Chapter Text
Camilo trusts his family.
Why wouldn't he? They're amazing and reliable, and growing up, he watched his older cousins, sister, mamá, and tía provide for the Encanto with their gifts, earning the respect and admiration of the town. So it's second nature to believe them when they say they have something covered, or when they promise they're fine after a hard day of work.
(A part of Camilo didn't particularly believe the latter. Anyone with eyes and common sense can see just how overworked his prima Luisa is. But he didn't dare to point it out—Abuela wanted everyone to provide for the Encanto, therefore, no slacking off.)
Most of all, as of this moment, he trusts Tía Julieta when she says that she doesn't know if the new visitor of the Encanto is truly her. A lot of things can change in a decade, he knows that, but...
But.
He wants to trust his gut. And his gut is saying that the girl laying peacefully on the kitchen table is his long-lost prima-melliza.
Camilo isn't an idiot. Despite these ten years of separation, he never once forgot what Mirabel looked like. He kept photos of them in a secret drawer of his room, so when he thinks he's starting to forget or just wants to stay in the comfort of memories, he takes a photo of them—the one he cherishes the most; the two of them the week before Camilo's birthday, smiling, happy, and whole—out of its hiding spot and imagines that his best friend is there beside him, laughing at his bad jokes, sharing funny stories, and making him feel a little less lonely.
With his gift, the magic is in the details. He studies the little things that make up a person's appearance and character just to help perfect his shapeshifts. And he practiced with Mirabel. He spent as much time as he could with her after receiving his gift, working out how to mimic a person's habits, their styles, their way of speaking.
Mirabel is the first one he truly got right.
(They've pulled a few pranks here and there, sometimes confusing Isabela, and other times trying to see if their mothers could tell which of them is Camilo or Mirabel.
Until Abuela put a stop to it.
Use your gift for the community, she told him, and Mirabel stopped coming to him for jokes.)
So he knows with his whole heart that this girl is Mirabel. His best friend, his other half, his prima. His melliza, who somehow, someway, made her way back home.
"Let's transfer her somewhere," Tía Julieta says after she finishes washing away the dirtiness from their unexpected guest's skin.
Camilo looks up from staring at the calloused hand of his missing (well, not-missing) cousin. "To the nursery, Tía?"
He didn't have a problem with that arrangement, simply because he also thinks Mirabel should be resting on something more comfortable than a kitchen table, but then there's Antonio.
Antonio, who hasn't even met Mirabel; who only ever heard five years' worth of stories about her (that's too short of a time to spend with his prima, why didn't they have more time?) from Camilo and Dolores, and sometimes Isabela and Luisa if they're emotionally willing.
His hermanito's reaction to Mirabel is up in the air if he's being a little realistic. The kid's four-almost-five, and sometimes, kids at that age tend to be a little bit judgmental and brutally honest without meaning to.
But Camilo knows his little brother won't mind. Antonio's a sweetheart, and wouldn't judge if a stranger—who happens to be family—is gonna sleep there for a bit if the situation was explained to him.
Besides, it'll be his birthday soon (ergo, his gift ceremony where he gets a room of his own) so it wouldn't be long until Mirabel has the nursery to herself (again, a sad voice within him whispers.)
Now that he thought of it... Where will the chamacos be staying?
"I'm still not sure about that, Camilo," Tía Julieta replies with a tired sigh. "Someone might come in and see her, and I don't want any panic happening before I can explain."
"Well," he starts, the idea forming instantly in his head. "She can stay in my room for a bit. The niñitos too. I have the space."
(And I want to be as close to her as possible, he doesn't say. I don't want to leave her alone, not again, he doesn't admit.)
His tía seems to consider it, patting the unruly locks of her daughter's hair, before she sends a small grin at him. "I'd appreciate it. Gracias, Milito."
Camilo, as though he swallowed a piece of the sun from how warm his chest feels, smiles back. He truly did like making people smile, especially his familia. (Maybe he can do the same for the chamacos. For Mirabel.)
"Come on, let's get her up, gently," Tía prompts him and Camilo, since Luisa is still out (probably checking to see if anyone dangerous—anyone who hurt his prima—has made it into the Encanto), carries the unconscious girl with surprising ease, and worry seeps into his bones. She's so light...has she been eating well? Has she been eating at all?
