early and we have all day, let's not lose any more ground on her."
There were three of them walking under the tree, two sounded young, younger than the men she had watched on the shores of the river, and the last one had a voice that felt like rough stone and smelled of smoke. They were so familiar, but where had she seen them?
The plants below shifted ever so slightly, creating a trail heading off to the right and away from them. The blood left on the plants during Mirabel's flight from danger was obscured by the movement and overlap of vegetation. The jungle itself had moved softly in order to not alert the men of their position, the leaves of the tree catching the dripping blood in their wide bowls, branches bent to gradually obscure their bodies from below, and far off in the distance a log was toppled by the roots of a tree.
The great crash of wood on the ground made the men whip towards the sound and seeing the path of pushed over branches the older one smirked, "Hombres! Looks like there's a trail. Stupid girl didn't even try to hide." He lifted his machete up to point, "Let's not waste any time talking, we still have the older one to hunt."
Their movement went past them and she could still hear them talking as they moved away, "What do you think Senora Madrigal will give us when we give her the abominations?"
A snort escaped one of them, "I think that getting rid of them will give us freedom to ask for what we want. Personally, yo quiero garantía que mi nina will have a betrothal to the boy."
"Idiota, delivering their heads will make them give us whatever we want. Senora Madrigal will be your tickets into guard and to higher positions, so don't speak when we are offered a reward."
Snickers sounded off the trees as the younger men laughed and Isabela had to restrain herself from dropping down on them and tearing their throats out. They talked about them like they were prey; like they were mere animals to kill and skin.
Not for long, she thought with a curl to her lip. There was a reason why she was the most feared being in this jungle and there was a reason why people from outside the mountain range kept the more foolish poachers from trying their luck in breaching the barrier.
Turning to her sister she helped her higher into the tree, keeping an eye on the direction the trees shifted, it wouldn't be good if they came back this way. When Mirabel was situated up in the canopy, she looked her in the eye and turned serious, "Stay here. Whatever you hear, stay and don't move until I come a get you, mi rayo the sol. Entiendes?" At her sister's shaky nod, Isa smiled, her teeth bared and climbed down part of the tree and into the waiting branches of the next tree over.
It wasn't hard to find the three men, they were noisy and could be heard far before she even approached them. Looking at them from above, they weren't very impressive. The younger two men didn't look anywhere near prepared to hunt anything and the older one repeatedly made louder noises that alerted anything with ears to their presence. She watched as they stood still for a moment and as they turned their heads to look for the trail, she realized where she recognized them from.
As far back as she could remember there had been groups of people patrolling the very edges of the valley, but closer to the interior were structures that housed more people. Some were older and looked like they had been through battle, while most were young warriors yet to see combat. She had evaded and walked alongside them from the shadows, but as recently as Mirabel's thirteenth birthday there had been discontent amongst some of the older men and women. She had gone to investigate once to survey the situation and discern whether or not she would have to intervene in some capacity, and watched as an older man yelled at one of the regular inhabitants of the barracks; he'd had two boys with him, barely old enough to be considered adults. They had ended up being run off when the older took a swing at the other man and dragged the boys away.
Isabela shook her head and refocused on the men as they were led away by sound of rustling branches further away, none of that mattered at the moment and if need be, she could always drag their bodies back for identification.
A pair of almost slitted golden eyes watched as all three walked in single file and waited for them to enter a particularly dense area of underbrush to let a low and sinister rattle loose. They all froze and she watched as one by one understanding began to bloom on until it appeared on the old man's face. He swallowed as his face started to pale, "Josue, was there any blood in the ferns this way?"
A startled and fearful voice answered, "N-no. I thought you had been tracking the trail, Abuelo! The plants looked like they had been moved through!"
"Espera, what do you mean?" The other Young One, looked around wildly, hoping in vain to spot where the sound had come from.
Isabela began to creep forward and the roots started to reach up like clawed hands when the older man finally understood what was happening. Already pale faces turned deathly in pallor when he breathed out in a trembling voice, "We're being hunted."
In an instant, roots shot out from the earth and pulled one of the younger men into the earth, his screams abruptly cut off as he was yanked under and away from the area. The root systems tangled themselves around his arms and legs, mercilessly taking him though the earth and out into the open air as rock face of the cliffs gave way to twisting trees violently shooting out to wrap around his body. The trunks tightened, constricting his limbs until sickening snaps erupted from all four. Both his arms twisted in unnatural direction and his legs dangled uselessly in the air, pain lancing across his body making him shriek and wail; He would live, if only to satiate her anger.
In the wake of the commotion, the other two sprinted away from their third and the Old One started to yell, "Run! Don't look back!" The groaning of trees echoed around them as they ran away, one ahead of the other and rapidly leaving their counterpart behind.
A large dead trunk was suddenly thrown in front of the one left behind and he was forced to turn sharply to the right, dropping his weapon in favor of getting over suddenly rising roots. His increasingly desperate attempts at escaping were met with growls and too close rattling from above. His mistake was made when he startled so badly at a hissing to his right, that he never heard the crashing of a large tree coming down. Too late to move, he noticed movement in his peripheral and was knocked down. An intense weight landed on his legs, the overwhelming pressure forced a strangled yelp from his lungs, and every attempt to free himself only resulted in more pain. So focused on trying to get up he lacked the foresight to make sure the danger was gone. A second trunk began to slowly topple over and by the time he went to look up the additional weight had landed and forced him into unconsciousness.
With two of three threats taken care of, Isabela crashed through the canopy and chased after the one in the lead, the older one, never giving herself away as the canopy closed overhead and it suddenly turned dark. Closed off from the light, Isabela was practically a phantom and the Old One, a dead man walking.
Something that most in the family didn't realize was that even though Isabela had returned to a more stable form and looked more human, she was more Madremonte than she was Isabela. She was not like Mirabel who had only lived with the complete takeover of her curse for less than an hour, Isabela had lived close to sixteen years co-existing with the changes of her body; Nails were claws and canines sharp enough to cause major injury.
So, when the Old One faltered in his step, when he decided that Mirabel was prey and not Madremonte's precious one, he made a mistake that would cost him everything. She gained on him quickly after taking care of the last man and now that it was just him left running, she outpaced him and launched herself back.
Knocking him down, she dug her claws into his skin and broke through the barrier. Isabela didn't feel the burning sensation of a blade slicing through her thigh, didn't feel the lacerations of a machete on her back, all she could feel was the boiling well of rage beginning to overflow. She slashed her hand down giving him the same injury they had given Mirabel and gave him more for the terror he had wrought.
When Isabela finally noticed the blade, she seized his hands and broke them, every bone snapping as if they were made of flimsy branches. The machete dropped to the floor, wet with her blood and his. I wonder if he used it to hurt Mirabel, she thought and it served to push her further into the punishment she had chosen for him.
As he writhed and screamed on the ground, the jungle quieted until only the sounds that could be heard were the shrieks and cries of the other men. She stood and brought the weapon with her, vines starting to slither and entangle him, binding his body to the ground with no way of stopping what was coming. That incessant look of arrogance was replaced by primal fear all prey had when they realized there was nowhere to run, and Isabela bared her teeth with a grin and leaned down, "No deberías de haber echo eso, maldito hombre."
In a quick flash, the blade was buried deep within his thigh and roots shot through his hands. Any blood that might have spilled was stemmed by the tight fit of wood through the wounds and the slight magic that lived within her plants. He would live even if she had to drag him back from hell itself to answer for his crimes against who she adored. Slowly, the noises of the jungle returned and light filtered down from above, the trees settled once more in their homes and watched the scene like tall sentinels waiting for the next order.
(Isabela couldn't have known, but in that moment every living thing released the breath that had been held in the moment Mirabel cried out.)
With only a twitch, branches began to form cages around her captive prey and vines swooped down to wrap around her. As she was lifted up into the canopy, patches of skin began to appear from beneath their protective cover and her mind mellowed now that the danger had been eliminated; all that mattered now was Mirabel who was waiting for her to come back.
Approaching from the canopy, she could see her sister waiting for her, eyes darting around to spot any incoming threat. There were no words that Mirabel could use to express the deep-seated relief that coursed through her at the sight of her rock-protector-sister-Isa. When she was close enough to hug, Mirabel simply fell forward into safe and protective arms, resting her weight on Isa as she was pulled in close.
A rattle vibrated against her cheek and Isabela soothingly rubbed her back, "It's okay, Mira. I'm here, I'm here." When she felt a thumb wipe under her eye, she realized she was crying and not the tears she would shed if she was sad, the type that dripped continuously without stopping and made it hard to breathe. No, these were tears of terror, relief, and pain. The type that leak out without warning and are the only reaction a body can muster under duress. She was too tired to think or speak, so Mirabel buried her face in her sister's neck and clung to her for a long time, until her exhaustion caught up to her and she was asleep.
Isa waited until she could feel breaths even and picked her sister up carefully, vines tying around them both, holding them together as she scaled down the tree to the canopy and moved away towards the distant light of Casita and the Madrigals who waited for them to come home. Blood dripped slowly from her back, leaving a trail of red behind, but she never stopped, never let it slow her down. She could eat some of the food Julieta made later, they needed to get somewhere safe for the night.
