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Isabela is the eldest grandchild; the first grandchild to inherit her powers. When she’s five years old, she’s Gifted the power to manipulate and conjure flora. She woke up one morning, flowers blooming under her fingertips and her family celebrated despite her fearful confusion. It’s then that she was sat down and told the story of Abuelo Pedro and Abuela Alma, of Miracle and Matriarch. Of superheroes and the mantles they take up. Immediately afterwards, she began training under Abuela Alma so that, one day, she would join the Encanto.
She was sworn to secrecy, even when her prima Dolores shot her questioning glances every time she was called after la cena to train and Luisa toddled after her and whined about knowing where she’s been disappearing off to, she held firm to her abuela’s words: No talk of the Encanto until they’ve been Gifted. It was easier to keep the secret hushed.
And then, when Dolores turned five almost a few months later and she was able to manipulate sound waves, she was told the story, too, and sworn to the same secrecy. The same with Luisa when she accidentally broke a chair under her two small hands after her fifth birthday.
It was a struggling period after Luisa’s power manifested — she was constantly worried about too much pressure applied to something and cause it to crumble under her grip. She was skittish and it took her nearly a month to eventually start carrying around their one-year-old hermanita again.
Mirabel was a tiny baby, born too early. Isabela was young, but she understood what her family whispered about: it was a miracle she survived. There was always a thrum of fear in her chest whenever she thought too hard about it; about Mirabel not being there. Wrong and twisted; it was something that Isabela swore would never happen. Not to her baby sister; not to either of her sisters.
She was the eldest. She strived to be the best. She would protect them, just like any good hero would. Even when the training left her sweating and her body aching, muscles sore, she never gave up. This is what I’m fighting for, Isabela would think to herself fiercely, Mirabel in her lap as she hugged her tightly, watching as Luisa weaved dandelions into their hermanita’s head of curls. This is what I’ll protect.
The training was grueling at times. Isabela pushed herself, though, even when her mamá suggested her to take a break, to rest, she refused. She was the eldest, the one Abuela held the highest of expectations for. She knew it; they all knew it. She was the future leader of the Encanto. She had to be strong, brave, persevering, unbreaking. One day, the others would look up to her to lead them. She had to be ready.
It was hard; tiring. The stress that came to trying to be perfect. Nights when Isabela just laid on her bed, vision blurring with tears that she would never let fall. But she wasn’t alone; she had her abuela, her padres, her tíos, her tía, her prima, and her hermana. And, one day, she would have Camilo and Mirabel, too. She will be tired and stressed and have her muscles aching from strain, but at least she’d have them by her sides.
A few years later, Camilo joined them. He could duplicate inanimate objects. He was thrilled, overjoyed, really, when he learned about the secret. When he was demanded that he could not tell Mirabel yet, he whined and protested before relenting eventually. “Mi melliza and I are gonna be the best superheroes ever known!” he would say instead, grinning at them.
But, when Mirabel’s fifth birthday came and went, nothing showed for it. There was no flowers growing under her fingertips or breaking chairs with her bare hands. There was no manipulating sound waves or duplicating objects. And, the longer the time went by, as the days kept going and nothing made itself known, Isabela had watched as her abuela’s face twisted from one of joy, to apprehension, and, finally, lurking deep in her eyes, was fear.
Nobody knew how to react, confused and baffled as they were. Mirabel was the same as she was the day before her birthday had passed — just as dorky, just as smiling as she always was. She had no knowledge of what should’ve happened, of what she should’ve been Gifted. She did not know the fear and confusion that she’s caused her family.
“We tell her nothing,” Abuela Alma says, almost a week afterwards. “We do not speak of the Encanto to her.”
“But, Abuela—” Camilo protests.
“My word is final,” Alma interrupts, stern.
Camilo slumps and, finally, nods slowly. Dolores was stiff and Luisa’s lip wobbles but they all agree. Eventually, her padres relinquish the fight on it and tía and Tío Félix and Tío Bruno follow lead reluctantly.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Isabela dares to ask one day, after everyone has left.
Abuela Alma does not look at her, instead, she stares out the window of Casita, eyes distant as she sees something that Isabela cannot. “It’s better this way,” she eventually says. “If Mirabel knew, she would want to help and she does not have powers to protect herself with.” She blinks and catches Isabela’s eyes in the reflection of the window. “We do not tell her.”
It’s better this way. Isabela dips her head. “Okay.”
And so, they do not speak of the Encanto, of superheroes or villains or Gifts. Mirabel remains oblivious to their alternate lives behind masks. She does not know of the training, of the patrols, of the life-or-death situations they face. Instead, she concerns herself with regular teenage things; her grades, trying to make friends, enjoying high school. Things that Isabela had never gotten to truly do.
Such was the responsibility of being Gifted.
Isabela loves her hermanita, doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to stop loving her — she had been seven years old when she had held that tiny baby in her arms and whispered promises to protect her, just like she had when she had saw Luisa the first time — but as the years go by, as the city grows more and more dangerous and the patrols become more and more grueling…something grows in her chest.
Because Mirabel doesn’t have to worry about any of this. She gets to enjoy her life, naive to the horrors of the world that Isabela works to protect her from. She doesn’t regret that — she would never regret protecting her baby sister — but it’s hard, watching as someone else gets to live the life that you should’ve gotten, the one that you’ve yearned for. Because Isabela was the eldest, the one who will take up the mantle as leader, and she never has time to herself, never truly got to just be a kid, and she grows…jealous.
