Chapter Text
“So you’re telling me that the house... died ? Actually, fully died? And then came back to life because of a teenager?”
Your flat affect, raised eyebrow, and generally skeptical demeanor was clearly not received by the fishmonger as she nodded emphatically, her eyes gleaming with fervent joy as she relished in the opportunity to speak of the only topic anyone in this bizarre little town ever spoke of-- the Madrigals.
Moving from the city to the small, enclosed town of Encanto hidden in the mountains had been less of a choice and more of a necessity after your livelihood had fallen upon misfortune due to the whims of a local gang. You and your small business had persisted in your neighborhood for as long as you could, but when you started getting visits from its members at increasingly alarming frequency with thinly-veiled requests for “protection money,” you knew that it was time to relocate.
And that’s when Encanto came in. A place known in the city only through vague word of mouth, the town had seemed like a fairy tale-- the perfect choice to escape your circumstances, a haven for those seeking to flee from injustice. You weren’t necessarily in the habit of chasing myths, but fear was a potent motivator. The smashed windows of your workplace when you had arrived early one morning, the gang’s graffiti splayed all over the physical manifestations of years of toiling efforts, the scent of pungent paint and the distant echo of abrasive laughter had certainly been enough to convince you of that.
Getting to Encanto had been quite the tribulation as well-- indeed, you had only chanced upon the opportunity through an overheard conversation from a traveler who spoke of his hometown with eyes and a tone dripping with affection. Taking pity on your circumstances, he agreed to provide you with voyage to the miraculous Encanto, with the only caveat that he would be leaving that very evening.
You had met him at his horse-drawn cart an hour before your agreed meeting time, your worldly belongings, hopes, ambitions, and trust all packed along with you.
As you traversed through incredibly dense forests and high, sloping hills, you bombarded the kind stranger with questions of what was to be your new home. What was it like? How were the people? Would you be happy there?
And that’s when you realized-- no matter how far you ran from the city, there was certainly one thing that you would never have the fortune to avoid.
Gossip.
“Not just some teenager, the miracle , Mirabel!” insisted the fishmonger (whose name had escaped you-- not that it mattered, because, again, she said their names infinitely more times in this single conversation than she ever had hers), drawing you back from your recollections to the present.
“Right...” you said slowly, nodding. You were definitely being hazed, and the entire town was in on this.
Either that, or you had just walked straight into some kind of cult, whose leader of which appeared to be a woman named Alma Madrigal. Or was it the savior teenager who was the leader now? It was hard to keep the stories straight, given that, again, everyone was talking about this family.
Whether it was the man who steered the rickshaw that had taken you to this surprisingly difficult-to-reach town, the landlord from whom you’d rented a room, or every single boisterous, giggling child you passed on the street, it seemed like their names and their names alone dominated the activities of the town.
Frankly, this whole set-up gave you a mild sense of distaste. You hadn’t fled from the city just to walk straight into a whole celebrity family situation-- but, you resigned yourself to your fate, obviously understanding that this was a marked improvement over the danger that had awaited before.
...Even if the lack of alternate conversation topics would certainly drive you mad one day.
“You should meet the family!” the fishmonger insisted, packing away your recently purchased mojarra into a neat bundle. She handed you the package with a bright smile. “Get to know them, they’ll get to know you and really welcome you to our home.”
What?
“Oh--I’m not-- I don’t think they’d have to bother with--” you stuttered, eyes wide as you fumbled with the fish in your suddenly trembling arms. You meet the Madrigals ? The people who apparently owned this entire town? What if they didn’t approve of you? Would they get to just kick you out, despite the fact that you’d already been here for a full week? Could they do that?
Obviously misinterpreting your sudden terror as some peculiar form of shyness, the fishmonger chuckled, cupping your shoulder with a hand that was clearly meant to be reassuring. Instead, a sinking, uneasy dread bubbled up within you as you struggled to speak-- a rare and particular form, one brought on only by the misguided efforts of kindly people.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she soothed, “I’ll send a message along for them to expect you for dinner tomorrow. Everything will be just perfect, you’ll see!”
With that ominous declaration, she waved you off from her stall and you stumbled in a daze back to your room, barely registering the journey or the passage of time.
Oh, Dios Mío. What had you just gotten yourself into?