The next few hours were blur, when they arrived the Madrigals rushed to them, frantically calling for them. Their cries turned to screams as they saw the red painting their bodies and the last thing Isa could definitely remember with clarity was that she had been sat down with Mirabel in her arms and given food to eat, worried eyes staring at her from all around.
The following week would become chaos as she recounted what had happened to Mirabel and she had heard from the men, how she had hunted them down like they had done to her Precious One and how they had planned to do to her after. Prompting led her to bring the matriarch and the town guard to the guilty, and she watched from above as their eyes widened at those that stared at them from their prisons.
She, along with the rest of the village, would learn that Senor Guerrera had been planning hunt the "devil sent" Madrigals and deliver their heads to Alma in an effort to curry favor and allow his grandchildren entrance into the guard that they had been denied.
They were sentenced to exile, the town watching from all around as their judgement was handed to them and were told to ready what they could to be brought with them as they were taken away from the Encanto. The Old one would never be able to rid himself of the violent tremor of his hands, Josue Guerrera would lose all feeling in his legs and Simeon Guerrera would be the one to escape with only a limp as a reminder of her wrath.
Around the Madrigals, the Encanto stood next to them in support of Isabela and Mirabel, but this also became the reminder that while Isabela had begun to return to them in increments, they would be wise to remember one thing, if only to ensure they didn't become prey.
Isabela was Madremonte, the protector of their hidden paradise, and she would not suffer fools who decided to remain willfully ignorant of the fact she would burn the world for Mirabel.
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Of Stones and Statues
One Shot based on my interpretation of the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
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The marble statues of the gods were some of the most fascinating pieces of art Mirabel had ever dreamed of seeing. When she was a little girl, her father had taken to bringing the then tiniest Madrigal to the library, having no other ideas in trying to connect with her, to read and learn. It became her most favorite place to be, the building filled with every book that could have been carried in the last sprint for sanctuary.
It had been one of the rainiest days that month when she found the book on the statues. It was scuffed up, water stained, and squeezed between two other books of a different genre, but it soon became her greatest treasure. She went as far as sneaking it home to keep in order to stare at the wonders of the ancient world. There in its many pages, were the sketches and images of carved marble stretching, flexing as if the very figures themselves would unfreeze and move. To Mirabel, everything about them was perfect down to the stone.
After her ceremony, the marble she had so greatly admired and wished to see became a reminder that even beauty of the highest order could house pain in its divinity.
When the marble scales began to appear, she had been confused. It had only been a few short weeks following the failed Gift Ceremony, but she could still feel the sting of rejection from a miracle that had blessed everyone except her. This had to be her gift, right? There was no other explanation that the five-year-old could think of, no differing form to logically explain the small smattering of white stone dotting her knees. They had appeared over time, first starting as the flaking of dead skin inconsequential and mundane, but as she picked and peeled the skin the white stone began to peek through. By then, it was like a small dusting of marble had flaked away from the chipping of a statue on to her.
She had gone to her mother, both alone in Casita, she did so with a gigantic smile on her lips, but as she told Julieta, it started to slip away as an expression of fear began to paint itself where only happiness should have been. Mirable had been picked up and swiftly taken back to the nursery, her mother abandoning the dough she had been kneading, her heartbeat strong and fast.
When she was set down, Julieta crouched down to her height and grabbed her shoulders, "Mija, are there any other stones on your body?" And as children do, she told the truth.
"I think so? They're under the itchy bits Mami."
As she was checked over, patches of newly appearing dead skin were found all over her body. On her back, down her spine, on her shoulders, there seemed to be no untouched part of her body that didn't have the beginnings of white marble coming to the surface. Her mother had paled with each new patch and looked so close to tears by the end of her examination that Mirabel had begun to think that maybe this wasn't a gift after all. Julieta stood up quickly, vertigo making her vision swim, turned around and locked the door. When she faced Mirabel and said, "Bebe, this might hurt a little bit, but it's for your own good, entiendes?"
It was there that she had begun to accustom herself to the feeling of separating skin from stone. When she had been small it had only felt like peeling dead skin off the newer layer, but as she got older it begun to sting like a thorn being taken out and then it was utter agony as the marble entrenched itself into her very flesh. Soon, even the exposed layer began to give her issues as the top of the marble covered skin would rub the surrounding skin raw, creating sensitive areas that wouldn't heal and its progressive invasion of her body caused an ache so deep that she felt like her bones were grinding together. When the first of the blisters appeared, her mother made food especially for her and when there was no effect, liquid bandage was administered. It became clear that while the concoction of pure healing worked on non-magic induced injuries, it would not work on the majority of the ailments that Mirabel would have to suffer through.
(On the day Julieta realized her Gift would never be able to help her daughter, the candle flickered with her grief and Pedro Madrigal wept.)
Mirabel's life was a series of high peaks and low valleys, her pain dictating her life as the marble weighed her down. On the day's that she would go out and explore, the marble felt like an ever-present heavy weight on her body, an extra addition that didn't impede her life. But, just as there were days when the sun shined, there were days were rain clouded the sky. On these days, Mirabel couldn't even find the strength to stand from her bed, the rock pulsing in time with the beating of her heart and veins of liquid agony lancing through her body. It came to a point her mother had to search for sedatives in order to provide some form of relief in the times she was so wracked with pain she lost consciousness.
The excuse was always a migraine; always a migraine. It had been common for Julieta to get them at Mirabel's age and it would explain their reoccurrence. She would always be sequestered to the nursery and when Antonio was born, she would stay in her room. On those days, Mirabel was alone and suffered as flesh and bone ground against stone. Her muscles spasming with every movement that aggravated its unwelcome intruder. Some days she feared her veins would be split open and spill her blood; that she would fall asleep one day and never wake up the next morning. Her body was not her own then, betraying her as it bent to the will of pain.
There were weeks where all Mirabel had was her mind. Drunk on sedatives and muted pain, she would retreat within her thoughts, diving into the farthest corners to escape reality. On those days, when her mother or her sister would try to grab her attention, she was farther than they could ever reach. It was like her soul had left her body behind and flew away.
Mirabel learned how to lessen her pain before it could be worsened. She learned to move in small increments in the mornings in order to test her body, how to hide the rubbed raw skin, and the best ways to remove the crawling scales of stone that would grow past the edges of her blouse and skirt. Pain had been her companion for many years, and its various forms were no strangers to her.
When she and Isa had come back, it had been with an adrenaline filled rush of movement. She hadn't noticed the state of her body until they had been safely tucked far away in the highest canopy they could find. It had been when Isabela had let her down from her back that she noticed the very visible marble that had appeared on her arms that hadn't been there when she had- well, when she had died.
It had been pure instinct when she reached out to peel the marble off, but she stopped. What use was it to hide the evidence of the faults in the family? She had lived with this for so long seeing it as a curse, but staring at the stone that she had so adored when she was young, she couldn't find it in herself to hate it. Even if she knew that soon pain would make itself known. Glancing at Isabela, where the older woman began to command the branches into a cradle, she catalogued her own changes, skin showing itself where bark and plant used to be, and took comfort in knowing that at least she wouldn't be alone in her suffering.
When she had first found Isabela after their initial meeting during the night of the failed gifting ceremony, she had found that in the hours she should suddenly feel the aching when with her protector-rock-Isa, the older woman was the only person who could help her to feel better. It had happened slowly, Mirabel lounging against Isa with her back pressed against her front when she felt the tell-tale signs of an incoming bout of discomfort that would herald later days of drugged peace. As she shifted, waiting to see if she would have to make a break for Casita, the pain stayed constant. Oh, it never lessened, but it never worsened either. It was like just being in contact with her sister kept the pain at bay.
From then on, whenever she had felt the beginnings of a bad day when she was with Isabela, she would just curl up into her side. Isa never minded, going as far as to pull her in and curl her much longer body around her own. They never knew why, but Mirabel understood that whatever the cause, her friend and protector had become her sanctuary in full. With Isabela, she had felt safer than she had with anyone else. Where Luisa would only receive tears of frustration and a blank stare, Isa had managed to pull laughs and smiles from her sunshine. And where Julieta hoped to lessen her pain with natural sedatives, Isabela did so with only an embrace.
Isabela would notice her discomfort, wrap herself around her sister, and sooth her, low rumbles that mimicked lullabies. She relished in the days where she could be with Isa; rain or shine, the forest creature never failed her like so many had done before.
The morning after their flight from Casita, Mirabel was woken up by the dulled sensation of aches and bruises littering old and new spots on her body. She was used to this, the build up from zero to a hundred, and waited for the branches of liquid fire to intensify, but it didn't happen. As consciousness returned to her, she peered down at her skin and stretched her leg ever so slightly bracing herself for whatever sensation may cripple her. However, as she did so, a surprising development began to make itself known. "There." she thought, "But-but it's different."