She hates how spiteful she grows to be; she hates it. Hates how every word she speaks to Mirabel has turned angry and resentful. And, every time, she would watch her hermanita’s face drop, eyes dulling, a sad pull to her lips. Isabela would leave swiftly after that, locking herself into her room, thinking the words over and over again until they circle her head sickeningly, watching like a looping film as she watches her baby sister lose her spark again and again.
And, when Mirabel begins to stop seeking her out, when the rift between them grows and grows, Isabela doesn’t stop it. She doesn’t reach out, doesn’t do anything. Just like the others, her and Mirabel’s relationship crumbles into dust before her eyes.
If asked, she wouldn’t be able to tell them the first thing about Mirabel’s life; who her friends are, what music she listens to, what she likes to do besides the embroidery Isabela knows she still does. The spark in Mirabel’s eyes dies down until it’s completely gone and Isabela wants to reach out, oh, how she wants to, but she can’t. The rift has already destroyed their relationship and there’s nothing she could do; Mirabel probably wouldn’t want to talk to her anyways.
Who would, when all she’s done for years now is avoid her or put her down?
So, Isabela stays quiet, even when Mirabel picks at her food during la cena, head ducked down and not making eye contact with anyone. Her shoulders begin to hunch inwards, like she’s trying to make herself as small as she can and it reminds her of Tío Bruno, bony shoulders up to his ears and refusing to look at anyone for too long, fidgeting with his hands.
And then, one day, that spark returns to Mirabel’s eyes.
Isabela sees it; everyone sees it. She watches Mamá start smiling a little more, almost relieved at seeing some life in her youngest hija’s eyes. Camilo shoots Mirabel curious looks, clearly on the verge of wanting to ask what’s happened, but he doesn’t because, just like Isabela’s relationship with her, he’s no longer close with her, either. None of them are.
Day after day, Isabela watches Mirabel carefully whenever they’re together. Her hermanita seems tired, dark smudges under her eyes, but she’s been smiling more, a strange little spring in her step that she hasn’t seen in years since Mirabel was small.
Silently, Isabela thanks whatever it is or whoever it is that’s brightened Mirabel back up.
Soon, information of a new vigilante catches the news. Weaver, they call her. Dressed in dark teal and black and white, the vigilante swings through the city, a spider-symbol on her chest. As Bloom, Isabela runs into the girl a few times, stopping little spots of crime. Camilo seems to have announced the vigilante as his friend, no matter how many times the others warn him off, that Weaver is a stranger and they don’t know her.
But Weaver doesn’t try anything against them, clearly content to do her own thing. Despite herself, Isabela is slightly impressed. The girl, probably about her or Luisa’s age, clearly hasn’t had any training and relies mostly on what she suspects are her powers, dodging neatly and smoothly — almost like a dancer.
Weaver, whoever she is, clearly only wants to help.
And then, when they’re facing against Rhino, Weaver saves Camilo’s life and then, right afterwards, Isabela’s life. There’s no doubt in her mind that, if Rhino had gotten that hit on her, she would’ve died. In a blur of dark teal, Weaver flies through the air, crashing into a building in the distance, breaking through the wall and disappearing from sight.
Her mamá gasps, bringing her hand to her face. Isabela freezes for a moment, cold fear sinking deep in her chest. She thinks, just for a moment, that someone has just died for her. No hesitation, no second thought, Weaver had taken her place, had taken the death meant for her without blinking.
But then, suddenly, Weaver is back. Injured and limping, clearly in pain but alive.
“I saved you, didn’t I?”
Weaver’s words race over and over in her mind. Isabela was the eldest; the leader. She was the one who was supposed to protect her team, her familia. Nobody else has ever done that for her. It’s a terrifying, strange feeling; the thought that somebody else would protect her without hesitation, even if their life would be in danger.
Those words haunt her as she goes to la cena that night, tired and confused. Dolores and Mirabel finally walk in, Dolores murmuring a quiet apology before they both take their seats. She glances over at Mirabel and finds her hermanita more tired than she’s ever looked before she turns away and back to her plate.
“I took the new job on Third Street,” Luisa says, voice low with exhaustion, a slow slump to her shoulders.
Isabela glances over at her worriedly as Abuela Alma begins a stern, “Yes, that is—” before a loud clatter interrupts her. Isabela whirls around to find Mirabel’s hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly before they snap away to wrap around her torso, face flushing.
“Sorry,” she stammers, voice pitching a little bit, almost unnoticeable. “Cramp.”
Isabela’s eyes narrow. Mirabel’s voice always went just the tiny bit higher whenever she was lying. She might not know her hermanita well enough any more, but she does still have the same tells she had when she was little. She was lying, that much Isabela was certain.
But why?
Their eyes meet and Mirabel freezes for only a moment before looking away, shoulders tense. Isabela does not stop staring at her, almost like she could pick her apart and see what she’s hiding.
Why did she lie?
Of course, nobody answers.
__
“I can’t believe you stalked me,” Camilo whines, walking into Casita, Dolores on his heels and looking annoyed.
Dolores rolls her eyes. “Will you let that go?”
“No!” Camilo says, waving his arms. “You were trying to steal my best friend!”
“I wasn’t stealing anyone, how many times do I have to tell you?” Dolores replies, exasperated.
Isabela scoffs a little, already knowing what they were talking about. Camilo thought he was being sneaky, running off to meet up with Weaver every Thursday of the week. Sure, for a couple of weeks he got away with it, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out where he was going off to by himself. They would’ve stopped him, but Weaver never hurt anybody and seemed pretty harmless…to them, at least.
