a pile of books were in the room where the madrigals were. "so which book do we read?" agustin asked. "how about...to greener pastures" camilo said and snatched the book. "i shall read" camilo said.
"Mirabel is fine.
She is fine.
There is nothing wrong with her, no pain from a clenched heart as her familia posed for a picture, showing off their gifts as they celebrated the triumphant gifting ceremony of the youngest Madrigal."
Oh so this is when this takes place everyone thought/
"Even as she, Mirabel, is forced to stand to one side, forbidden from being a part of the picture as everyone else shines in glory.
She is fine, as always.
She is totally fine.
...
...
No.
She can't lie to herself.
She is not fine.
Not fine at all.
She can't ignore how much her heart clenches in pain, being excluded from her familia simply for being completely ordinary, without a gift. The black sheep, the one who is the source of pitying, lingering looks and hushed gossip."
"mira-" "nope...dont wanna talk about" mirabel said.
"The celebrations and joy from the invited guests feel like scathing insults, hammering at her stomach in a bid to make her throw up. She can't stay here. The longer she remains where she is, an invisible ghost in the crowds, the worse her nausea becomes.
It speaks wonders of how far away Mirabel is from the revellers' minds when she manages to slip out of Antonio's room unnoticed. She does get a few looks from others out in the courtyard, but no one stops her to ask questions. They just shrug, and go back to partying and dancing.
She makes it outside undisturbed.
The noise from the party echoes across the still night. Mirabel wanders over to one of Casita's outer walls, and sits down on the grass. Occasionally, she hears laughs and cheers, and despite her best efforts to rationalise it as nothing more than background noise, her emotions sneer at her, whispering into her ears that the laughs are directed at her. The cheers celebrating that she is no longer within Casita's walls.
To her dismay, the laughter and cheers become louder as the party becomes even more rambunctious. Now, the emotions declare it open season. She finds her eyes pricking with tears, and despite her best efforts to remain calm, the tears spill over without her permission.
She feels her throat clog up, depriving her of air. She starts to hyperventilate, and soon, Mirabel starts to sob. Her glasses slide off her ears, falling with a soft clatter onto her lap as the tears track down her cheeks.
She is so foolish.
So, so foolish.
For years, ten to be exact, she hung on to optimism, stubbornly refusing to let go. That even without a Gift, she could be a Madrigal and give back to the community. She might not be able to move mountains, make flowers bloom, heal what is hurt, or change the weather at will, but she could help. She could help wherever she can, with whatever chores or errands that needed to be done.
She was rebuffed almost every time.
Nobody in town really needed her offers of help. Her family always had it covered.
Even within Casita, the response has been the same almost every time.
It's fine.
Go do something else.