Where she would usually feel the sharp, burning pain in the joints of her knee, there was a pain, yes. But it felt...better? Yes, better. Looking down at her body, she saw bruises from their fast-paced run, but when she pressed down on her knees there was no sharp sting of hurt. The only thing that ached were the bruises.
As she slowly pulled her body upright from where she had been resting against Isabela's side in their nest of vines and branches, she began to do things she hadn't done in a very, very long time. She stretched her arms and legs, feeling them pop and stood up. While there was pain, she felt like she could push it aside; So that's what Mirabel Madrigal did.
Her mind clear of any crippling agony, she began to climb. Even when she heard the shifting of branches below her, ready to catch her should she fall, she didn't falter. When she reached the very top of the tree she looked out at the world from her spot in the branches and grinned widely. Feeling a shaking from under, she looked down at her sister on the branch below. Isabela was watching her, a small smile forming on her lips and she rumbled when Mirabel turned to her. As she climbed up to her and sat on the same branch, Mirabel hugged her tightly and was squeezed equally in return, "It doesn't hurt anymore, Isa!" Tears began to leak from her shut eyes, dripping down her cheeks, "Ya no me duele!"
For the first time in a decade, the curse that had scarred her didn't hinder her movement and force her body to bend. Where there used to be marble anchored within her, invading her body and grinding against her skeleton, there were only surface level patches like she first witnessed when she was a child. They would flake off on their own accordand went without stinging. She felt lighter than she had in years.
In the following week Mirabel ran and climbed more than she had in the past ten years of her life. Pain was a given, yes. How could it not be when she fell or scraped her hands and knees? But where she would have been bed ridden and drugged, she ran and laughed as she was playfully chased by her sister. The stormy days that used to lurk on the horizon seemed to turn into the light sprinkling of water droplets, becoming something closer to normal.
Mirabel would never fully rid herself of the marble, but looking at the patches now from her place in the hollow of their tree, she began to see the beauty in the stone she had so adored again.
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Peek into the Madremonte Story
Every moment spent under the vast star filled sky and weaving between ancient, sturdy trees brought its own lessons, but life is not always serene. Though the influence of the gods left Isa to learn her world, wide eyed wonder obscuring the inevitability of how the moments of life played out in dynamic melodies, a discordant note unavoidable. It came nearly a half year after the awakening, rain coming down on the canopy and thunder rumbling off in the distance clouds taking up the entire horizon.
(A far-flung echo of a memory so faint only the vaguest feeling brought with it the notion of contained clouds and uniform weather. A childish chant of clear blue skies and the delighted shrieks of children playing in the sun, a whisper in the cry of the wind-)
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Authors Note: I apologize for the long wait! I know its been a bit over a year, but I promise that the second part is getting done. Life sort of got in the way and classes were not kind to my free time.
The second part is about half-way done and if I am correct may end up being longer that the first half, so at least it'll be more than I usually write. Hopefully this will be a start to more to come, especially with the Empires story that I'm writing!
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Facets of a Shattered Memory
One Shot based on my interpretation of the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
Fun Fact, I actually had to split the story into two parts because I wrote too much! Part two will be posted when its finished.
Pt. 2
WARNINGS!: Blood, Violence, Child Neglect, Harm to Children, Permanent Memory Loss
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When Isabela had been born the candle flared and danced in the confines of the lonely sill it had sat on since the night of its creation. Every person had been in the birthing room when she came screaming into the world, but the magic which had anchored itself into the very walls and ground also bore witness to the next generation taking its first breath. Golden wisps trailed off the flame and when the night became quiet and the child slept in her cradle, it coiled within her very soul, her future waiting to bloom and bring life to the world.
As she grew, that golden light grew within her, a spring of life bubbling in her blood, ready to break the mortared walls of the barriers keeping it from overflowing, but even then, it slipped out in ways that revealed themselves later. At the tender age of three, the gardens around her home were bountiful as she tended to them at her mother’s side, the fruit trees grew a sweeter harvest, and the fields sustained the Encanto twice over. Of course, the townspeople saw this and thought of the blessing of the candle, worshipped it more and the family alongside it. How were they to know that this was all just the excess magic that dripped from the palm of a child not even old enough to comprehend the tragedy and the divinity that gave rise to their Eden? Isabela's, aunt was the one who tended the fields most often, her rain reaching far and her sun beaming down unto their little piece of paradise. The little girl who had dug her hands into the soil and listened to the very earth sing to her, its voice the deep, lilting, could not have been the reason no one starved. After all, magic only existed when given by the candle and she had never been allowed to see her Familia work.
But the miracle of their continued survival began to grow heavier in its weight and the minds of many believed that their sanctuary was derived from the gifts of a family scarred by the death of its father and his blood that had seeped into the earth. As a child, Isabela was not privy to the innerworkings of her grandmother’s mind and was never exposed to it until she was older. As such, she never saw the weight of expectation settle on her shoulders or her mother bend to the will of the town. Her aunt’s moods had always been erratic so she did not see the difference when the sky clouded over and the light grey clouds begin to darken further. Her uncle’s habits were silly to her, so when they began to multiply Isabela was none the wiser to the change.
She was young and she would be a child for a little longer. Children are not privy to the oncoming storms that fate has ordained or the death of the future which they had looked forward to.
On her fifth birthday, three years after the birth of another Madrigal, a Prima whose magic called her Familia, the candle flared again and that ball of golden light unfurled in her chest, spilling past the confines of her body in unseen strings and the plants around her bloomed. When her door flared in a golden array of light and inlaid itself with it her grandmother called it a miracle and the flowers blooming in her hands a gift; Isabela herself called it a gift. But the creeping jaws of expectation had circled and surrounded her on that night, cutting off any chance for what was to come to be avoided.
(Where no one could hear, the stars wailed and one fell from its place as the very sky grieved for a child who would never be again)
At seven years old, two years passed the night her magic revealed itself, and the oldest of her generation, she began to assist in the Encanto. At first it was in the town proper with her mother at her side, adding decoration to the newer buildings and brining the dead greenery back to life, then it was in the smaller gardens withing the homes of the town. Isabela had loved it then and was eager to help in any way she could and be like her mother. Her mother whose eyes began to look more and more tired as the days passed and her hair began to turn from the stress-
She wanted to be like her mother and her grandmother who told her it was their job to serve their people, so she wanted to help them too. Isabela sped ushered along the growth of the crops, the fruit of the trees, and when Luisa Madrigal was born, she took over her care when their mother was called back to work. She created a cradle of vines wherever she went and a bassinet appeared at her bedside within the hour of learning that she would help take care of her sister. She used her gift to entertain and teach, even if she had been tutored privately since the gold of her gift strengthened and didn’t know how the teachers taught at the school anymore. When her Luisa began to talk her first words had been Mama to their mother and then Isa, her name being too long and hard for a little mouth learning to form words.
And it was as she carried her sister around the town and into the fields that Isabela began to feel that itch in her soul. The very jungle called out to her, a choir of sirens and nymphs singing out to her, and the earth adding in her own teasing warmth to the voices. She wanted to explore and she did so during her moments of rest. When Luisa was taken from her after her mother returned to Casita, she snuck off and explored the edge of the tree line, the reaching branches and hanging vines her own playground. The plants at her feet clung to her skin and the roots lifted themselves from their places, gentle fingers brushing against her hands.
Their voices were warm golden heat, bubbling laughter and fond sighs, “Nuestro pequeño amor...”
Because that’s what she was to the Earth and its spirits, their Little Love. In that same vein, they were hers in ways that she could never really articulate to others who asked what her gift was like. It was a truth so profound that all she could really say to her mother was that it felt warm and safe and home.
(Julieta Madrigal would never understand and neither would her siblings. Their gifts had long since felt cold and any memory of a time when they had felt warm had been lost as they began to feel more and more like a burden-)
For hours on end, she would lay in the grass and listen to them, lulled into the space between the waking world and sleep, but even when she walked about the town, she could hear them all. Sometimes when she tended to the bushes and the flowers at the center of the town, she could hear the whispers of the plants growing around her, their speech small compared to that of what awaited her beyond the buildings, but still distinctly golden. But for all that she tried to resist the calling when she was given more and more places to help, she would still sneak out the windows and crash into the waiting arms of the roots and vines.
At the age of eight, though the days were longer and more difficult as she worked the soil, she would always find time to lay at the feet of the towering trees and listen to those voices sing to her. Isabela loved to hear the stories carried there from far away and the daring that would fill her mind made her wish that she was out there alongside the heroes, but following that wish was an image of her sister and the Encanto. No, she would think and though she would wonder what it would be like to see the seas and the faraway lands that she dreamt of, she was content here in her home. So, instead she would write the stories down and tell them to her sister, eventually creating her own when she realized she could, but every story she had ever been told was tucked away carefully in her room.
A year passed, then two, and within the Encanto life flourished, but perhaps this is where things began to turn. Yes, the people were able to provide food for their families and the families of other, businesses opened, and the last lingering fear of not having enough to survive died, however, with this peace came far reaching consequences. Though Isabela’s gift was revered and though she no longer had to walk the fields at her aunt’s side, her abuela ushered her into the homes of the more renowned families and into the streets. Where she had been able to see her gift’s value in aiding their people and listening to the plants in order to help in other ways, she began to see imperfections in the reasoning of her new role.