The criminals? Not so much.
The girl can pack a punch, that’s for sure. Isabela had seen her send Rhino flying like it was nothing.
Luisa catches Isabela eye and they both send each other exasperated looks. Camilo was always whining about his “best friend”. About how “cool” and “awesome” she was and “she even has a cooler suit than you, prima!” (that was sent towards Isabela, no doubt to try and get on her nerves; it always worked). For someone who was supposed to keep it quiet about his recent friendship with the vigilante, he sure liked talking about her a lot.
It almost reminds Isabela of when Camilo was little and he’d boast about Mirabel. “Mi melliza” this and “mi melliza” that. On and on and on. Like a broken record.
The four of them round the corner just as the door to the kitchen swings closed silently, a head of curls stepping into the hallway, quiet as a mouse. Wide eyes lock onto each other and everybody freezes.
Mirabel, an empanada raised to her mouth, gawks at them in panic, shoulders tense. Why she’s panicking, Isabela’s not too sure. She watches as Mirabel swiftly puts her hands behind her back, eyeing them carefully.
“What…are you doing?” Isabela dares to be the first to speak up.
Mirabel’s face twists from her visible panic into something annoyed. “What am I doing? What are you doing?” Her eyes flicker behind Isabela where Camilo, Luisa, and Dolores are stood and something like hurt flashes across her face before it’s gone as swift as it came, leaving Isabela to wonder if she saw it at all.
“We were— we, uh,” Camilo stammers unhelpfully.
“We were book…reading?” Luisa squeaks out hesitantly.
“Book reading,” Mirabel deadpans, disbelieving. “Like a book club?”
“Yes!” Camilo exclaims before he’s shushed — most of the adults were probably asleep; Isabela knew Mamá was for sure since she was taking morning shift at the hospital. “Yes, we were— we were attending a book club.”
“In the middle of the night?” Mirabel asks, face expressionless. For the life of her, Isabela, for once, cannot read her.
“…Yes?” Camilo answers like it’s a question. Dolores mumbles something under her breath, no doubt offensive.
Mirabel glances between them, that same strange blankness on her face. “Whatever,” she finally says. “Go back to your ‘book club’,” she mocks, showing that she doesn’t believe a word they’ve said, “without me. I won’t tell anyone.”
Isabela watches as Mirabel marches down the hallway and into her room. For just a moment, in the darkness, Isabela could’ve sworn she saw bruises on her hermanita’s fists. But that doesn’t make any sense and Isabela shakes it off — it was dark in the hallway after all.
Dolores elbows Camilo in the side. “Good going.”
Camilo squawks. “Hey!”
Isabela sighs. “Let’s all just go to bed, sí?”
Grumbled agreements sound before they all walk to their own rooms. Isabela casts one last glance towards Mirabel’s door, brows furrowed, before she turns back to her own bedroom, shutting the door gently behind her.
She does not sleep well that night.
__
When Isabela gets home a day about a week later, she’s told that Mirabel’s been suspended from school. She’s baffled, gawking at her pá, wondering if he’s joking, but the way he pinches the bridge of his nose, thumbs rubbing the corner of his eyes, she knows he’s not. But Mirabel suspended? For hitting someone?
She might not know her hermanita well, but Mirabel’s never been violent. Sure, she has her moods, just like the rest of them, but she would never hit someone. At least, not without reason.
Something’s not right here.
Isabela goes to la cena and Mirabel has a dark look on her face, a fresh bruise on her hand, purple and black and awful looking, a small gash running along her first two knuckles. She’s mildly concerned with how unbothered Mirabel seems to be to the fact that her hand looks like that — Isabela’s had her fair share of bruised hands as Bloom and she knows it has to hurt but Mirabel doesn’t even flinch.
Abuela, not to anyone’s surprise, is furious. Isabela imagines she’s still upset with the whole Rhino thing — Luisa was still on the construction sight cleaning that mess up — and Alma tears into Mirabel. It’s vicious in a way, has Isabela’s eyes widening slightly. Luisa and Dolores are tense in their seats, rigid like they’re frozen and Camilo, for once, doesn’t dare look at anybody.
“—why you act this way, Mirabel,” Abuela Alma spits out. “This is no way for a Madrigal to act! You are hurting this family.”
Finally, Mirabel gives a reaction — the tiniest of flinches. Isabela can’t see her expression anymore as Mirabel stares down at her lap, her curls hiding her face. Her shoulders seem to shake just a little bit, only once before it stops and she’s rigid.
“—formal apology written by you tomorrow for your school, for causing them so much grief,” Abuela is saying. “And another for that poor boy you hit.”
Mirabel doesn’t say anything, just gives a slow nod of her head. Everybody eats quietly after that, but Mirabel doesn’t touch any of her food. Isabela doesn’t blame her — after that, even she could barely manage to swallow down a handful of rice, a lump in her throat.
That sense of something’s just not quite right lingers in the back of her mind. After la cena, Isabela watches as Mirabel takes her plate to the sink after putting her leftovers into the fridge within a container, swiftly leaving. Isabela quickly catches up with her, opening and closing her mouth, not really sure what she wants to say.
Tell me why you hit him, Isabela wants to demand. Who was that boy? Did he do something? What’s been going on with you lately?
“Isabela,” Abuela Alma’s voice cuts through her thoughts.