From this perspective, Camilo can see the faint bags under Mira's eyes, like she hasn't been sleeping okay, and he wonders morosely just what she went through. What hardships she suffered, what monsters she had to face so she and the children could make it another day. (That last question, he decides, will stay unanswered.)
Regardless, no matter how much she's changed in the past ten years, no matter how different she's turned out, Camilo will love Mirabel just the same. They're twins, after all.
With Tía Julieta taking the lead to keep an eye out for the rest of the family (though, Casita will probably warn them ahead of time), they quietly make their way out of the kitchen. On the way, Dolores meets them by the threshold of the dining room, still carrying the smaller niñita of the bunch.
"Are you taking her upstairs?" Dolores asks softly.
When they nod, his sister tilts her head in that familiar practice of searching for any particular noise. "I don't hear Abuela or the rest of the family. Just Antonio; he's in the nursery."
Camilo sighs silently in relief. As much as he loves his family, he has a hunch that the arrival of their once-vanished Mirabel would cause one heck of a storm. (Particularly in due thanks to his Mamí but they'll deal with that when they get there. Hopefully. Maybe. If nothing else goes wrong first.)
"Thank you, Lolita," Tía Julieta says before she gestures to the small girl. "Are you getting the niños some food?"
"Sí, Tía. I think they haven't eaten at all yet, so I'm hoping to make them something."
"I have some extra arepas and empanadas in the kitchen to help tide them over. I'll make them a proper meal in a bit."
"Speaking of which, how are the other pequeños doing?" Camilo asks while leaning over his tía's shoulder, hoping to spot the rest of the kids. Maybe while they're waiting for Mira to recover, he could distract them with some games. Like fútbol! He hopes they like fútbol. If not, he can just improvise and come up with a game that could loosen them up a little, ease the stress, and all that.
Dolores hums. "They're okay. A little quiet, but they're adjusting surprisingly well. Especially about us having magic."
At that, curiosity rises. "They're not, like, freaked out or anything?"
With a squeak, his sister shakes her head. "Nope. I heard one of them even say that we've got magic too."
Now doesn't that smell weird? They've got magic too. Have these kids seen magic before coming to the Encanto? Were there...are there people like Camilo? Like Dolores? Like Tía and Luisa outside the valley? If so, does that mean other places similar to the Encanto exist out there?
He'll admit, he had thought about such things growing up (when he wanted to look for his missing cousin himself when the search parties stopped going). At some point, he pondered over what was waiting beyond the mountains that surround his home, what place the wandering traders and peddlers came from. Camilo knew the existence of a city nearby; that's where his Tío Agustín lived originally before stumbling (literally) into the Encanto, bee stings and all.
But most of the time, when he'd lounge on the rooftops of the Casita alone, he mulled over what places his lost cousin must be traveling through, what sights she was seeing, what life she must be living.
Well, Camilo thinks wryly, the answer to the last question is already in his arms, sleeping still, cured of all grievous injuries.
"We'll...talk about that some other time," Tía speaks up with a wave of her hand. "For now, let's get her situated. Cami, let's go."
Bidding his sister and the niñita tranquila a see-you-later, he and his tía cautiously ascend the stairs, keeping an eye and ear out for anything out of place or a family member that isn't Luisa or Dolores returning to the Casita.
(On the way, Camilo spots two of the older kids eyeing them with worry and caution, to which Camilo responds with what he hopes is a reassuring smile.)
But it's as they are nearing Camilo's room did something shift within the house. Casita rumbles lightly, possibly creating or reforming a part of the building, and he soon notices a particular change just up ahead.
A door that he's never seen before stands by the left of the nursery. It's a plain blue door, sure, but decorating its frame is a bunch of golden butterflies, stars, some constellations, and compasses, a design choice that Camilo decides not to question. Casita is a wonder that way.
"Casita," Tía Julieta starts in an amazed whisper. "Is this for the niños?"
As if answering her question, Casita swings the door open, and inside it is not what Camilo was expecting. Unlike the nursery, which was big enough to fit two people, this new room is larger, more spacious, and is occupied with drawers, shelves, books, and toys that he's sure used to be his, Dolores's, and his older primas'.