Sitting at the table and watching her mother, her mother who looked more worn than she had years before, she asked “How do roses help the Encanto? Or the lilies in the rivers, Mami?”
“No se Mija. Ask your Abuela; I'm sure she has a good reason.”
At nine years of age Isabela had known to follow her elder’s commands and when her grandmother told her not to worry, she didn’t ask again, but in her mind, she began to doubt. So that night as she lay in the cradle of vines and roots, she expressed her worries, the earth quiet and the Choir humming a low lullaby in the background, “I just don’t understand.”
The Choir hummed and the vines began to gently rock her, “Amor, has Pensado si puede ser que tu don trae felicidad a los que to miran? Se que tu hermanita sonría mas cuando tu la cuidas.”
And that soothed her soul and the gold in her chest, but a child is not privy to the worries of those who love them.
While she herself could not hear the trembling not being sung in the background the Choir did. They could hear that discordant note and as they nudged their pequeño amor back home a few hours later, they and the earth could hear the wailing of the stars. The trees creaked violently and off in the distance the earth rumbled lowly. Something was coming, something that could rend the golden ropes connecting the Choir to their amor or strengthen them in turn, but either way they would not let anything take her away from them.
(And for a moment the stars flickered and then their wailing grew a bit quieter. While the evets to come would not cease to happen, they would change and a child would live.)
When Isabela turned ten a month later, the gold threads and ropes tightened and the Choir called out to her more loudly. Even when she was inside her home or in the center of the town, she could hear them as if she were laying in the roots and even though her Abuela would scold her for standing still for too long, the gold in her chest unfurled a bit more. It felt like the song was within her and that incandescent feeling inside her felt like more as it tangled with the gold.
Within a few weeks, the first vine appeared on her wrist. It was delicate thing, so thin it could have broken with a too harsh hand gesture, but when she listened, she could hear a faint song coming from it and it felt like love. She surrounded it with flowers, bracing it against her skin, and in the moments throughout the day when she sat down to relax after hours of work, she would gently stroke it, the Choir singing to her and the gold light dancing in her chest.
From then on flowering vines would sprout from her skin and Isabela loved them because they were hers and she was theirs. Each moment was like being coated in the love shared between them and the golden ropes connecting them, but the beauty was not just something that she could feel. Others watched this and it felt holy watching a Madrigal whose gift was more visible be covered in the proof that the magic was strong, but in turn their renewed reverence for the miracle which saved them was flawed.
How could they have known what their actions would inspire? How could they have guessed what the Madrigal matriarch would do to save face? How could Isabela have predicted that her year of happiness would be followed by her fate?
None of them could have known what was to come, but for the year that they had in the sun, it was spent in bliss. The Madrigals were busy but the day that Luisa’s door appeared, a few weeks before Isabela’s eleventh birthday, Alma Madrigal looked over her family and in looking to her oldest granddaughter saw the vines wrapped around her arms and saw imperfection. She walked over to Isabela, put a gentle hand on her head, and with a soft smile she asked, “Mi Flor, se pueden quitar estos vides? Your dress is getting messy.”
(The Choir and the earth heard the heavens wails pierce the air and in a second, the vines under their Pequeño Amor’s blouse tightened around her torso; She was theirs and no one would take her from them.)
The first battle in this war between expectation and agency begun. In her soul, a revulsion at the thought of hiding her vines coiled and she had half a mind to curl her lip in disgust, but she looked up and in the eyes of the woman above her, she saw something ugly. So, with a smile on her lips she agreed and though she wanted to scream, the Choir shushed her and the vines slowly retreated under her blouse, coiling around her chest over the covered spaced of her shoulders, and clung to her legs. Whatever it was lurking in the eyes of that woman was too volatile to poke at.
Any resistance would lead to hurt and that was something that they could not abide coming to Isabela; Not if they could avoid it.
They sung to her as Alma tuned away and said, “Amor, seria mejor hacer lo que quiera por ahorita. No nos gusta lo que vemos dentro de ella. Lo dorado se mira muerto.” And what could she say about that? The golden ropes within were supposed to look vibrant and strong; Not withered and dead. Maybe now was not the time to truly fight back, but she worried for what that meant. As the days passed, the occasional request to remove the vines from different places became more frequent until they were daily occurrence. Isabela, after discussing the issue further, had just decided to keep the vines wrapped around her torso at the Choir’s insistence and the flowering plants in her hair. It was around a month later that the pain really began.
She had been at the kitchen table, pencil in hand to write down notes, when she felt a pull at her temple and heard the snap of a stem. She had quickly spun around just in time to see the frown on Alma’s face, the contempt n her eyes, as she stared down at the blue flower that had been nestled above her ear. Isabela had watched as she looked up and that frown was quickly replaced by an artificial smile and scolding look.
She watched in disbelief as the matriarch lectured her about the more appropriate flowers to wear and when Alma plucked the others from their places, she was too stunned to stop it, but she heard the all-consuming anger in the voices of the Choir and the hate in the rumble of the earth. Isabela had been used to the soothing song from her infancy, but this? This wasn’t the loving music she’d heard since the gold had bloomed. This was the echoing war song and the dripping malice from the lips of the grieving. It took all she had to reign in the vines and prevent what she knew could only be a possible trip to her mother.
From then on it when she was in a constant state of avoiding her grandmother and the removal of her plants, but eventually she would be caught and was forced into her seat and her flowers were cut from her. For every time she had to endure this the pull on her skin worsened until a sharp sting began to be felt. The very first instance of this she almost couldn’t believe what was happening, but then she felt it again and again until the session was over. Even the Choir and the earth quieted to the lowest volume she had ever heard it at and only swelled back to what it usually was when it was over.
Back in her room she carefully touched her head and felt a left-over burn from where her lilies had been, but when she pulled her hand away there was the smallest trickle of blood. From within, the gold writhed and anchored itself further and the ropes tightened. It was an understatement to say that she was afraid, but before she could begin to cry vines swooped down from above her bed and pulled her into their cradle. She was cocooned in the place where she felt safest and there, she let her tears flow as she was rocked and cooed at. The song turned into her lullaby and the last thing she could really remember clearly was thinking that she was no longer safe in Casita.
(A child is supposed to be safe. A child is not supposed to be afraid and alone and bleeding-)
The next morning when Isabela woke to find the slightest bit of bark over the small wound the Choir sang to her comfortingly, “Para protegerte y para que tengas parte de nosotros contigo en una manera menos visible al ojo, Amor. Si no puedes tener nuestras flores, entonces tendrás nuestra armadura.”
The bleeding had stopped and the bark though small, brought her sense of comfort in the wake of such a disorienting discovery. How long had it been since she had been comforted? Her own mother was too preoccupied by the needs of the town to pay attention to her daughters and her father was, though eager to spend time with them, always out of the house. It’d been quite some time since she had seen either of her parents outside of the first meal of the day and even then, they did not stay for long.
None of the adults stayed for long anymore and the children all had to fend for themselves.
As she went about her days, in the blue skirts and white blouses instead of whatever pink monstrosity her grandmother insisted she wear, she would touch her temple gently every time she thought about what happened and the Choir would sing, accompanied by the low bass of the earth. Of every being Isabela had ever known, they had been the only ones she could remember truly caring for her in a consistent manner. Her own parents had been absent in recent years, leaving her to raise her sister when they weren’t around, which was often. But the Choir had been constant and the earth steadfast in their care, never once leaving her to the dark.
They were hers and she was theirs, her very being tied to them in such profound ways that exceeded and surpassed the relationships she had with the adults in her life. Where her parents had only ever given flimsy words of comfort, el Monte and la Tierra had cradled her and curled around her when she was in pain. It became all the more evident as weeks went by, that tuned into months, until the night came where the measure of love was tested and found wanting.
(The sky was screaming and the constellations were shattering, breaking themselves apart in their grief. A shrieking symphony that heralded the arrival of the coming choice.)
Laying in a pool of her own blood and staring listlessly into what was beyond her sight, listening to the war cries of the Choir and the calls for blood from la Tierra, Isabela could not have predicted what the day would end like. Only an hour ago she had been telling her sister a recent story the Choir had sung to her, grinning wildly and promising to bring her out to the jungle the next time they both had time away from any duties.
She had privately thought then that any notion of rest would have been put off to when they were their mothers age, but seeing her sister happy on her birthday was far more important and to shatter it on a day of celebration and such a momentous occasion felt wrong. After all, a new gift was something wonderous to see and one of such calibers was wonderous and relieving; Dolores could hear a pin drop from the other side of the town, but Luisa could move bridges. It was the first gift since Isabela’s that was useful and could benefit the Encanto.
It’d been close to dinner and they’d been washing their hands when her blouse had ridden up to expose a sliver of her side. It was only when Luisa had pointed it out that she realized the danger she was in.Her sister had excitedly pointed at her vines and had even tugged her blouse up a bit to see better in the waning light, “Isabela your vines are giving you a hug!”