Isabela turns and meets her eyes before looking away. It’s time for her shift tonight. After that, she shouldn’t keep her abuela waiting. But…
She glances back into the hallway to find Tío Bruno talking to Mirabel by her door. A small sense of relief floods her — tío was checking up on her. He’s doing what you can’t, the thought slithers in her mind unwillingly. What you won’t.
Isabela grits her teeth and pushes the thought away. She’s sure Mirabel wouldn’t want to talk to her anyways; besides, if anyone could get her to open up, it was Tío Bruno. He was probably the closest to Mirabel despite everything, except Antonio that is.
She blinks, watching as Bruno steps away, a frown on his face as Mirabel ducks into her room. Right before the door closes, she finds something…strange in Mirabel’s eyes. Whatever spark that had came alive in her eyes was gone again. Now, there’s something older there; darker. Like a grim sort of acceptance.
Acceptance for what, Isabela does not know. But it has something in her chest tugging anyways. I’ll…talk to her later, Isabela decides. Even if Mirabel spits in her face, tells her to leave, Isabela will try. Tomorrow, she promises. After el desayuno, I’ll talk to her.
“Isabela,” Abuela repeats, a little sharper.
Isabela turns, a firm set to her mouth, marching away to dress as Bloom so she could start her patrol. She had people to save, after all.
She doesn’t know it then, but she’ll grow to forever hate that decision. She should’ve ignored her abuela, should’ve walked into Mirabel’s room and actually talked to her. She should’ve asked what was going on, what the actual story of what happened that afternoon was.
But Isabela didn’t. She didn’t do anything. But, maybe if she had, if she had been a good hermana for once, the next day they wouldn’t have found Mirabel’s bedroom empty. No note; no goodbye. As if she had vanished, like she had never been there to begin with.
Maybe, if Isabela had just done something for once, she could’ve stopped Mirabel from leaving.
But she didn’t and, now, her baby sister was gone.
__
Isabela, Camilo, and Luisa lean over Dolores’ shoulders, dark smudges from exhaustion hanging heavily under their eyes as Dolores hacks into Mirabel’s phone that she left behind so they couldn’t track her. Smart girl, Isabela thinks, but she’s not happy about it. It’s late at night now and Antonio has finally gone off to bed after crying himself sick earlier, demanding where his favorite prima was. When nobody had an answer for him, he had tossed a tantrum, screaming and crying and asking where she was, why they were lying to him when they said that she was gone.
Her mamá and pá were both in their room and, every time Isabela had passed by their door, she had heard Mamá crying softly, voice muffled from the door. Abuela had been convinced that Mirabel was out sulking somewhere and that she would be back by la cena. But, when she hadn’t shown up, Isabela, for the second time in her life, had seen Abuela Alma’s face twist into something akin to fear.
Outside, thunder rumbles ominously from Tía Pepa’s powers, casting part of the city with heavy rain. The storm had slowly grown stronger the longer Mirabel remained gone until it was full on hailing above Casita and their neighborhood. Not even Tío Félix could help calm her — Isabela’s sure he was now in Antonio’s room, watching over their son for any signs of distress in case he woke up.
Earlier, she had heard a hushed conversation between Tío Bruno and Abuela.
“You were the last one that talked to her,” her abuela had said.
“I know, I know—”
“What did she say? Did she tell you that she was going to do this?”
“Of course not!” Isabela had never heard her tío sound as enraged as he had been. “She didn’t say anything.” The anger drained out of his voice as fast as it had came. “She— she said she was fine and it was obvious that she wasn’t, but— but I never would’ve thought she would— she would—”
A hiccuping sob had escaped his throat and Isabela had flinched at the sound. “…Lo siento, Brunito,” her abuela’s voice had softened drastically, a weary, tired edge to it. “But we…we have to find her. It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” her tío had whispered back.
Isabela blinks as a small ‘aha!’ from Dolores sounded, snapping her out of her thoughts. She leans forward more closely as Dolores unlocks Mirabel’s phone finally — Dolores had been muttering under her breath about why Mirabel had her phone locked up so tightly.
“Do you see anything?” Camilo asks impatiently, voice hushed — they weren’t supposed to be snooping in Mirabel’s room and, plus, everyone was supposed to be asleep by now. Though, Isabela doubts that anyone besides Antonio actually was.
“Not yet,” Dolores answers, though Isabela’s sure she would’ve rather had told him to ‘shut up’ if she wasn’t so focused. She taps away, looking through her texts first to see if maybe Mirabel was staying with a friend, but her contacts are startlingly empty — she only had the family’s phone numbers in it, though Isabela can’t remember the last time she had texted her hermanita in the first place.
Dolores goes through her notes and finds nothing. Then, her search history, but there’s nothing suspicious on it; no searches of motels or places to stay out. Just regular, everyday things — a few AITA reddit threads that causes Camilo to snort, some weird facts about spiders (why she would search that, Isabela’s not sure; she knows Mirabel is scared of spiders to begin with), and a tab opened on an illegal website where she had been watching an unreleased MARVEL movie.
Overall, there was nothing. Nothing that could point them in the direction that Mirabel could’ve went or where she was staying at or what she was doing. A dead end.
“Damn, these songs are depressing,” Camilo says a while later, going through Mirabel’s Spotify.
Dolores rolls her eyes and snatches the phone away. “Would you give me that.”
Luisa settles on the edge of Mirabel’s bed, casting a strange glance around her room. The sewing machine is off to the side, the closet doors open, some of her clothes missing that Mirabel had undoubtably took with her.
