Chapter Text
Numb.
Was all Isabela felt.
The kind of numbness that starts at the tips of your toes and slowly creeps up the rest of your body, until it consumes you whole.
It felt as if Isabela had been numb for years.
Numb to everything.
Her gift.
Her abuela's impossible expectations.
Her community's exploitation of her abilities.
The constant cycle of perfection.
"Oh, look! It's Isabela! Isn't she just perfect?"
"That Mariano is a lucky man, to be able to marry someone with such perfection. "
"Oh, Isabela! Thank you! Another perfect flower arrangement!"
"Oh, how I wish I could be her! Someone with such effortless perfection surely never has to want for anything!!"
Perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
PERFECT.
She was numb to it.
All of it.
She'd become numb to the feelings of others, too.
But no one bore the brunt of her wrath more than her youngest hermana, Mirabel.
Mirabel. Poor, sweet Mirabel.
Mirabel, who sang with pride, sweet, loving melodies about her gifted familia. Mirabel, who could pick up any and every instrument, and play it with ease. Mirabel, who had begun to outdo even Agustín with her stitching and embroidery. Mirabel, who was effortlessly and unapologetically herself.
Mirabel, who greeted each day with a smile, despite the cards she'd been dealt.
Giftless Mirabel, who hid her pain behind her smile, who silently begged for scraps of affection from her abuela, only to be left with nothing but harsh words and cold glares. She was almost always rebutted by Isabela.
Isabela hated to admit it, but she'd begun to take great pride in verbally eviscerating her sister. It made her feel a little more normal, a little less perfect.
But not any less numb.
Truth be told, Isabela was jealous of her youngest sister. She was free. Free to do whatever she wanted, wear whatever she wanted, go wherever she wanted. She could be a normal kid. What purpose did she have, other than to stay out of the way?
"The only thing you have to do is stay out of the way, and you can't even do that!? No wonder you didn't get a gift!"
"If you weren't always trying so hard, you wouldn't be in the way."
She'd used her youngest hermanita as a verbal punching bag. She'd become so numb to everyone else's pain, she failed to recognize that Mirabel was suffering too.
And Mirabel was suffering. Perhaps more so than everyone else.
Because in one last desperate attempt to prove herself, Mirabel ran into their crumbling house for a damn candle.
A candle.
Mirabel had placed a candle above her own life.
And she didn't come out.
Isabela spent years resenting her sister. Jealousy slowly suffocated their relationship, tightening like vines on a tree, sucking the life out of her, turning her soul black.
And what for?
Mirabel restored color to her life.
But one hug wouldn't erase ten years worth of lost time.
One hug wouldn't erase venomous words, cold glares, or years of blame over things that Isabela just couldn't do.
It had taken ten years for Isabela to hug her sister again.
Ten minutes later, she was gone.
"Isa, Isa!! Give me one last hug before I walk to my door!"
She'd never get another one.
She'd never get another chance.
She was too late.
Always too late.
And she'd never forgive herself either.
I'm sorry for blaming you, for everything I just couldn't do.
And I've hurt myself, by hurting you.