Chapter Text
No spider was more industrious than the weaver Wale'kerü. From morning to night, from night to morning, she knitted and knitted hammocks and sashes. In the beginning, she waited moon after moon for someone to ask her about her art and her teachings…
***
Many don't realize that the old gods still exist and that the figures of myth and legend walk the earth.
As their people were burned, brutalized and conquered so too were they brutalized, for how can they live but through their people. They’re people torn asunder, decimated by hardship and plague and those who seek only to oppress, their footholds are weak.
They are made weaker still when their people are forced to become something they’re not. Forced to take new names, forced to speak a new language and killed for daring to speak their mother tongue. Forced to forget their culture and their customs. Forced to forget their stories.
These ancient ones live through their people, and when they have been reduced to a fraction of what they once were in more than just number, that connection withers and so too do these beings.
They’re but a shadow of their former selves, merely wisps in the wind.
They don’t die, for as long as their people remain they remain. But they are weak. They’re a force that is still connected to their land and their people, even if many in that same land have forgotten their name.
That was what drew Her to this place, to this Encanto. The sheer power of such a pure sacrifice—to willingly lay down one’s life so that your loved ones may live—was like a beacon to her. The magic that permeated every inch of this place, that which reshaped Mother Nature itself, seemed to sing to her.
Come
Come
Come
So one day, blown in on the wind, she came. This land, brought forth by the most ancient of magic, was beautiful in its majesty. It was powerful, easily protecting its inhabitance from forces that might do them harm, cradling them like a mother would her child, opening itself only to those in need of its sanctuary.
Perhaps that was also why the Encanto called to her, because it could see that she was in great need; destitute in her shapeless form.
“Come,” it said, “let me give you shelter.”
And the Encanto did exactly that. It let her take shelter in its mountains and its jungles, in its wind and in the trees. The Encanto offered her a place to rest where she could grow strong again, allowing her to suckle off the magic that kept it alive, so that she could heal from this emaciated state she found herself in.
The Encanto was kind, so very kind, for most primordial forces would never allow this, this leeching and mixing of energy. Most beings would bar her entry completely, throw her out, like a threat that needed to be eradicated. But the Encanto saw no threat, only a wounded spirit. As something born out of sacrifice and sorrow, it was in its nature to recognize it in others. It’s purpose was to soothe and protect those who’d been so cruelly mistreated.
The Encanto nurtured her, provided her sanctuary, all while asking nothing in return. She longed to repay that kindness.
She did not feel time the way the People did, but it was many years before she had gained enough strength in her to take shape again. It was a small thing, an inconsequential little creature that skittered across the jungle floor, but even so it took much out of her. Still, it felt good to have weight again, to not feel as though she were teetering on the edge of existence.
In this form she moved amongst the people, weaving between their strides and dodging their footfalls. It was dangerous in this weakened state, but she wanted to see the heart of her friend who’d helped her all this time.
The source of the Encanto lived in a candle, from there it had formed a wondrous house for its people, it’s family, to live in. The Encanto was in every piece of its vast land, but its foundation lay in its beloved ones, connecting them all together like roots. They were its heart.
The feeling of being in the center of this great magic, formed out of love was like a balm for her own heart. She would’ve liked nothing more than to stay here in the center but—
(“Help! Help!”
“What?! What is it!?”
“There’s a spider! Get it mami! Get it!”
“Calm down mi amor, before you flood the house!”)
Well it just wasn’t meant to be. She wasn’t hurt by this behavior, she was used to being misunderstood. That which was beloved by the Encanto was beloved by her, so she did what she could to favor the Madrigals. She took care of termites and the fireants that would threaten the integrity of the house, ensnaring them in her web. She bade her kind to stick to corners and travel at night so as not to frighten the children.
Still, this did not feel like enough to her. Everything she did was trivial compared to the kindness that had been shown to her, and so she continued to search for the proper way to repay that kindness.