“Would anyone notice, If tonight I disappeared?” a song begins playing from Mirabel’s phone. “And say the words I need to hear? That I’m no burden—”
“Turn if off!” Isabela barks out, making everyone flinch.
Camilo fumbles with the phone that he had took back, cutting the song off. They all sit there in tense silence, Camilo clutching Mirabel’s phone in a shaking hand, eyes wide. Dolores hesitantly glances towards Isabela and Luisa, shoulders rigid.
Luisa’s lip wobbles and, suddenly, the tears she was holding in bursts out, rolling down her face as she sobs. Isabela freezes, a lump in her throat. “It’s our fault,” Luisa gasps out, heaving into her hands. “It’s all our fault. It’s our fault she’s gone. She left because of us. It’s our fault, our fault—”
Isabela blinks back the sting of her own tears and glances out the window, like, if she stared hard enough, she’d be able to see Mirabel in the distance. But nobody’s there. She doesn’t try to tell Luisa different, doesn’t try to say ‘don’t blame yourself’.
Because, the truth is, Luisa was right. There’s no doubt in her mind that Mirabel left because of them, because of Isabela.
__
There was a time when Isabela wished Mirabel was with them as a member of the Encanto. A time when Isabela had hoped she would miraculously be given a Gift so that they could fight side by side. A foolish dream. A selfish dream.
“I need you both here, now,” Isabela manages to gasp out into the comms, hands shaking, eyes wide as she stares at the collapsed building in front of her. “I…I need you here. You need to get here. Right now.”
“What?” Dolores asks, alarmed.
“What’s wrong?” Luisa rapid fires. “What’s going on?”
Isabela opens and closes her mouth, dust and smoke heavy in her throat. The family beside her is still crying, cradling the small blonde girl that had been tossed into Isabela’s arms, along with the tabby cat. She doesn’t look at them, though, she continues to stare at the rubble.
“Bloom,” Dolores snaps out, voice slightly harsh but anxious. “What happened?”
“…It’s Weaver,” Isabela finally says, voice shaking. “She’s…you need to get here.”
“We’re on our way,” Luisa replies.
Isabela gets to her feet, having been knocked back by the force of the collapse, wide eyes locked onto the rubble. “Weaver?” she calls out, though she knows it’s useless. “Weaver!” She stumbles forward, picking up bits of cement and plaster that she could lift, searching for dark teal.
“Sis!” Luisa calls out as both she and Dolores arrives on the scene. “What happened? Where’s Weaver?”
Isabela glances over at them, hands shaking slightly, though she tries to hide it. “She’s…she’s in here somewhere.”
She watches as it clicks, the blood draining from her hermana’s face and Dolores gasps, bringing a hand to her face in horror. The two surge forward quickly to help her, Luisa rapidly tossing away the heaviest pieces of rubble out of the way until—
“Here!” Dolores calls out, waving them over. The two scramble over to her and Isabela feels herself getting sick as she sees a teal, web-patterned hand sticking out from underneath the debris. Luisa swiftly lifts the largest piece of cement, revealing Weaver, head tilted and clearly unconscious, mask soaked with blood and sweat, pieces of her suit ripped in places to reveal bloody gashes along her body. “Dios mío,” Dolores whispers shakily.
Dolores and Isabela work together to get the final pieces of rubble from the vigilante’s legs. Luisa crouches down and gently scoops Weaver into her arms and Isabela’s suddenly aware of how small she is. They walk out of the debris and back into the open, carefully setting Weaver down on the ground.
Isabela presses her fingers against the vigilante’s throat, letting out a slow sigh when she finds a faint heartbeat thrumming. “She’s alive,” she says out loud. She glances up at the relieved faces of her hermana and prima. “Weaver, hey.” She taps Weaver on the cheek gently, trying to wake her up. “Weaver.”
Eventually, Weaver lets out a broken groan a few minutes later, mumbling things under her breath she can’t understand, tilting her head away when Dolores stands up to walk behind her, which turns out to be a good idea since she’s able to catch the vigilante when she jolts up.
After ordering Luisa to take Weaver to their mamá to get healed, Isabela glances around at the destruction. The family in the ambulance is still sniffling, tear tracks on their faces. She looks down at her hands, where there’s still blood on them. Weaver’s blood.
Bile burns her throat and Isabela blinks, feeling exhausted. She’s suddenly glad that Mirabel never got a Gift all those years ago. As cruel as that probably is, she can’t help it. She’s glad that her hermanita doesn’t have to dig people out of collapsed buildings, doesn’t have to deal with criminals everyday, doesn’t have to look down and see someone’s blood on her hands.
She closes her eyes briefly, making another wish.
She just hopes that, wherever Mirabel is now, she’s nowhere near any of this.
__
Isabela glances up from where she’s sat in Mirabel’s empty room, back pressed against the wall, settled on the floor. Luisa hovers in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door softly behind her. She starts forward and slides down against the wall until she’s side by side with Isabela, a distant look in her eye.
“…I’m sorry,” Luisa eventually whispers. “About what I said earlier. About you not caring.”
Isabela lets out a quiet sigh. “I can’t blame you,” she replies, thinking back before Mirabel disappeared, mind flashing again like a looping film every time she had watched Mirabel’s face drop whenever they had interacted. “I was…am awful.” She chuckles humorlessly. “I’m the reason she’s gone, you know?”
“No, you’re not—”
“Don’t,” Isabela says sharply. Then, her voice softens, “Don’t. We all know it’s true.”
