The Mask I Wear

And so it goes

Real small update chapter that I desperately hope y'all enjoy, especially with my major inactivity on this story.

I know it's not much, but it is a little idea to get it moving at least a little bit again.

Thanks for all the support on this story! I really do appreciate all the kudos, likes, and comments that share how you feel!

In the days following the collapse it was as if nobody could breathe, would dare breath, as they waited for the other shoe to drop and crush the hope kindling inside of them. Confusion and concern had run rampant through Encanto ever since, and the family's refusal to interact with their matriarch certainly hadn't helped. Rumors flew that the destruction all stemmed from Alma and that she was officially relieved from her position within the family.

Startling was Isabela's sudden abrupt shift in demeanor. No longer did she dance around the plaza in ruffled pastel dresses and flower crowns. Instead, she kept her impeccable posture, back straight and chin up, but with a cooler expression to match. She was calm and collected and did not walk around with a smile meant to please and be pretty. Isabela had a fire in her eyes and a set to her jaw that told you she meant business. Vines and splashes of vibrant colors covered her from head to toe, and a trail of colorful footprints followed her as though she constantly walked through paint.

Perhaps even more startling to the townspeople was Dolores's self-appointment to Mariano's bedside, nursing him back to health after he had come to her rescue during the incident. He had protected her and taken the brunt of the fall and most of the damage. Dolores escaped with a gash along her leg and a few more scrapes and bruises while Mariano had been hit hard, besides the bruising and pain of falling, he had broken multiple rib bones, his leg, and received a nasty on his head to go with a concussion from the impact. The quiet girl spent all the time she could there, taking care of him and his mother, even while the rest of her family worked to rebuild their beloved Casita.

Much of the walls were started, the form of their grand home was slowly taking shape once more, though something about it felt lackluster to Mirabel. It was only when she tapped out a rhythm on the familiar patterned tiles that she realized what made the scene in front of her so wrong. There was no life in the beginnings of this house, no movement and magic, no Casita. After that she refused to touch the tiles, staying curled into a corner or chair.

Today was no different. She was unnervingly silent as she stayed shrunken in on herself, curled into the chair she'd been placed in. If she'd have been in a humorous mood, she might have mused how silly it was to tell her to stay there when she had no plans to do otherwise, really, they needn't have worried. It was disorienting, for her to be instructed to stay put out of the way. The direction was all too familiar, it was the way they treated her that threw her. She always knew that deep down underneath her Abuela's strictness, her tough-love, that they too loved her the way she loved them, but it was different to see them openly displaying that love in the tender way Isabela brushed her hair, or the softness to Luisa as she read a book for her, or Camilo who offered to share his not-so-secret-secret second helpings of arepas after dinnertime. They told her to stay put and keep her ankle rested, to allow herself to heal (even if she felt fine). It was different from the way Abuela told her to stay out of the way.

Everything was the same and yet it was different all at the same time, and Mirabel, for one, was not quite sure she knew how she felt about it all.