Opposite the door, a huge window reveals the greenery of the Encanto as well as the town, the natural light illuminating the space nicely. To complete the room, lining the left and right walls are three beds, the right number for each kid.
An extra big one stands right in between them under the window, draped with what looks like the softest blanket that's ever existed, embroidered with butterflies (it doesn't take a genius to figure out who that's for). All in all, it's the perfect room for the chamacos to sleep in.
This house is seriously so cool.
"Gracias, Casita," Tía Julieta says warmly. "This is very thoughtful of you; I'm sure the children will love it." Casita moves a few floorboards in response, an unspoken you're welcome.
When Camilo sets his eyes on the middle bed, though, his hopes for letting his prima sleep in his room for a while fizzle out into a sad kind of acceptance. As much as he's happy to lend his space for his cousin to rest in, he knows that an unfamiliar place wouldn't go over well for Mira when she wakes up, especially when she wakes alone.
The best way to avoid any of that is to let her be here, where the kids would surely stay in themselves. So much for staying as close as possible.
A gentle hand lands on his shoulder and Camilo meets his aunt's understanding eyes. "Is everything okay, Milo? Your arms must be tired."
"It's nothing, Tía. I'm just..." He trails off, unsure whether he should admit his selfish (because that's what it is, selfish) wish of wanting to stay with his cousin for a little while longer in his room rather than the one the pequeños will be occupying. The pequeños who she protected with her whole life. (He should've protected her, though. He should've been there to keep the monsters away.)
Tía Julieta seems to have read his mind, squeezing his shoulder assuringly. "I know you want to stay with her, Camilo, and I won't stop you. So, I was hoping you'd stay here with her until the children come to see their new room. She needs to be monitored just in case, and I'm sure she'd appreciate someone explaining everything to her."
Feeling that spark of hope again, of being able to stay close to his cousin, Camilo looks up at the woman, mumbling, "Really?"
She nods. "Really. Once she's awake, and everything else has been sorted out, we could..." She pauses at this, staring down at Mira's peaceful face until she brushes a stray lock of hair away. "We could give her and the niños a tour around the Casita. Maybe have them visit your room too. Está bien?"
Camilo will always be infinitely grateful for his tía's motherly instincts and ability to come up with a reasonable plan. That's why she's his favorite tía.
"I'll be back to check on her in a bit, Milo," Tía Julieta says as soon as he puts Mirabel on the larger bed, careful not to jostle her too much. "Call me if anything happens, okay?"
"Sí, Tía."
She smiles, cupping her daughter's cheek tenderly and lightly brushing her thumb over the skin. After casting one last look at Mirabel, she leaves, closing the door with a soft click.
Soon enough, silence permeates the air as he sits on a spare chair kindly provided by Casita beside the bed. It's not an uncomfortable silence, per se, but it does leave Camilo feeling itchy; itchy for music, chatter, anything to fill the space.
But Mirabel doesn't need any of those right now. She needs to rest. She...
She's changed a lot.
On sleepless nights, Camilo would imagine what Mira looked like as time passed. He'd wonder if she would outgrow her hair or leave it short; if she'd wear clothes with the color teal like her Mamá or blues like her Papá and Luisa, or maybe even pink like Señorita Perfecta Isabela; if she'd grow taller than him or remain shorter by a few inches.
All that wondering is put to rest when he looks at the current version of her. Mira's hair is longer, probably longer than Isa's but messier. Even with his tía's elixir having healed her injuries, she's still so sickly pale, likely from the lack of sunlight (or blood. She lost a lot of blood, didn't she?)
Her attire is mostly a plain blouse and a dirty brown skirt but they seem mostly stitched together with pretty embroidery and patterns to hide the fact that they're not exactly meant for extravagant parties. Still, that must mean Mirabel gained a hobby during the time she was gone. That must mean something, right?
More than that, she gained a little posse of children who rely on her as their protector, who protect her in return if those two older kids, Elias and Gabi, were of any proof.
At the reminder of the chamacos, concern (and maybe a little bit of fear for them) sets in, making his chest feel tight.
They were all so...small. Skittish. Frail in the knees, even, but willing to fight if it meant they were safe. Heck, Gabi looked ready to stab somebody despite how shaken she was back at the mountain.
