Chapter Text
Her name was Isabela Cortez.
At least, that's what she told them. It was the first name that came to her mind, put on the spot as she was.
It was kind of fitting, really, Mirabel thought as she watched the hills grow smaller and smaller behind her. She had always wanted to be more like Isa. More perfect, more wanted, more gifted.
Isabela had been her role model until she was five years old. Always so smart and graceful and loving, and unmistakably there for her and Luisa even when their parents were busy serving the village.
Of course, that all changed after that fateful night when she didn't get her gift and became from Mirabel the Daughter, Mirabel the Sister, Mirabel the Child, to Mirabel the Disappointment.
Isabela shunned her after that; at first seemingly unwillingly, unwittingly, simply pulled in a different direction by Abuela and the family, but over the years Mirabel watched, tongue-tied, as it became deliberate, spiteful, Isa mocking and smirking as she flicked her long hair in her face as if to brush her off like dirt.
And maybe that was all Mirabel would be, ever, in the face of Isabela's perfection. In the face of her family's giftedness.
Just a blemish on the Madrigal name.
Well, they wouldn't have to worry about that anymore, because she sure as hell wasn't carrying their name now, wasn't dragging it through the mud in her insane attempts to pull her own weight.
Mira was tired.
Tired of trying so hard, of bending until she broke, for just a smile from Abuela, for the approval she gave so freely to everyone else. Tired of being such a burden to Mama, for her to fuss over and worry about when everyone else could handle themselves while Mirabel wasn't even useful. Tired of getting in Luisa's way, of her sister's pained smile that only grew more strained when she showed up. Tired of watching Antonio receive more love and affection than her even though she was the one who basically raised him, tired of feeling bitter.
Tired of it all.
She was going away, as far as she could. The way Abuela had completely and humiliatingly dismissed her when she tried to explain the cracks she saw last night had just solidified Mirabel's decision.
So Mira had packed a bag with some food and clothes, and a spare set of glasses for good measure, and left, weaving through the shortcuts in the forest only she seemed to know until she was through the hills and out of Encanto. She'd walked for a while through more lush greenery on the other side, until she luckily came upon this wagon party, a friendly band of farmer-traders, who offered her a ride to the nearest village.
"Isabela Cortez," Mirabel said when they asked what her name was, "I'm searching for my family, I got separated."
And she tried not to drown in how ironically honest it was.
Which brought her here, now, perched on the back of the wagon, staring back at the shrinking hills in the distance as every new bump in the road takes her farther and farther away from home.
Behind her, a rat squeaked, and was quickly shushed by a low voice from a strangely lumpy sack at the bottom of the farmers' pile.
Mirabel didn't notice.