“Que?”
The moment she heard that voice her stomach dropped and she felt cold, hollow and so distant from her own body. The echoes of Luisa’s excitement should have been so close to her ear, but everything felt so far away and all she could focus on was the slow anger flooding her grandmothers face. The tightening and flexing of hands that wanted to slam onto the counter and the straining chords of her neck, a product of wanting to scream, but all Alma Madrigal did was take a breath turn around and say, “We will speak about this later Isabela. I am very disappointed in you.”
That dinner Isabela could hardly restrain herself from bolting for the stairs, her only consolation being that she would be able to lift herself onto the second level using her vines. While she was always seated closer to her grandmother, she had the advantage of being younger and closer to the stairs, where Alma had been almost blocked into her seat at the head of the table. She had a free range of movement and the advantage of her gift and the gold light that writhed inside her wanting to protect-
Any hunger was transformed into nausea and though Luisa raised the oppressive mood, Isabela could see the uneasy looks between the adults. Tia Pepa had a softly rumbling storm and Tio Felix alternated between running a soothing hand down her back and shooting a concerned glance towards her. Her mother and father were pale and she could feel the tension mount slowly between them as their cena grew closer to finishing. Isabela could feel her heartbeat skyrocket as the plates grew empty and the moment her Abuela set down her utensils she quickly excused herself, ignoring the calls to return, letting the flowering branches and vines along the railing of the second floor to wrap around her and pull her up.
She had quickly entered her room and what used to be a bright and sunny clearing with light streaming down from above was now dimmed in mimicry of the sky. The room barricaded itself from the inside and trees groaned as they sifted blocking as much of the entrance as possible, roots raising out from the soil ready to entangle anyone who dared come inside. Like a frightened animal, she curled herself up in the thickest tangle of vines in her room watching the door. Of everything that had been whirling around in her head, one stood out screaming in defiance; She didn’t want to give up the Choir or la Tierra anymore, so why couldn’t she keep them? The bark had only multiplied in the months since they first appeared on her skin, her very own armor and protection; Why couldn’t something that kept her safe stay?
That’s when the knocking started, then the calls for her to answers, and all the while she lay curled up, ready to spring away at a moment's notice. Alma Madrigal called for her to answer, but everything that Isabela had seen and had been sung to her made her want to bare her teeth. Alma Madrigal was her grandmother, yes, but she was also a danger that Isabela had been fearing would turn its gaze onto her. She’d barely scraped by this long without having to prune her vines, not even long enough to let Alma’s reverent belief in perfection to pass by.
She almost missed the next person to try and reach her, but her father’s voice is so rare in recent memory that her mind latches onto it, remembers feeling safe and loved and whole.
“Isa? Can you open the door for me?”
And there’s nothing but concern in the way he talks and she feels like he really means it, and it's been so long that she ignores the warning bells. The vines loosen and in the second she realizes what she’s done, they’ve gotten in and the fear comes back stronger. Her father approached her with arms raised and that smile he had in her childhood memories-
(They watched in horror as her father betrayed her, her mother tried to soothe and harm, and as the wretched one watched impassively, chiding the screams-.)
She doesn’t remember much after that, it all looks like a blur in her memories and though she tries to remember how it was that led to those painful hours, all she really knows is this: she was held down by her parents as flowers and bark were meticulously removed from her body. The only persistent fact, made all the clearer with the aching of her body, was that it was agony. It was like the entire event was left unremembered and all she knew was that her parents looked down at her in horror as the bleeding didn’t stop.
She heard the yelling begin and when they had reached out to her, to help, and heal, she violently flinched away from them, roots shooting out from beneath the ground and wrapping themselves around the adults. They’d been unceremoniously and rather forcefully launched out of the room, hitting the second-floor railing, a loud crack sounding as they impacted. The door slammed shut and flickered, the gold steaming off the wooden surface and sparking erratically.
Though the Choir and la Tierra sung her to sleep with a lullaby so soft it hurt, all she could still hear the dripping of blood and the tearing of her vines. Here in the cradle, where it was safe up high and away from the hands that harmed, she could cry and scream; so that’s what she did.
(A child is supposed to laugh and sing, and play, not scream and writhe and bleed-)
The days passed and then a week had gone by, any attempts to get into the room failed and then that day came. It was dark inside her room, the creaking of vines and the groans of trees the voices of those who loved her fiercely telling her to hide, to be weary. Her family had tried to get her to open the door again, but that trick had been used once and she wouldn’t be letting them in again. Her father, then her mother, and then her uncles and aunt, all telling her to come out, that she was safe...
Why did they lie?
(A child is sacred and beloved. A child is to be protected. A child is t-)
The yelling outside her door all sounded the same, well, that was until she came to the door. It was something out of her nightmares, the never heard yelling and the present anger replacing the frustration normally used.
“Isabela Madrigal! I don’t know why you’ve chosen to act out young lady, but that is enough! You will come out here by the time dinner is done tonight or I will force this door in whatever way I can!” The sentence echoed in her mind, the Choir hissed, la Tierra roared, but all she could hear was, “I will force this door open!”
(She is a CHILD!)
I will force this door open, I will force this door open, I will force this door open, I will force this door open, open, open.
Open.
Oh.
Oh, Dios!
NO!
(The heavens were deafening, the Choir reached its crescendo, la Tierra bellowed with sound of continents rending open, to RUN-)
Isabela jerked out of the tangle of vines, eyes wild and wide, but before she could reach the door, the roots redirect her. Weak legs stumble, and though a spark of furious desperation makes itself known, she turns in that direction and from the wall, a window appears. At first, it’s the moving of the stone and then larger and larger pieces start to crumble, carving out a divot, a dent, then a hole. It was quick in reality she was sure, but every moment she was not out, Isabela felt like every second lasted hours.
Then all at once the hole took form, peeking out from a frame of tree trunks was golden, blessed daylight and oh-
The jungle, verdant leaves and alive in ways that she had missed is right there at a straightforward run, how long had it been since she felt this much relief?
“Amor,” the Choir sung, “Aunque no estén tu familia, seria mejor irnos por atrás de Casita. Ella nos esta ayudando.”
The house’s walls poked tiles out into a staircase, its darkening shadows in the setting sun set to conceal her way down. Isabela didn’t think twice before she was scrabbling down the side of the building, nearly slipping in her haste, but when she reached the ground there was no force on this earth that could stop her from sprinting into the tree line. She never looked back to see the window closing up again or watch Casita’s roof tiles wave a slow, sad goodbye, but the moment she crashed through that invisible line of no return, she felt the golden chords binding her to her family snap.
She was free.
(The very heavens blazed brighter, the constellation grieved, but a new star was being born shining against the backdrop of black and raging against the what could have been.)
She ran and ran, so long that she lost feeling in her legs, but she didn’t stop not until she felt safe. Isabela didn’t know how long it was until she stumbled and then fell to her knees, but when she did the shadows were long and the last bit of daylight was slipping away. Turning onto her back she watched the breaks in the canopy slowly lose their brightness until she was overcome with the exhaustion of the last week.
Her head felt heavy, but even if she lay on the damp earth, she felt unrestrained for the first time in many, many years. Here the Choir was all encompassing and la Tierra a thrumming palpable presence, the vibrations of their voices felt deep within her soul, “Amor, todavía estás adolorida. Duérmete. Nosotras te cuidamos mientras estés soñando.”
And that offer was so tempting, her eyes drooped and her body was already going lax as vines and roots rose up to wrap around her, but before she could drop off completely, she whispered, “Promise?”
And the resounding answer was, “Siempre, Amor.”
(Invisible to the eye but felt in the soul, lengths of gold stretched around her forming a cocoon to shelter her a little longer from her own mind.)
The Choir hummed and la Tierra wrapped her presence around her little family, staving off the world around them for a little longer, but it wasn’t long before He came to speak with them. Though he may have been a younger spirit than she and the Choir, the River’s Son was draped in the same gold though his was inlaid in his skin. She knew who he was, how could she not? She was the one who built the mountains with his sacrifice, who shaped it into the Eden which had been Isabela’s home. But for all that this started with him, he was not hers, not the magic, nor the soul.
She watched as he came closer stopping just a short distance away, eyes sad and face full of grief, and looked over the tangle of roots and vines. All three of them stood there for unaccountable amount of time, but just as the moon reached its peak he spoke, “This was never supposed to happen.”
The Choir looked over, a soft look in her eyes, “No fue tu culpa, Niño del Rio. Nadia hubiera podido saber que esto iba a pasar.”
A solemn silence permeated the area until he spoke again this time to the thus far silent being, “Her mente is fracturing Madre Tierra and I fear that she will be lost to her memories. My ieta was supposed grow up happy. Not in pain.”
