Chapter Text
Mirabel nearly died when she was two years old. A handful of soil had found its way into her mouth, where it clogged up her windpipe.
Her father’s eyes were off her for only a few moments as he was showing Camilo what to do with a matchbox car. In that duration, the little girl managed to travel fifteen feet away to a small garden bed. Isabela had been practicing sprouting flowers the day before, but Mirabel couldn’t be less interested in the blooms.
Unsteadily, the toddler stepped over the small wooden barrier and plopped down onto the dark earth. She picked up the soft matter repeatedly before letting it crumble between her fingers. On the fifth pickup, she brought the soil to her nose and gave it a sniff. The odor was rather pleasant, kind of like her mother’s cooking. It wasn’t similar in any way other than the lovely smell they both gave off.
It felt nice.
It smelled good.
The only thing left to find out was the flavor.