But no kid should ever have to—need to—hold a weapon the way she did. Not even Mirabel, who bled and bled and bled, but still used her body to shield the niñitos from peril.
(That image will probably stay with him until he got to talk with his prima again. For the first time in ten years.)
Camilo sighs. He repeats his aunt's words in his mind like a mantra, or maybe even a prayer.
They'll get their answers once Mira wakes up. Everything will be fine. Until then, he'll do as promised and keep a careful watch over his cousin, draping the soft blanket over her body while he sits patiently by her side.
(He won't let another monster take her away again.)
"You ready to sleep yet?"
"No...I don't wanna sleep."
"Why not, mi oruguita?"
"My dreams are weird."
"All dreams are weird."
"But Hermana, my dreams are weeeeiiiirrrrd!"
"My dreams are weird too, but you know, maybe something weird just might be something familiar viewed from a different angle. And that's not scary, right?"
"Right!"
"So, ready to sleep and view our dreams upside down?"
"...sing me that song?"
"Por supuesto, lucecita."
Dolores hums in satisfaction when she finds an ample amount of arepas and empanadas for the kids. Although she believes herself to be a decent cook, her tía's food would satisfy the pequeños' hunger while simultaneously healing their scrapes.
With some help from Casita, she prepares the snacks, which is a bit of a feat considering one arm is occupied with a sleeping little girl. Perhaps she should make some soup for her as well. Or chocolate santafereño. It always helps with the nerves in Dolores's experience.
But even then, she's unsure if Eva would be willing to eat or drink any of the food Dolores will provide. What does Mirabel do to convince her to eat?
At the thought of her cousin, she slows in her preparations, her mind circling back to the earlier events and the moments afterward now that she has a relatively quiet time to digest everything. Admittedly, she has a myriad of questions she wants to ask, particularly to the children seeking refuge in the Casita, but she knows that she needs to wait for the appropriate time.
They've gone through a lot, she's sure, and Dolores would prefer not bringing up any traumas, fearing the little ones would close themselves off from ever speaking to her or anyone else. Plus, most of her questions revolve around her no-longer-missing cousin, who came back home bloodied and bruised, and grown.
She sighs, absently stroking the niñita's dark curls. She overheard Camilo and Tía Julieta's conversation in the kitchen earlier. Though the latter said they'll get their answers once Mirabel wakes up, Dolores can't help but feel anxious.
It's been far too long. And as much as she convinces herself that the unconscious girl upstairs is Mirabel (it has to be), there's still a seed of uncertainty, particularly in how she will react to them. Memories can be forgotten or altered through circumstances. Mirabel probably only remembers her first name rather than the surname she's associated with. And who's to say that Mirabel will remember them at all?
(and that's the scariest thing to think about. one of their own, not remembering their family at all.)
"Señora Hermosa!"
Dolores squeaks in surprise, turning to find Diego gazing up at her with a little smile (and she bites back the odd impulse to pinch his cheeks). The other kids aren't with him so she guesses they're still by the fountain and he came here by himself.
"Yes?" Dolores finally says.
"Do you know where Señora Fuerte is?" Oh, he must be talking about Luisa. It seems she got herself a fan, Dolores thinks amusedly.
Tilting her head to locate her strong cousin (trudging from the mountain area with heavy steps, with a purpose to her strides, with a heart beating heavily in her chest), Dolores answers, "She's on her way back from the mountain. Do you need her for something?"
Diego bobs his head with vibrant enthusiasm that she's half-worried he'd hurt his neck. "Yeah! I wanna know how big she can carry stuff! 'Cuz I can carry whole lotta stuff too, which means we can be best friends who carry big stuff!"
Dolores allows herself to grin at the boy's carefree energy and thinks that he and Antonio would get along well, including Luisa.
"Are those for us?" Deigo asks, pointing at the arepas being reheated on the stove, and Dolores picks up his stomach grumbling the moment he does, bringing a little smile to her face.
"Mhm," she flips the last arepa, later gesturing to the entryway of the kitchen. "Could you get your amigos for me? It's almost done heating up."
"Sí, Señora Hermosa!"