It was the way he mentioned her memories that tipped both of the women off to something brewing in the golden intention of his mind. His gold was not as bright as their Amor’s, but the way it roiled and reached out with loving strands was the same way Isabela’s used to be before she could hear them. La Tierra and the Choir looked at each other a silent conversation between them. For all that he was the reason why they were a family of three and his sacrifice a catalyst to their situation, la Tierra was hesitant to hear him. But he looked so much like their Isa and for the love they had for her, she would allow him to voice his intentions.
(Fragments grinding against each other, breaking further and further, a trap ready to spring come morning-)
As she turned to look at him, eyes a dark green, she regarded him and bid him to speak, “Habla plenamente, Hijo del Rio. Digame lo que estas insinuando.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat and kept his eyes on his grand-daughter, avoiding the eyes of green and gold so much older than he, “I’m afraid that my Alma is no longer the woman who I loved anymore. She took our treasure, our miracles, and twisted them to her whims.” The Son breathed in sharply and spun around just as quickly to face them, eyes to the leafy jungle floor, “I may not have been able to save Isabela from what happened then, but I can give her a new life.”
Eyes the color of the river he fell into as he was cut down looked at them, “Her memories are harming her, but if they are taken away then she could live happily.”
(Fragments put back together, not fully but still together, their sharp edges cutting the hands that try to fix them-)
“Entiendes lo que sugieres, si?” Eyes the color of gold looked at her from where their owner kneeled at Isabela’s head, “Al hacer esto tendríamos que quitar toda memoria de su vida pasada.”
The decision was easy to make: lose Isa to her mind or give her a new life and a new start?
Was there ever really any choice? Even if the River's Son hadn’t suggested it, the likelihood that they would have had to do this eventually was almost absolute. Isabela was a child who had suffered a form of torture that no person sound of mind would have even thought about inflicting on someone so young. La Tierra knew that this was the only way to give Isa a chance to truly live as she should have, so even as her heart weighed heavy in her chest, she looked into the Choir’s, the Jungle’s, eyes and resolutely nodded her head.
“Estoy segura.”
(Molten, golden metal poured into the cracks, binding the edges. Veins revealing themselves as the liquid metal reaches the broke places unable to be touched by even the most skilled mortal hands.)
It was easy for beings like them, the great power within them capable of raising mountains and trapping villages, truly what the myths speak of. All the Choir and la Tierra did, golden and green eyes burning in the dark, was each lay a hand on the heart and the head. As they kneeled down it became so clear how affected their Isa had been by the events leading up to this moment.
Were there should have been a layer of softness that came with childhood, there was a gaunt cheek and where they should have had to press harder down to feel bone, they readily felt her ribs. It had been only a week of hiding within that dark room held together by failing magic, but this? This was damage was the kind that took longer to appear. They had been unable to do anything before now, the golden ropes preventing them from interfering so much due to the ties being strong, but in breaking apart from her family, Isabela had allowed them this opportunity.
To live here in the world where their claim was stronger than the sacrifice she would change, mortal and Others would be able to see how much she was theirs and in turn, how much they were hers. As she built up and weaved her power into the form she needed, she leaned down, kissed Isa’s cheek, and whispered, “Que tengas sueños buenos, Amor. Cuando despiertes las estrellas te saludaran.”
The Jungle echoed her sentiment, laying a hand on Isa’s forehead and then all at once everything turned gold.
(Jagged teeth smoothed down and softened for little hands to touch, memories fading completely, the hurt swept away in a torrent of warmth.)
The action took seconds, minutes, hours, but when it was done the earth split open, the Choir hopping inside the cradle, and Isabela's slumbering body was pulled into the primordial womb lined with soft leaves. Ever so slowly the roots and vines carried her within, wrapping around her until no limb was left without a plant winding itself around it and when she was laid at the center, the Choir curling around her, the earth closed itself up over them leaving no sign as to what had happened.
The Son stared at the spot where a miracle had occurred not ten minutes before and his shoulders slumped, his face falling, and sad eyes turning sadder as he realized that what needed to happen was done. His- No, Isabela would have a chance to live and thrive under the watchful eye of her protectors and though it pained him that it had to be like this, he understood that his familia was a broken thing. Too long had his wife’s firm hand turned from guidance to punishment, and from that change had pain been born.
Form behind him he felt more than heard the footsteps approaching him, the silent tremble of the ground heralding la Madre Tierra, “Dormirá por un tiempo, pero tendrá que ajustarse a su cuerpo otra vez.”
She stood beside him, a fair bit taller than he, but for all that he was a spirit, la Madre Tierra was not like him. Not really. Having died brought perspective to how small he was in comparison to those who inhabited the land beyond the scope of human sight and how odd he was in comparison to them. He was mortal claimed by the river he was born beside and when he had passed on the claim allowed him to reside here allowing those who needed shelter to cross the more dangerous parts of the river, his father.
A firm hand fell on his shoulder and guided him away, “How long is ‘some time’?”
“No se. Todo depende de ella y que tan rápido el cambio es.”
The silence that followed was solemn and accepting, nothing to be done other than letting the change take its course and allow time to pass. When they arrived at the river his father stood at its center, waiting for him to return. Before he stepped back into the water he turned to her, “Gracias. For taking care of her when I couldn’t.”
She smiled at him, a faint thing ghosting across her lips before it vanished, “Es nuestro Pequeño Amor, traeríamos las estrellas a la tierra para ella.”
The Son smiled at her and turned away, walking into the river to his father who cupped his face and brought him under his arm. As the two of them walked off to where their home was the deepest, the briefest glimpse of the river bank revealed it empty, the being who had been there having vanished.
As is the way of the gods, they did as well.
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We Became the Stories
One Shot based on my interpretation of the after-events of the main story from the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
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When Luisa was little, the stories that would lull her into the realm of sleep were the ones Isabela used to tell her. She retold the adventures of great heroes like Heracles and Perseus, their mighty deeds and heavy trials, but her favorites were the ones she spun from her imagination. Luisa would fall asleep to the tales of the maiden gifted powers of healing by a flower made of sunlight and of the boy who danced with the stars. She would dream of the far-off places filled with mystery, magic, and adventure. Every night since she could remember, Isa would climb onto her nursery bed or she would go to her sister’s room to listen to a new story without fail.
Every story she had ever been told was written in a leather journal kept hidden in Isabela’s room, up and away from curious and excited hands. Anytime Isabela caught her peeking in the hidden spaces of her room a vine would wrap around her waist and carry her down, tossing her up and catching her. Without fail, she would wind up a giggling mess in her Isa’s hugs and she would say, “Hermana! When can I tell you a story from the book?” and every time Isabela would smile, eyes filled with mischief, and say, “When you make your own stories, then you can tell me one!”
Sometimes, she would sneak around Casita and find her sister writing more stories into that old, leather journal. She would always try to creep closer to read over her shoulder, but Luisa was always caught. Usually, the journal was kept in Isabelas jungle room except for story time, but every so often it would come out and be worked on if there was time. No one was allowed to look into the story book, even Abuela! Her Mami and Papi would often ask to read from the book, but Isabela would always hold it tightly to her chest and politely refuse.
“The stories are only for me and Luisa! I get to tell them and she gets to hear them!” She would say with an affronted look on her face. As if the very notion of anyone other than them looking into the book was a kind of crime. Well, as much of a crime as any of them could comprehend at that age. Those nights spent within the nursery were the best of her memories of childhood. Each night spent in wonder, wide eyed, and grinning from ear to ear, but most importantly her sister was there. It’s like they were saturated in warmth. A never-ending dream filled to bursting with happiness.
Luisa couldn’t have predicted the way they ended all those years ago.
It started the day after her ceremony. Abuela was so happy that she had been blessed by the candle, “A gift just as special for you, mi amorcito!” She was swept away in the current of activity, testing the limits of her gift like one would a new muscle and being kept close to her mother and father. When she wanted to go show Isabela what she could carry, her grandmother- who had been watching from afar- approached and ushered her to continue her practice, “Isabela had a responsibility to our community, Luisa. You can find her later, hmm?” All day -and she remembered this vividly- she was worked to the bone and then some. She rested for minutes at a time with no real break as her strength was tested and when she was carried back up to Casita in her mother’s arms Abuela said, “Good job, Luisa!” She was taken up to her new room, impersonal and matched to the aesthetic of her gift, and put to bed, never hearing that night’s story.
Slowly, their stories that had happened nightly for the past five years of her life began to to be told farther and farther apart. First, it was every other night, then days apart, and then turned to weeks. At the same time, Luisa began to see less and less of her sister, Isabela having to move between houses and events daily with no rests in-between. Soon, she was rarely even seen in Casita and when she was there, Isabela spent most of her time in her room. The once wild jungle like place that had hidden alcoves had begun to change. Where it had been full of noise, it tuned quiet except for the sound of creaking wood and where it had once seemed like sun was shining brightly through the canopy above, it turned dark.
Seldom were the days where she could even see her sister, as if Isabela were hiding from her and the rest of the family within the colorful walls of their living home. Over the course of months, weeks even, Isabela and Luisa turned into ships in the night, the younger only catching the barest glimpse of the oldest.