“…Maybe,” Luisa finally admits, looking over at her, but Isabela can’t meet her eyes. “But it wasn’t just you. It was all of us. Me. Camilo, Dolores.” She swallows nervously but bravely adds, “Abuela. We all messed up; it was all of our faults. We all pushed her away.”
Isabela scoffs a little, tilting her head back to rest against the wall, trying to ignore the way her eyes burn. “All because we wanted to keep the Encanto secret. Estúpido. We should have told her.”
“Yeah,” Luisa whispers, maneuvering to prop her chin on her knees. “Yeah, we should’ve. Maybe…” She pauses before her eyes glint, teeth gritting. “No, it would have been better. If we had just told her, none of this would’ve happened.”
Isabela thinks back to Abuela’s words. It’s better this way, she had said.
She clenches her jaw tightly. Abuela was wrong.
After all, how could her baby sister being gone be better?
“We have to find her,” Luisa says.
Isabela finally meets her eyes. “We will,” she says.
We have to.
__
As the days go by and there’s no sign of Mirabel, the more Isabela’s hope being to dwindle. She doesn't understand; they know this city like the back of their hands. They’ve been patrolling their whole lives, training to memorize the city and its routes to properly stop crime. She doesn’t understand how Mirabel’s disappeared like this.
She knows that they should’ve found her already. There’s the possibility that Mirabel could’ve skipped out of the city, but she doesn’t think she’d be able to. It’s a slim chance that Mirabel could pull that off — she was fifteen years old. Practically still a child. Somebody would’ve caught her as underage or reported something suspicious. Dolores was always hacked into the police scanners — only the grandchildren were aware of this fact and Tía Pepa because she had caught them hovered around Dolores one night listening in, but she had just gave a determined nod and stayed silent about it — and nobody’s reported anything of the sort.
And then Weaver is still running about, seemingly exhausting herself. No matter how many times someone tells her to go home and rest, she ignores them. Until, one night after the bridge was bombed, Weaver apparently decides to break into Oscorp and finds evidence that, not only was it really Norman Osborn who’s been bombing the city for a few weeks now, but he’s also paid off some of the police department.
After defeating Norman, who was rambling things about being called the ‘Goblin’ and raging against the Life Foundation, they find and arrest the cops that were paid off. Isabela had never seen Captain Stacy so disappointed in someone than he had been when he had to arrest his fellow in arms.
And, still, no sign of Mirabel. Like she’s just..vanished into thin air.
__
Isabela was a good hero, a great hero, even. There was no doubt about that; relentless, powerful, charmismatic. She didn’t quit until the job was done; she liked helping people, protecting them. She was good at that. She would help someone in danger without hesitation.
So, yes, Isabela was a good hero, but, focusing on that, training for it, patrolling the city, she had neglected her duties to her familia. She was a good hero, but she was not a good hermana. If she had focused a little less as Bloom and a little more as Isabela, maybe Mirabel wouldn’t have left. Maybe, if she had been the older sister Mirabel needed, then maybe her hermanita wouldn’t have ran away.
But she hadn’t and, now, Mirabel was gone.
And there was not a doubt in Isabela’s mind that it was her fault.
__
Camilo gets suspended for the same reason Mirabel had been. He comes home, face stormy, knuckles bruised and it’s like Isabela is reliving that same horrible night over again, watching as Abuela rages at him, just like she had done with Mirabel.
“Do you know what he said?” Camilo interrupts and he’s either brave or stupid — Isabela can’t decide. He looks up, glaring at them all. Alma falls silent, stunned. “He said that he told Mira that she ‘wasn’t a Madrigal’.” Isabela stiffens and Tío Bruno’s face darkens. “He asked me— he asked me if she hasn’t been back because we ‘finally sent her away’.”
Thunder rumbles fiercely outside, matching the angry expression that Tía Pepa has. Julieta’s eyes flash, an uncharacteristic surge of rage in her usually kind mamá’s eyes. Camilo looks over them all again before turning towards Abuela. “I’m not going to apologize,” he says. Then, voice a soft murmur, “And she shouldn’t have been told she’d have to, either.”
Isabela watches as Abuela Alma slowly sinks into her chair. Her eyes glances out towards the window where a storm brews, tía unable to reign in her emotions properly. “…I see,” is all Alma says, a strange expression on her face.
Isabela storms out of the dining room just as Julieta begins to heal Camilo’s bruised hand, walking into Mirabel’s bedroom and closing the door behind her. She settles down on the floor, resting her back against the bed frame, gritting her teeth against the rage brewing under her veins.
How dare he? she seethes, squeezing her fingers tight against her palm when her Gift tries to react to her emotions. How dare he say that to mi hermanita? Mira should’ve hit him harder, that maldito estúpido bastardo!
In a fit of anger, Isabela slams her fist against the bed frame, making it jolt. She takes in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down before she accidentally caused flora to grow in Mirabel’s bedroom. Something clatters to the floor and Isabela turns, confused, to find a book on the floor, having been hidden between the wall and the bed. Hesitating only briefly, Isabela reaches out and picks it up. It’s dark blue, an unassuming cover. She opens it.
A…diary?
A small surge of hope rises in her chest — maybe Mirabel had written down something that could help them find her. Isabela flips it open. The diary apparently went back when Mirabel was small, handwriting sloppy like a child’s, rambling about her day.