Before Diego could leave, though, she calls out to him, stopping him in his tracks because, although she promised herself she'd ask all the questions at a later time, she does have one she wants to ask, even if it's silly. "I don't really mind it, but why do you call me Hermosa?"
Usually, that title belongs to Isabela, the beloved Flor de Mayo of the Encanto, but Dolores keeps that particular insecurity out of her tone. The niñito doesn't need to know about it.
The boy blinks up at her in mild confusion before a sunny smile stretches across his face, so carefree and honest as he answers, "'Cuz Señora is really pretty!"
And just like that, Dolores is done for. A goner in less than five seconds because of five words spoken so innocently and sincerely that it shoots a delicate arrow to her soul. Feeling fondness climbing to her heart, she watches Diego rush off to collect the rest of the children. The children Dolores is slowly beginning to warm up to even though it's been less than an hour since they've arrived.
By the time the kids enter the dining room, Dolores carefully carries the large plate full of arepas and empanadas to the table while holding the now awake Eva (when did she wake up?). Without prompting, Casita nudges the chairs out with its tiles to give the kids some space to sit.
At this, Elias, Gabriela, and the twins gasp, with Diego whispering in wonder, "The house is magic too?!"
This time, Dolores doesn't hold back a chuckle, gently setting Eva down on her seat. "Yep. It's also friendly."
To demonstrate, Casita jingles its shelves, window panels, and drawers with a certain pep to it, startling laughter out of the kids but their laughter grows, even more, when their magical house uses the floor tiles to transport them all to their seats. After Dolores sets the large plate down and moves to get the smaller ones from the cabinet, they mutter excitedly to each other.
"This is so cool!" - "It's like this house is a person!" - "I wonder if it has a name..." - "The Doña's house is never like this!" - "No talk of the Doña, Julio." - "Sorry, Lilas!"
(Dolores finds herself thinking who this Doña could be, but given how quick Elias tells Julio to not speak of her, she suspects she's not good news. Or at least, a rough topic to bring up. And by force of habit, Dolores stays quiet about it. Another secret, kept under lock and key.)
"Okay, niños, these should help with any cuts you've got. There's enough for everyone so eat up," she places the last plate on the table, intending to leave them to it but she feels a tug on her dress. When she checks, it's little Eva who has a surprisingly solid grip on her skirt, staring up at her almost expectantly even though she has the calmest expression a toddler could have.
"Come eat with us, Señora Hermosa!" The gemelos say in unison with Diego nodding eagerly, "It's a rule that everyone eats together!"
Just to indulge them, she asks (because truthfully, she's beginning to realize that she can't say no to them), "Why's that?"
"Food tastes better when you're with family," Gabriela softly answers, and it leaves Dolores a little dumbfounded.
All her life, family meals were generally associated with announcements of their chores or what important upcoming event they need to prepare for, in due thanks to Abuela. All business and duty rather than familial connection through the food her Tía made. Dolores can't even remember the last time she enjoyed family meals.
(She can. She does. After Mirabel went missing, breakfast, lunch, and dinner slowly became unbearable to sit through without ignoring the empty chair.)
Even beyond that, on some days, the family would be incomplete during mealtimes, some still working to the bone and others grabbing enough food to satiate them that they skip entirely. It's a messy arrangement but they try to make it work.
(But it—they—grew worse over time, barely keeping it together for at least one mealtime where they're all sitting at the same table.)
But these kids surprise her with their request, innocent and open despite her status as a relative stranger to them. They want her to eat with them because, to them, the meal tastes better that way.
"I...Okay then," Dolores faintly says, settling down on the chair beside little Eva, who hands her an empanada. She doesn't eat immediately, simply watching the other niños scarf down the arepas and empanadas with gusto. And it's honestly cute how their faces light up at their cuts and scrapes fading away with every bite.
"Woah," Julian breathes, brushing the healed skin of his arm in fascination. "All my cuts are gone!"
"But I don't have any cool scars!" Julio whines, his cheeks full and the corners of his lips stained with queso.
"The one on your cheek is good enough, Lio," Elias affirms, fiddling with the straps of the mochila he's holding. "And don't talk with your mouth full."
"Mira gets to have cool scars!"
"She doesn't like 'em, Julito," Gabriela tells him as she prevents Diego from stuffing his face with two whole empanadas. "They sometimes hurt, y'know."