It wasn’t until half a year after her ceremony that Luisa really stopped to think about the last time Isabela had come to her room and told her stories. Why did Isa work so much? When had her sister suddenly vanished from her life? Any question she might have had was waved away by her grandmother, “Isabela has a very important role to play in our Encanto, Luisa. She is focusing on her gift for the good of the Encanto.”
Luisa- as children are prone to do- seriously doubted that. Her sister had never talked about the “good of the Encanto” before. She had only ever told her that one day she was going to write books on all the stories she had ever written or that she was going to go on an adventure. So, she went and tried to find Isabela herself, but every attempt ended in failure or if she did succeed in reaching her, their mother and grandmother would usher her away and pull Isabela to her room.
And then, 10 months after the ceremony, Isabela began to stay in her room full time. Meals were brought to her and excuses were made, “Oh, she’s just sick,” or the most often cover, “Isabela is working on an order of flower arrangements for those in the town.” However reluctant any of them might have been to leave the eldest grandchild without checking in, Abuela sent them away and her word was law. The final excuse made was that she had fallen ill and was being quarantined away from the family in order to keep everyone else healthy. That night was the final time she would see her sister. She was in the doorway of her room looking up at the candle, never noticing Luisa until she looked over.
(Later, many, many years later, Luisa would look back on that moment and recognize the sheer terror painted on her hermanas face. It would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t been sitting already)
Luisa didn’t remember much of that day so many months later, the only clear thing she could vividly say that happened was that Senora Ortiz was worried and that her family had run off to Casita at a dead sprint. The events blurred together after that. Isabela hadn’t come out for so long, but she had hoped that she would be present at her sixth birthday. She didn’t appear, in fact none of her family were really there either. All of them had looked far off, their expressions tight and even Dolores seemed to be in distress as her parents urged her to listen to something, “Loli, I-I know it’s hard, but please listen closer. It’s alright, muñeca.”
Tia Pepa had been the one taking care of her when she had suddenly begun to see her mother again. Luisa would be woken up by Julieta and carried from place to place, never farther than arms reach away. Luisa had been confused and then elated. Her Mami was spending time with her! Now all she needed was Isa to come out of her room and for her Papi to come back from chopping wood. It had been so long since they had all been together. Maybe Isabela could tell them her new stories? She was sure her parents would like them.
She had been young. She had never seen the look of fear that her mother wore if she wasn’t within eyesight, heard the way the adults would plan the search parties, or felt the way her father trembled every time he took her to Senora Ortiz. It seemed like only a few days had passed when her parents had sat her down at the kitchen table and told her she was going to be a big sister.
It felt like this was the best news she could have ever received! She and Isabela were going to have a little sibling who they could tell stories to. Luisa had leaped up with a happy grin and started yelling excitedly, her parents tired faces lighting up for the first time in months, but then a thought hit her. She turned to her parents, suddenly confused, “Have you told Isa? Can I tell her?”
Her mother’s face had dropped and her father sucked in a sharp breath, “Luisa what do you mean?”
“Well, Isa hasn’t left her room in a long time and I haven’t seen her in so long! Did you already tell her?” That night was the first time she had seen her mother cry and father look pained. It was also the night she received the best and worst news all at once. Isabela had gone missing a week before her sixth birthday, she had been suffering because her gift had started to hurt her, and she hadn’t returned to Casita.
Isabela was gone.
When Mirabel was born, Luisa vowed to always be there for her little sister, “Prometo amarte para siempre, hermanita.” She would protect her like she should have protected Isabela, but what was the price of this promise?
As the years went by, she felt the happy days of childhood slip away, replaced by the unforgiving weeks of a terror induced watch. There were the simple rules of caring for a child, yes, but as the days ticked by, she would implement new ones and when Mirabel’s ceremony came and went, she added the most important one of all; Don’t go into the jungle. I will not lose you as well. I promised.
But Mirabel was so much like Isabela, it was hard to even look at her at times without getting angry at a ghost who haunted her waking hours. She would sneak off into the greenery and wander too close for her liking when Luisa was extra careful. Her childhood was a set of laws given to her by the hands that should have made them sweet like honey. Every time she would act up, Luisa would promise her a story, “If you can be good, then I’ll tell you a story!”
And she had every intention of doing so. Luisa had promised the memory of her sister that she would honor her in this way, make sure that Mirabel knew the stories of her childhood and would perform them the same way; A tradition that should never have ended so soon. It was only when Mirabel was fourteen that she realized she had failed in keeping that promise as well. She had offhandedly made a reference to her favorite story, the one about the women who loved each other so much they turned into intertwining trees upon their deaths, expecting it to be continued, but her sister had only turned to look at her oddly and said, “What are you talking about?” It would be her last great heartbreak until the collapse of Casita.
Luisa had believed that her chance at telling her sister these stories had passed her by when Mirabel had turned into the statue. But then again, she had also believed Mirabel and Isabela to be dead without a way to bring them back. How wrong she was.
Looking at them now, it was like living within one of the stories she used to love. Mirabel was showing her mother the things she had sketched within her new journal. It was the first time in almost two decades that she had seen that look of contentment on her mother and Luisa wondered if she had ever smiled in the years after Isabela’s disappearance. The expression was so foreign on her usually downcast face and tickled something at the back of her head. Like a sense of Deja vu that wouldn’t go away. Then it hit her.
The entire scene she was looking at was the same image she had witnessed at five years old. Her mother leaning on one hand and listening to a daughter ramble about the contents of a leather journal so lovingly cared for. Thinking back on that warm memory, Luisa looked up into the branches of the tree. There, laying on her stomach was Isabela, different than she was, but content and alive. Even though she was ecstatic to have her sister back, a small part of her worried. Isabela didn’t remember them, not really.
Mirabel had said that Isa didn’t recall much before her days in the jungle, that she only had flashes of memories. The only people she could even clearly say that stayed within her mind was her mother and father, and even they had been reduced to feelings and sights. Isabela didn’t remember the rest of her family; Luisa was an empty space that was never questioned or noticed within the mind of her sister. She was a story told to her over the years Mirabel had discovered her in the Jungle. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she never noticed the tree moving, its branches shifting to bring its cargo close to her.
“Okay?”
Luisa’s head jerked up in surprise. Isabela was looking past her to Mirabel, but there was no doubt that she was talking to her. It was no secret that she wasn’t fond of the warm colored side of the family and least of all Abuela. Bruno hadn’t really come around to even speak to them, always watching from afar. She looked back at Luisa, eyebrow raised and head tilted when she didn’t respond.
Clearing her throat, she got out, “Y-Yeah! I’m g-good.” which earned her a hum from the woman as she turned back to watching their little sister. Watching her now, she looked exactly and nothing like how Luisa had imagined her to be when she had thought her dead an- and she was getting distracted. This was an opportunity to connect again.
“U-Uh, did you have a good week?” Really? How was your week? She was never going to live this down in her head ever again. But it worked. Isabela turned her head a bit towards her and answered.
“It was...Interesting. She was very, how do you say? Curiosa? She liked the rivers.” Her voice was halting, like she struggled finding the way to string together her words. When she registered what she had said, Luisa snorted, “Of course. I always struggled to pull her away from there. It was always there and the jungle that she would sneak off to.”
Isabela rolled her eyes and huffed, “She is too curious. Too eager.”
“I think it’s both! Do you know how many times I had to fish her out of a pond or pick her up from the ground to take her home for dinner? Too many times I tell you. There was this one time....”
Her exasperation took hold as she rambled about the day that Mirabel had nearly given her a heart attack. In this time Isa had turned to face her fully, listening and laughing. Their laughter had attracted the attention of the other two across the court yard and when they had pressed for an answer, the response drew an exclamation of offense from the younger.
“I wasn’t that bad!”
“You were literally in the middle of a rushing river!”
Hours upon hours passed as Luisa retold Mirabel’s ill-advised adventures and she had never felt more alive than right then. The mid-day sun crossed the sky as she divulged all the antics that had happened as Mirabel grew up.
All three of the more ordinary Madrigals had ended up sitting down next to the tree with Isabela above, when her mother made a suggestion, “Why don’t you tell your sisters one of your stories? The ones you and- well, the ones you used to love at bed time.”
To be quite honest, Luisa was shocked that her Mami had even remembered she had loved the stories Isabela would tell. It had been so long since she was a child, barely even remembering herself. Those stories had long since become a relic of a time long passed and she hadn’t thought of them in close to a year, not since realizing she had never told them to Mirabel. She ducked her head down and turned to her sisters, a hesitant look in her eyes which intensified as she caught Isabela’s. It took her a moment to realize that she didn’t have to turn to her sister for permission; Isabela didn’t remember her stories.
But I do, she thought. Luisa alone was the last person who held those stories within her. I could tell them.
So, straightening her posture, she grinned at them, a tender look in her eyes, and said, “You’re going to love this story!”
Mirabel scooted closer, her gaze firmly locked on her the entire time, filled with anticipation. Her mother fondly looked on at them as Isabela’s branch lowered even more in order to listen intently. Her audience firmly captivated, she looked at Isabela as she began to retell one of her favorite stories.
“Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun, grew a magic, golden, flower.....”
While her tale was spun, behind a golden door the laughter of children echoed within a green paradise perfectly preserved in its former glory. If one were to peek inside and wander, they would find an old journal waiting to be opened and filled with new stories once more.
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The Difference Between What Was and What Is
One Shot based on my interpretation of the Encanto Madremonte AU by the lovely @c-rose2081
Hey there! Sorry it took so long to post, but I was in Mexico visiting family and lets just say that it's inspired many ideas. This might be a shorter post, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!
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It was a testament to their willpower that Julieta and Luisa had waited this long to pull Isabela away from the more crowded moments to talk. Just shy of four months had passed since the resurrection, all that time spent trying desperately to garner good will with their missing family member, especially with what happened with the Guerrera men. It had been a side of Isa that they had never imagined her having, only thinking of her as the sweet and adventurous child she had once been.
The wooden mask and the barely contained rattles emanating from her throat had them flinching in surprise when she had arrived back at Casita, but it was the burning gold slits of her eyes that froze them in their places. It had been then that they had realized that the Isabela that had left was not the one that stood in front of them, could not possibly have completely survived the passing years to be the one that made it back home.
They had waited as long as they could handle and, in the end, it was Luisa who cracked first and tried to find ways to bring her to the side, but every attempt was met with the annoyed green eyes of the youngest daughter or the whipping sting of plants. It seemed like every action was parried and redirected in such a way that it felt as if the very miracle was hiding Julieta's daughter from her.
In the end, all it took was waiting for Isa to come to them after Mirabel had gone to bed. They had been cleaning the kitchen and preparing the ingredients for the next days batch of food when Isabela had crept in, eyes glowing faintly in the low light. Glancing over in surprise, Julieta had to brace herself against the counter as she caught the color change again. Where eyes the color of her own once peered out at her, gold now sat inlaid into their previous place. It had been so startling to realize how much had fundamentally changed in her daughter and while it had gotten less heartbreaking the more time they spent together, there was always a moment where she had expected eyes the same color as her own to be in place of gold.
A large hand placed itself on her shoulder and Luisa's voiced sounded from just behind her, the slightest warble the only indication of a shared worry, "Isabela? Todo esta bien? Donde esta Mirabel?"
Isabela looked at them, eyes glinting and nodded, "Todo esta bien. Mirabel is sleeping, but I need to speak with you." A look was shared between the women in blue and Julieta hesitantly smiled and motioned over to the next room, "Bueno, let's go sit down and we can talk hi-Isabela." Her daughter only gave her a glance before slinking down the short steps into the dining room. Luisa stared at her mother for a few seconds, worry in eyes so much like Agustin's and Mirabel's up until the collapse, before following her eldest sibling.
Julieta stood there for a minute just breathing, her heart beat slowly slowing and the tide of overwhelming dread pulling back. With one last exhale she moved into the room, where at the table her daughters sat, one watcher her sister and the other observing the room. When she sat down, she smiled at Luisa and Isabela, "Now then, what was it that you needed to tell us?"
She leaned forward onto the table, ears flicking a somewhat wary look replacing the curious expressing on her face, "Senora,"- and that should have been her first clue as to what would be said next, but even so she was caught off guard, "I don't remember you, not really. Not who you were to me and I don't remember much before la selva. I know Mirabel is my sister," she looked away to the windows, "Pero mi Milagro esta conectada a mi don. La pude sentir desde el fondo de mi ser."
It was at once both the most heart-aching thing she had heard, and the most closure that she had received in years. They, her and Agustin, had suspected something like this was the case. When Isabela had returned to them with Mirabel on her back, there had been no emotion remotely similar to recognition that had played across her face, only wariness and the protective looks she had directed to Mirabel. Oh, it was hard to miss the way she felt towards her youngest. Like a mother jaguar with her newborn cub and in some way, the hurt that should stung was lessened by the fact that even if she had failed to keep them safe, they had found each other in the end.
Mirabel had gotten the protector and mother figure that she had needed, and Isabela had been at their sides in the only way that she could have been. So, slotting her own feelings away to be handled later, Julieta put a hand on Luisa's arm, a stricken teary-eyed look on her face, and cleared her throat, "Que te recuerdas?"
Isabela's face twisted in thought, the furrow of her brow so reminiscent of days gone by when her daughter had been frustrated with something that had been said or done. Sitting there in the waiting silence, the new reality she'd been living in shifted into something easier to touch, became more real. In the face of the truth, her world broke and came together again, the jagged edges of whatever had been reforming into what is.
For more than a decade Julieta had hung in the space that her uncertainty had created, the truth finally bringing her to rest on solid ground. Though her heart broke for the past, she could finally move forward into the light. Suddenly, the world came into sharp focus and she felt aspects of the woman she had been slot into the new mosaic of her being.
"I remember senses and there are fragments of moments that are coming back, but not memories." Isabela looked to the older woman, "I think I remember la cocina. I used to help make food, si? There was always a lot of light."
Julieta smiled and nodded, "You used to insist that you would help me with the food for the village and for the family in the morning. You even had Casita wake you up early to get ready." Isa nodded and turned toward her sister who looked on in old sadness. When she noticed Isabela look at her, she straightened in her seat and steeled herself as best she could, "I don't remember you much, but we are sisters, yes? I can feel la conexión de nuestros dones."
The younger woman's throat bobbed, emotion impeding her speech for a moment, but swallowing it down she answered as best as she could without wavering, "Si. Um, tu eres la mayor de nosotras tres, pero también de todos los nietos." And that's when Isa leaned over to peer at the family tree in interest.
It was odd, it seemed as if she had switched from giving them her undivided attention to ignoring them. They watched her scan the tree, top to bottom, and come to rest at her image. A second passed, and then another, until she turned to them a question on her lips, "I'm twenty-seven?"
It had never occurred to them that Isabela wouldn't have remembered her age. Time had stolen her not only her memories of the family, but also basic information about herself. Julieta's eyes softened, "Si, cumpliste veinte- y-siete hace unos meces atrás. You were born in the height of summer. Luisa tiene veinte-y-uno y Mirabel tiene quince años."
Her oldest bobbed her head and looked down pensively at the grain of the wooden table. Her soul ached to comfort the young woman in front of her, but her mind reminded her of their reality. She was a complete stranger, nothing more than a faint connection to a faded memory. As much as she wanted to be her mother again, the reality was that the time for that had evaporated when she had let her mother treat her daughters as prized mules for their village. When she finally tipped her chin up and looked them in the eyes, she said, "Would you tell me more about the Madrigals?"
In that moment the tentative olive branch that was offered could have been a bridge to heaven for Julieta. She smiled, "Por supuesto! What would you like to know?"
And so, the night continued on, questions on both sides coming to be answered and much needed truths being laid bare for them to see. Julieta observed her daughters as they spoke about the history of their home and the story of the night that started it all, eyes fondly looking on. Isabela had grown up away from her family and though she couldn't ever be able to fit into the role of her mother in the same way, not anymore, in her heart she felt that in time they could bridge the ravine of years that had separated them. She would always treasure those formative years, but it was time to face the present.
There was moment when Luisa had asked about her life in the selva, how she had ended up there, but Isabela had furrowed her brow and admitted that though some pieces were coming back to her, all clear memories began with waking up in a nest at the foot of a tree. Nothing from before that moment was accessible to her in full, though she had tried and eventually come to terms with never knowing, "If I was meant to remember, then I would. If I haven't, then there must be a reason for it." And truthfully? Julieta was glad for it. A selfish part of her wished for Isabela to never remember that final year in Casita's walls.
As the time ticked by, the moon reaching its zenith, the three women stood once again. As they turned off their lights headed back to their beds, Isabela turned to them as she placed a hand on the tree, "Would it be okay if I helped you in la mañana?"
Julieta smiled, one that was more genuine than any in the previous years, "Of course! I'll be in the kitchen all day tomorrow making the healing food for the week. I'll have Casita wake you up in the morning."
Isabela uttered a thank you and the older woman watched as she was lifted into the tree, disappearing with nothing but the rustle of leaves into the branches. As she went to bed that night, Agustin on his side of the bed, Julieta wondered at the what the future would bring. Her dreams filled with memories of amber sunlight, the sound of laughter, and smiling, golden eyes.
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Great news!
The next part in the Madremonte AU should be coming out within the week, though i will have to make sure it's ready.
So, look out for that 🤠
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In reference to this post
@c-rose2081
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Drawing The Jungle Creature - (Madremonte AU)
Otro fanart de uno de los AUs de @c-rose2081.
Esta vez dibujé M!Isa como me la imagino con todas las descripciones que he leído y los dibujos que he visto. También hice el diario de campo donde Mirabel estudiaría a la criatura de la selva y la dibujaría.
Espero que os guste.
English translation and journal without drawings:
Another fanart of one of @c-rose2081's AUs.
This time I drew M!Isa as I picture her with all the descriptions I've read and drawings I've seen. I also did the field journal where Mirabel would study the jungle creature and draw it.
I hope you like it.
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