“…Isa found rapido blue bellflowers today! Lulu weaved them into a crown and we pretended we were princesses. Cami wanted to be the brave knight so that he could protect us…though, I think he just wanted to poke Lola with a stick.”
Isabela chuckles a little at that. She flips a few more pages.
“…Cami and I were the ones who stole the last arepas from the leftovers. Abuela was mad, but Tío Bruno and Tío Félix said it was them and Tío Félix winked at us when Abuela had her back turned. I think they just found it funny.”
Isabela turns the pages a bit more rapidly before freezing at the next words.
“…Tomorrow is my fifth birthday! I can’t wait! I wonder what they’re going to get me? I wonder if Tío Bruno would mind doing one of his puppet shows… I hope the cake has blue frosting.”
Isabela swallows nervously and flips a few more pages.
“…I don’t understand what I did. Why are they avoiding me? I tried to ask Cami but he told me he couldn’t tell me. I don’t get it. What couldn’t he tell me?”
And another:
“…I think Abuela is mad at me. She doesn’t like to look at me. Whenever I try to talk to her, she tells me she’s busy. I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
And again:
“…Nobody wants to hang out anymore. Isa told me to leave her alone. I don’t understand.”
Isabela flips the next page, one after another. Again and again, it’s like Isabela could see the spark in her baby sister’s eyes dim more and more until it’s completely gone in the words she’s written. She pauses when she comes across the next page. She can’t see the words but something’s written there, having been scribbled out angrily until it was unintelligible. Hesitantly, she flips the next few pages, finding angry, random scribbles before nothing until, finally,
“…Today Flash told me that I should check to see if I’m actually related to mi familia. I know they all whisper about me, I hear what they say. I’m nothing like the others. I know that.
“…Maybe he’s right.”
Isabela sucks in a sharp breath before she carefully turns the page. There, written in the center of the page, is one sentence,
“…I don’t think they love me anymore.”
Isabela slams the diary closed, barely keeping from being sick. Horror washes over her as she brings a hand over her mouth, eyes burning.
Dios mío…what have we done?
__
“Mamá,” Isabela whispers, walking into her padres’ bedroom. “We’re heading out on patrol.”
Julieta doesn’t look up. The disappearance of Mirabel and the longer they went without finding her has practically destroyed Julieta. It’s like the life had been sucked out of her, leaving behind dull eyes and a continuous exhaustion.
“…Be safe,” Julieta manages to say, voice croaking. She looks up and Isabela barely manages to hold back a flinch — her mamá and hermanita’s eyes were so similar; it was like seeing Mirabel’s lifeless eyes, no longer having any spark left in them. Julieta brings up a hand, setting it against Isabela’s cheek. “I cannot lose another one of mi hijas.”
“We will,” Isabela promises. She brings a hand up and over her mamá’s, squeezing gently. “We’ll be back.”
__
“I think…we should talk about Mirabel,” Abuela says hesitantly.
Everyone looks up sharply, dressed in their suits since they were about to leave for patrol — or, at least, Isabela and the rest of the grandchildren were. The others had just gotten back from their patrol to change shifts.
“…What is there to talk about?” Tía Pepa asks, voice low, thunder already rumbling ominously outside.
Abuela Alma glances between them all. There’s that same tiredness on her face that Isabela feels. That they all feel. “I know…you’re still looking—” she begins carefully.
Something in Isabela snaps. “What?” she interrupts, ignoring the way they all whirl to look at her, eyes wide. “You want us to stop looking?”
“I— no!” Abuela Alma answers, momentarily fumbling at having her best student talk back. “That is not what I was going to say—”
“Then, what?” Isabela demands, voice low. It sounds…dangerous. She feels dangerous. Like one little thing might just set her off. She’s not too sure what she would do if that happened.
Abuela Alma’s face shifts. “Watch how you talk to me.”
“Or what?” Isabela challenges, lifting her chin to stare evenly back at her abuela. Alma visibly blanches a little, but she’s quicker to smooth out her expression than the first time. “Are you going to yell at me? Tell me I’m not a Madrigal?”
“I would never—”
“That’s how Mirabel felt,” Isabela says over her. The name causes the temperature to drop, everyone tensing up further than what they already were. The air turns frigid. “She felt like she wasn’t one of us. That we weren’t family.”
Her pá makes a wounded sort of sound from the side, settling down heavily into the chair, tired. Camilo looks sick, the blood drained out of his face like he might throw up on the floor. Dolores’ wide eyes flicker between her and Abuela and Luisa takes a step back in shock.
“…I know that’s my fault,” Isabela whispers. “I was horrible to her. I…I pushed her away. I was jealous and I took it out on her and nothing—” Her voice cracks. “—nothing I can ever say or do could ever make up for that…but I’m willing to admit that. I know I messed up. I know.” Her anger stirs again and she lifts her head, a glare on her face. “But it all started with you.”
Abuela Alma opens and closes her mouth, clearly trying to find her words but isn’t able to.
“‘It’s better this way’,” Isabela quotes, watching as Alma’s face drops in realization, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. “That’s what you said. ‘It’s better this way’. You were wrong. We never should’ve kept this from Mira.”
Abuela Alma dips her head down, uncharacteristically silent.
“This happened because of you,” Isabela says softly, viciously. “Because of me. Because of all of us. We’re all guilty, but you…”
She trails off, letting her words hang in the air. Because of you, because of your idea. You started this. The secrecy is what tore them all apart. It never should’ve been a secret to begin with. Isabela just wished they hadn’t realized it so late. It never should’ve taken Mirabel running away for them, for Isabela to realize this.