"Well, Señorita Lectora de Mentes, I think they're cool! They make you look like Señor Raul!" Julio retorts, with his twin and Diego both nodding with vigor, and soon enough, the conversation dissolves into utter randomness, topics differing and changing from one kid to the next. Dolores doesn't fight the smile on her face as she eats her share of the food, watching the pequeños grow comfortable.
Today is probably by far the strangest, most shocking day of her life, but Dolores would be lying if she says she hates it.
Hermana used to say that something weird might be something familiar viewed from a different angle. It's what got her to think of her weird dreams as just things that were probably familiar to her once upon a time but were forgotten as she grew older, smarter, and more nimble, rather than scary images that have her silently screaming in a cold sweat.
But the dream she had...it was neither weird nor familiar, yet not. It was a dream that didn't mean anything yet everything at the same time. A paradox, if she's remembering the word right.
Eyes staring at her, piercing her soul with a soft needle, sewing up the holes in her heart she didn't even know were there.
Voices speaking underwater, words she couldn't piece together to create a sentence that would tell her to swim.
The feeling of warm hands carrying her, and making her think of flying on tangible clouds, bathing in tar, passing through fire.
The feeling of her back pressing against something hard (she was thrown against stone, dirt, grass, wood over and over, punished for sins not her own, but she's willing to carry that burden even if it kills her), provoking a sharp reaction, a river of pins and boiling water in her stomach and her arms, but she remained still.
Then cold, bitter, sweet, sour slithering down her throat like a snake made of ice and herbs, injecting something not akin to poison into her body. The sensation of burning pain vanished, leaving her a weightless doll in the void and...
And Mirabel cracks her eyes open to a room that isn't hers. (It's not dark and dusty. It's not made of rotting wood, cracked cobblestone, mossy bricks. It's not the ceiling of the Doña's prison house.)
She feels warmth next, surrounding her from the shoulders down to her feet. That's odd. She'd usually feel much colder. She had gotten used to it since childhood, barely covered by hand-sewn blankets made of old dresses and rags, but now, she doesn't shiver.
Especially after the dream she had.
That's a first, she thinks dryly. Normally, she'd wake up breathing so heavily from whatever spooked her in her dreams to the point she'd choke on air, disoriented, afraid, and probably close to having an emotional malfunction, and Elias would...Elias...
Her heart stops in her chest, a thought flashing in her head like lightning.
Elias. Gabriela. The niños. What happened? What happened to them? Are they okay?
All at once, the memories of what happened come flooding into her, a groundswell of fear and confusion encompassing her senses.
The river. The Bad Men. Second star to the right. The sword, her wounds—she was dying, wasn't she? No, she survived, somehow, someone helped her—a crack in the mountainside. A passage. Neverland. A sweeping valley that's so full of life rather than decay.
Hermana was right. They made it. They're safe. Right?
Four sets of (FAMILIAR, WHY FAMILIAR? DO YOU KNOW THEM?) eyes stare at her—
"Don't hurt them, please!"
Her eyes shoot open even wider as she abruptly sits up with a gasp of panicked air, her head pounding at the sudden movement, and nothing else is steering her body to move but her desperation to find her family. Her family that she was protecting from strangers-threats-monsters before she was overcome by exhaustion, subsequently collapsing right in front of the danger.
Chest heaving fiercely, Mirabel's eyes frantically dart around her new environment, trying to make out her surroundings despite the fuzziness of her vision. She needs to find the kids, her familia, she promised to protect them, get up and find them!
"Woah, woah, easy! Cálmate!"
A new voice speaks up from her left, and on instinct, Mirabel shoots a fist out at the unknown figure to at least get a hit in, but she strikes air instead.
"Ay! Wait, wait, wait, hold on!"
Mirabel doesn't let the stranger (she sees yellow and brown, and white; warm colors. She woke up warm but what if it's all a trick?) have a moment to talk even more.
She backpedals on the bed on weak hands and feet, hellbent on getting away from the stranger but she must have reached the edge because in one moment, she's crawling back on the soft mattress and in the next, she's falling backward, landing harshly on the hardwood floor with a loud thunk.
