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The pressure seems to fall away in Mirabel's arms.
They rebuild Casita. Isabela rebuilds herself. Mirabel transforms into confidence; her lack of gift is no longer something awkward, she views it as a blessing, a miracle in a different costume. She doesn't need a gift to be special.
Mirabel, Luisa thinks, has always been special. Sometimes we overlook the true rarities in favor of the shiny and fantastical, their mother had said, the first family dinner after the reconstruction, but that doesn't make them any less special. It's all about perspective.
She's getting stronger every day. The tree branches she's training with are heavy, but Mirabel always sits next to her as she works, cheers her on with a toothy smile. She would be lost without Mirabel. They all would.
"Come on, hey," Mirabel says, dancing around nearby, her dress twirling in the sunlight as her limbs flail in front of her. "You can do it!"
Luisa eyes down the bark with fervor. She pushes upwards, the inner muscles of her shoulder pulling and twitching. The branch seems to dissolve into the clouds when Luisa finally makes it, her arms shaking and her expression awe-struck with pride. She really is getting stronger.
She sets the branch to her side, and it lands with a thud. The cool dirt beneath her is a strong comfort as she steadies her breathing. She can relax now. She can finally relax.
"I think I'm done for the day," she tells Mirabel. She's getting stronger every day, and she's expanding every day, allowing her vulnerability to creep out with each successive hour, bit by bit, little by little. It's easiest with Mirabel; she just seems to understand everything, even if she has less life experience.. So Luisa tries again, wipes her brow and exhales: "Thanks for staying with me."
Mirabel flops down onto the ground beside her.
"Your dress--"
Mirabel jumps, like she somehow forgot the fact that she's wearing pale yellow today, but the dress is already encrusted with dirt and brown. She groans.
"Oh, well."
They gaze up into the clouds together for a few minutes--one cloud looks like a beautiful blooming flower, another cloud looks just like a delicious cake, and somehow they all have Mirabel's radiance, Mirabel's shine. The sun is retiring for the night into their bed, sinking into the center of the flower as soft rose-pinks and peach tones coat the skies. Mirabel gives a content sigh, and she looks over at Luisa with a thick grin.
"You did great today," she says. "You're really, really getting there."
Luisa laughs. "Thanks."
"...Hey, you remember when we were kids, and mom would sit with her feet in the air, we'd lie on top of them, and it felt like we were flying?"
"Oh," Luisa says, smiling wide. "That was fun."
"It was," Mirabel says.
They stare at each other for a moment, striking eye contact, a mutual attempt at a telepathic connection. They don't need a gift to read one another's minds here, though--Mirabel giggles as Luisa grabs her waist and drapes Mirabel's stomach over her legs, allowing Mirabel the feeling of flying free over the skies of their home.
She holds her arms out, closes her eyes, pretends to soar. Luisa adores her--any time one of her sisters is happy, she feels each muscle strengthen, gathering her firmness back with each smile and hug and laugh. It's their support that gets her through this.
"When I'm stronger," Luisa says, "I'll climb a tree and we can do this. Then you'll really feel like you're flying."
There's a distant call from their mother. They have to go wash up, they'll be late, but it doesn't matter anymore---the pressure has evaporated.