Worth The Shot

Desperate Times, Darker Measures

Today's fanart is by @gal132! They drew the scene from Glass Statues where Camilo leaves y/n in the underground cave. I love the attention to details in this drawing, like the fringe at the edge of Camilo's ruana and even the chameleon swirls on his flip flops. The eyes on both y/n and Camilo are SO PRETTY, as well. 

BACK TO THE STORY

"The only way to receive a miracle... is a sacrifice."

"What- you mean- you have to kill somebody?" You stammered, thrown off balance by Gothel's dark whisper. A cold chill clung to your skin as if you'd been submerged in the icy river.

"Yes," Gothel pinched his lips together and shook his head. "Any death in the river mutates into a miracle. The gifts are awarded to anyone who loved the sacrificed victim."

Camilo's abuelo Pedro... he was the sacrifice. Because Alma loved him, she received the miracle. With this revelation, a tragic breath tainted the story of the creation of the Encanto.

"Thank you," you surprised yourself by saying to Gothel. Gothel inclined his head to acknowledge you, smiling ruefully. The wispy grass rustled and whispered as Sebastian and Gothel trampled through it. As the night darkness welcomed them like a cloak, you couldn't help but notice that Gothel hadn't unlocked his moonstone wrist cuffs.

Silently, the Madrigals spilled out from behind the bush, gathering around you. You exchanged sad half-smiles with the Madrigals. Nobody said anything. The last hope to save Mirabel had just been snuffed out like a candle. And the smoke choked you.

"So... Mirabel's adopted?" You awkwardly prompted as your legs fought to tread through the grass. Julieta and Augustin exchanged a meaningful glance as if sharing an inside joke.

"Yes," Augustin finally laughed, pushing up his glasses nervously. "The night Julieta miscarried, I found a baby girl abandoned on a tree stump in the woods. Nobody ever claimed her. So Julieta and I raised her as our own."

"And you never told anybody?" Isabela accusingly scoffed, crossing her arms and flicking back her silky hair. Starlight shimmered down it in a glossy wave.

"Why would we need to?" Augustin shrugged, wrapping a comforting arm around Isabela. "She's no less our daughter than you and Luisa. We always assumed that she'd receive a gift, but I suppose the magic only runs through blood." He fixed a reprimanding gaze on Isabela and then Luisa. "I expect you to not treat her any differently."

On your return to Casita, Pepa scrambled out from the house, her full skirt rippling. Camilo jogged behind her, desperate hope etched into his furrowed, dark eyebrows. He held his strong shoulders back with tense urgency.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of hurt when Camilo's concerned, hazel gaze didn't linger on you as he anxiously scanned over his returning family.

"How can we fix it?" Pepa immediately demanded, wringing her shaking hands together. "Mirabel's getting worse, the yellow infection is bleeding through her skin."

"We can't," Julieta whispered, then blinked rapidly as diamond tears burst down her cheeks. Augustin slipped his fingers through Julieta's hand, moisture glistening in his ebony eyes. "We can't fix the miracle or save her. The only way is a sacrifice." Pepa's eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably like Julieta's, and her mouth distorted downward until she buried her face in her hands. Camilo exhaled harshly, clenching his jaw. 

An odd clarity lighted across Camilo's features. His heavy-browed frown deepened until he abruptly glanced up, catching your stare. Camilo seriously held your gaze for a heartbeat too long before his gaze softened and fell away. 

When Camilo crossed his arms and grimly treaded inside, the Madrigals followed. There was nothing else to do.

The next day, nobody spoke. Breakfast entertained a conversation of clinking spoons and ghoulish morning wind. An overcast grey sky shadowed the exhausted, sleepless faces. Julieta, especially, harbored bloodshot eyes and bruise-colored eyebags. When the family silently dispersed like adrift dandelion seeds, you sulked up to Casita's roof. 

Clammy, cold moisture stuck to the reddish rooftop from the morning dew. Still, you numbly folded your blue skirt underneath you and settled. 

"I miss you, Casita," you bleakly whispered, tracing your fingertips over the damp clay tiles. "I miss Mirabel. I miss Camilo. Part of me even-" you paused to swallow, "misses my father. I miss the way things used to be." So this was what remained. Missing elusive shadows and waiting for Mirabel's cruel, undeserved death. 

Then, an idea struck you.

You tripped down the gloomy, haunted hallways, your footsteps echoing as nobody had treaded Casita's corridors for decades. 

"Bruno," you declared, whisking open his carved-wooden door. To your surprise, Camilo had just shoved the door open from the inside. Before maneuvering past you, he nodded to you with a distracted smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

Weird. I 'd assumed that he especially would still be mad at Bruno for the play. Everyone else is. 

Bruno's new, hand-built room consisted of an uneventful bed, a wooden dresser, and a poorly carpentered, wobbly desk. Rats skittered underfoot, their tiny paws tapping like rain. The thick odor of sweat and dust soured the air. Slouched on the bed mattress, Bruno turned over a cream-colored, worn notebook in his hands. His wavy black hair hung slick and oily as if he hadn't showered in days. 

"Camilo gave you his journal," you noted with a hint of shock, startling Bruno. His shoulders straightened unsteadily and he crookedly smiled. 

"Nobody visits and then suddenly I have two visitors in one day!" Bruno fiddled with the loose, aged cover. There was no malice or self-pity in his declaration. 

"Bruno..." you hesitated, plunking onto the unmade bed beside him. "I'm here about the prophecy you told us about. The one where Gothel's arrival results in one of our deaths?" 

"I can't," Bruno whispered, shrinking slightly away from you. "I can't, I won't talk about it. I already told you." 

"It's Mirabel, isn't it? She's the one who dies?"

"Everything's getting clearer." Bruno despairingly dropped his head between his knees, knotting his pale-grey hands around the nape of his neck. 

"Isn't there anything we can do?" You exhaled, struggling to clear your irritation from your voice. Bruno couldn't be more unhelpful. 

"No," Bruno chuckled, near-hysterically. "That's my curse. I see the future, but I can't reach my fingers into the prophecies and change it. What happens happens. If I try to interfere, my interference ends up causing the very prophecies I tried to fix!" He slammed his knuckles across Camilo's notebook. 

"Okay, okay," you awkwardly assured Bruno, patting him on the back. Red river veins crackled across the whites of Bruno's dark eyes, bloodshot like Julieta's. His hollow, desperate gaze appeared to teeter on the precipice of insanity. "Don't worry about it." You tensely smiled before fleeing the room.

That evening, you attended dinner. You visited Mirabel. Then, surprisingly, you trudged to the nursery, melted into your soft cot, and drifted into peaceful sleep. 

Until you awoke to the cold glint of sharp steel stinging into your neck. 

You struggled to suck in air without pushing the blade deeper into your throat. When a burst of white thunder illuminated your attacker, what remained of your threadbare heart tore into shreds.

It was Camilo.