She could hardly find the time to even voice the pain spreading across her back before she clambers to get on her feet again, but gravity seems to hate her now, for her legs immediately give out on her.
Damn legs, move! With much more drive this time, Mirabel fights to stand up but the stranger—now in front of her on cautious steps—talks again, alarmed, "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay! You're alright—"
"Where am I?" She cuts him (she's sure it's a boy, likely around her age) off, successfully on her two feet as wobbly as she is. "How did I get here?"
She thinks she knows the gist. She passed out in front of other people, so it stands to reason that she was brought here. But that still doesn't explain where her family is. They could be out there, fending for themselves against even bigger threats, threats that not even Elias could handle, and she's just wasting her time dealing with the stranger.
"You don't..." the stranger begins, a little less confident this time. "You don't remember?"
Mira clicks her tongue. "I asked you first. Tell me where the kids are, my hermanos, the ones who were with me."
If he doesn't give any useful info, she might have to play dirty and knock him out once his guard is down. It should be easy; the guy doesn't seem as hefty as Señor Raul or Señor Matías, and Mirabel's dealt with far bigger guys than him.
The blurry figure of the stranger raises his hands in mock surrender, "Alright, okay. Just- just cool it, yeah? You're safe, I promise."
As if she believes that.
Hearing him clear his throat, the stranger says, "So, for starters, the chamacos are alright. They're with my sister, probably eating some of my...uh, your...my Tía's food."
"I don't believe you," Mirabel snaps, feeling her patience thinning and anxiety over her new situation building up the more time she squanders.
"How do I convince you, then?"
"Tell me your name first." It's not the smartest thing she could think of, but she honestly can't keep calling this guy "the stranger" in her head. Plus, she...she has the faintest, vaguest feeling that she should know. That she needs to know.
After a short time of stillness, he answers in a murmur (why does he sound so sad?), "My name's Camilo."
(Beyond the murky, crimson fog, a string so faded and frail tugs at her heart, her mind, her memories. It keeps tugging, trying to get her to remember—remember what?—that it stirs a small pulse of a headache. Camilo. His name is Camilo. Why does it feel like she should know that?)
A sudden wave of dizziness overwhelms her. She staggers on her feet and if she wasn't so driven to find her hermanitos, she might have decided to collapse back onto the mattress. But she stays upright, if a little hunched, as she holds onto the headboard of the bed to keep her steady.
"Woah, hey, you—"
Mirabel waves him off. "I'm fine." She definitely isn't but this guy—Camilo—doesn't need to know that. "Show me where my hermanos are."
Unfortunately for her, Camilo doesn't budge for this. "What? No, you look like you're gonna pass out!"
"I'm not, just tell me where they are." Her head pounds even heavier, escalating in intensity behind her eyeballs, and she has no time for this.
"No way, you just woke up! Why don't I go get them while you take it easy—"
"Listen here, if you don't get me to my familia, I swear I'll—"
The creaking sound of a door opening makes her pause. Mira breathes in sharply, bracing for any danger that might be heading her way (a ridiculous thought, because the Bad Men with Swords are gone, aren't they? The Doña can't hurt her and her familia anymore) until a warm, motherly (because that's the only way she could describe it) voice speaks up.
"Camilo? Is everything alright?"
(Another string yanks at her core, always pulling, trying to get her to remember things she doesn't know. This voice, she thinks, must have come from her dreams. But why does it feel like she recognizes it?)
Camilo stumbles over his words, befuddled over what he should do next but there's a sense of relief to his tone. "Tía, she's- uh, she's awake. I was gonna get you but, uh, she...she wants to see the chamacos."
So this new voice, this woman, must be his aunt. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least some of it. He still needs to take her to her hermanitos but apparently, he's too stubborn to lead her to them even though she's completely, totally fine. Perhaps this woman knows.
Mirabel sees turquoise blue invade her line of blurry sight. It's a bright, comforting color, and it kindles a sense of deja vu within her for some reason. Like a fuzzy memory passing by briefly to say hello.
She tenses just a bit when she discerns the newcomer drawing near.
"Mirabel?" The woman shakily whispers, sounding careful and...hopeful. Why is that? What's there for this lady to be hopeful about? And more importantly...
How does she know her name?
"Do I know you?"
The silence that follows might as well be suffocating.