She knows she was wrong. She knows that, that wasn’t a lie. But, years ago, Alma had made a call for them all as their leader: We don’t tell Mirabel. It’s better this way. She had made the wrong call; that single decision had caused the slope of years of distance between Mirabel and the rest of them.
And, now, Mirabel was gone.
“…Let’s go,” Isabela announces, turning on her heel and marching out, Bloom’s mask firmly over her face.
The others don’t hesitate the follow behind her, leaving the rest of them behind. Isabela was their leader now, after all.
Just like she had been trained to be.
__
Seven months.
Seven months since Isabela has last seen her hermanita. Seven months since they all woke up one morning and Mirabel was gone.
Isabela settles down on Mirabel’s bed, fidgeting with the phone she left behind. She opens the Spotify, hesitating only for a moment before clicking play on that song that Camilo had started seven months ago, the song that had caused her to snap.
“Would anyone noticed, If tonight I disappeared?” the lyrics sing from the phone, low and sad. “Would anyone chase me, And say the words that I need to hear. That I’m no burden. Not so worthless.”
Isabela lays back, head hitting Mirabel’s pillow. For the first time in seven months, she lets the tears roll down her face.
Secretly, Isabela wonders how many nights Mirabel stayed like this, crying silently, too.
__
“I don’t belong anywhere,” Weaver whispers one night, sitting up on a rooftop. “I have nobody.”
Isabela squeezes her eyes closed. She grits her teeth, the words scarily similar to the words in Mirabel’s diary. She blinks and looks back at Weaver, taking in the dark teal and white and black of her suit, of how she gazes out towards the city. She imagines the vigilante’s eyes distant, seeing something they can’t.
“You’re wrong,” Dolores says. She grips Weaver’s right hand in hers, Camilo doing the same with her left.
Weaver laughs and it’s— it’s sad. Hollow, lifeless. Like the thought of not having nobody is utterly ridiculous. “Nobody’s ever— I’m never enough. Not enough for anybody.”
“That’s not true,” Luisa says and Isabela knows exactly who she’s thinking about in the moment.
“My own family didn’t want me,” Weaver admits. “I wasn’t— wasn’t good enough.”
They’re silent for a small moment.
“Well,” Camilo starts hesitantly, “now you have us.”
When the others move in to comfort the vigilante, Isabela doesn’t hesitate to do the same. They couldn’t have saved Mirabel before she disappeared, but…maybe they could save Weaver.
Never again, Isabela thinks fiercely.
Never shall she find another person she cares about gone.
Never.
__
Isabela is at her job at the Life Foundation when she gets news of Doctor Octavius’ sudden attack on the Hall of Science. She watches the News, unable to leave her shift yet, gritting her teeth when she sees Weaver there, alone, fighting against Octavius.
Shit, Isabela thinks to herself. The worst day for everyone to be called in.
Usually, they make sure that at least two of the Encanto could be available in case of an emergency but Tía Pepa, who usually was now working with Tío Bruno had been called in. Isabela tries to focus back on her work, giving the television worried glances.
She doesn’t relax until she comes face to face with Weaver, who’s favoring one of her legs over the other just the tiniest bit. When Weaver picks up that she’s being stared at, she tilts her head a little and Isabela has the impression that the vigilante is rolling her eyes under her mask — that’s one of the things about Weaver, when she’s not awkward or joking around, she has an attitude apparently.
“—Oscorp is so messy,” Camilo continues to ramble.
The same thing he’s been talking about since he watched the News. Isabela just barely holding back from tripping him with one of her vines to get him to shut up.
This shift cannot end any slower, Isabela thinks to herself.
She watches Weaver tap her churro against Camilo’s with a small, “Cheers.”
Isabela deadpans at them behind her mask. She stands corrected.
__
Nothing could’ve prepared her for the next night when she finds herself with almost her entire family facing against Octavius in an old storage building. She watches, eyes wide, as Weaver is slammed into the ground harshly after Luisa’s been knocked away. A scream rips from Camilo’s throat, terrified, and Tía Pepa lets out a loud shout as Weaver is yanked up and tossed away, slamming into the wall hard enough it crumbles underneath her.
But, what catches her attention, is the mask that dangles from one of the claws of Octavius’ machinery.
If Weaver’s mask is there, then, Isabela thinks, horrified, that means…
Isabela looks up, blood dripping from her nose as she follows Octavius’ gaze. Ice instantly floods through her veins, eyes widening in horror. Fear grabs her heart and squeezes because standing up slowly, face bruised and sweaty curls hanging around her head is her missing baby sister, that spider-symbol branded on her chest.
Mirabel looks up, eyes dark as glares down Octavius without an ounce of fear.
And, suddenly, it all makes sense. That spark she had saw that entered Mirabel’s eyes that day nearly seven months ago? It was because Mirabel had found something; it was just something Isabela would have never wanted for her. She’s not sure how, but Mirabel had gained powers and had taken up a mantle of her own, has unknowingly followed her family’s footsteps.
Weaver was her missing fifteen-year-old hermana. A child, dressed in a mask and fighting crime day after day; a small teenager who’s been shot at, hurt, bruised, bloodied, facing down supervillains, and has been crushed by a building. All by herself, all on her own.
With sinking dread, Isabela realizes that no matter how much she has trained or patrolled or promised to protect Mirabel; all of the blood, sweat, and quiet tears she has shed…it was all for nothing.
Isabela has failed…and her sweet baby sister has paid the price.