—
More time passed and she grew just as the heart of Encanto grew. There are more blessings and more glowing doors in the house. The house—the heart—has a favorite. It would never admit to such; it loves all its family, but one is special. That which is beloved to the Encanto is beloved by her, and the child is very easy to love.
Her eyes are not the eyes of a human, as such she sees more than what lies in the flesh. The child’s sweet face, ringlet-curls, and lovely chubby-cheeked smile are all endearing traits, but it’s the child’s gentle nature and kind heart that matter most to her.
When people are cruel, cold-hearted, vile things she sees this at once with her eyes that go beyond the flesh. Whatsmore, their nature radiates off them like a putrid stench, like something long dead that’s been left to rot. At a glance she knew that the favored child was pure and good, it radiated off her like the sun's rays—warm and enveloping. True, other than with those who are truly evil, all children start out this way. But even so she sees something different, something more.
—
There came a time where she was once again discovered in the house in her many legged form. Again, she is a small inconsequential thing, but it does nothing to quell the reaction she receives. It’s her fault really. She’d been careless, having nestled in one of the many roses that littered the house for a bit of a rest.
It was poor luck that the rose she was in just happened to be the one the Flower child chose to sniff.
“Ah! A spider!”
“Don’t yell, it hurts my— I see it! ”
“It almost went in my nose! Get it Lola! Get it!”
There’s a scramble and a shower of books, shoes and other household items she has to dodge. It wouldn’t be the end for her if she was squashed, but it would be a waste of energy she didn’t want to lose. So she scuttles away as quickly as possible ignoring the frightened shrieks of the girls, focusing only on getting away, on saving her form. She doesn’t even realize where she’s going until she’s there.
“Hello!”
The painted dark green walls tell her she’s ended up in the Nursery. There are curious bespectacled brown eyes looking down at her. She would’ve expected a frightened cry—as little one’s are prone to doing. This greeting is unexpected.
“Hi!” The child says again, smiling. “Do you like my drawing?”
Looking down, she realized she was standing on the child’s crayon drawing where she lay working on it on the floor. It was a colorful affair, depicting her aunt in the midst of creating a brilliant rainbow. It was a very nice picture.
She nodded and the child giggled. “You’re a funny bug! Are you why Isa was yelling?”
Again she nodded and there was more laughter.
“Wanna see more pictures?” Mirabel holds out her little hand to her, and carefully she climbs on. This day is full of surprises.
Smiling her lovely smile, the youngest Madrigal shows her all the hand-drawn pictures she’s put up on her side of the room. She explains each picture to her, introducing each family member she has depicted in it.
(“This one’s my Mami! And over here’s my other sister Luisa, she’s the coolest! You know Isa already…”)
She knows all the family already—Alma, Julieta, Pepa, Bruno, Agustín etc.— she’s known them all for a very long time even if they don’t know her.
“Oh and I’m Mirabel! I forgot to tell you that. My abuela says it’s rude if you don’t introduce yourself.”
She knows her too. She knows that this child is good and kind, kind enough to hold her in her hand. Talking to her like a friend, completely unafraid of her the way that most all her age would be.
“Are you hungry? Here!” The child’s curls bounce as she makes her way over to her bed and pulls out a cookie from under her pillow.
“Don’t tell mami,” the little one whispers to her, one finger over her mouth, “it’s a secret.” She places a small crumb in the palm of her hand. Her soft brown eyes practically glow with happiness when she scuttles over to nibble on it.
She’s known this family for years. She’s known this child since she was born and loved her all that while. It felt wonderful that after all this time she could know her too.
“Mirabel!” came her mother's voice. “Lunchtime!”
“Ah! I have to go before Cami eats everything!” Even in her hurry she was careful to set her down gently, before leaving her with another crumb to snack on. “Bye-bye!”
It was then that she knew how to repay the Encanto’s kindness. What better way to do it than to bless that which it favored so much.
The child was four. She’d be five in a year; practically no time at all. But no Spider was more hard-working than she, no Spider was craftier than she. She could do this. When that coveted fifth birthday came in a year's time, she’d present Mirabel Madrigal with a wonderful gift.