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When Mirabel turned 5, her world had reared on its head. The gift ceremony was supposed to go right, she never expected it to go wrong or for everyone, her own family, to look at her with such shockdisappointmentfearpity - her door had disappeared, and along with it, the powers she was never destined to have.
All she wanted to do was make her family proud.
Mirabel, contrary to what most people would think, was still a part of the Madrigal family. Or was she? Sometimes, she feels like the reason she didn’t get a gift was because she was cursed.
Cursed to be giftless.
Cursed to be the outsider in a family full of wonderful people.
Cursed to be heard but never listened to, screaming for someone that would never come to help.
The thought itches at her skin in a way that makes her want to just itch itch ITCH until it stops, until she’s tired and feels numb, until she breaks skin. And itch she does, even though she knows it isn’t good, even though she knows she should stop. It's the only way she can stop thinking and just be.
She's always felt someone’s eyes on her the whole time, watching over her. She thinks it’s Casita, or Abuelo Pedro, or maybe even both. Whoever it is, she appreciates their company on days where all she feels like doing is hiding away and itching at her skin (because, really, everyone had forgotten her at some point - everyone but CasitaAbuelo ). On those days, no one cares to pay attention to her, they’re all busy tending to their duties. Abuela is harsher to her whenever those days come, always telling her to stand to the side and stop being a nuisance to the family Mirabel, your silly disturbances are not worth their time.
And she knows, she knows . Mirabel has learned to accept that she wasn’t worth her family’s time ( it would be better for them if she wasn’t in the way, something inside her whispered), but that doesn’t mean their disregard didn’t hurt. It was like she was invisible to her own family sometimes. A ghost, the townspeople called her. Always flitting around in the open, seen yet unseen. She was quiet and easily forgotten, to the point where not even Dolores could hear her at times.
A ghost. Oh, the irony. Mirabel had never wanted to disappear, but it seems like that was the only thing that happened whenever it came to her. So many forgotten promises, fading bonds, and forgotten birthdays spent alone in her nursery with her one cupcake and her candle and her empty room, singing herself a happy birthday. She gave up on trying to remind anyone after the third missed birthday.
If she spent her birthdays crying to herself and wishing, wishing, and wishing with all her might, that someone would give her their full attention for just one day. Just one day?
Well, they had never bothered to go out of their way for her before. Why start now?
That didn’t stop the feeling of her hopes being crushed. Of the darkness crawling in her chest threatening to suffocate her.
She doesn’t think her heart can take another beating.