fail by design

Ideation

Fleeing from a burning city was one of the hardest decisions Alma had made in her life. Three newborns in her arms, Pedro beside her. The entire world was screaming, made of people she's known her entire life being taken by men with no remorse. Left and right bodies hit the hard dirt.

Alma could remember the night in vivid, harsh colours, from smiling at the man she loved to the harsh smell of fire. Looking out the window of their small home, and watching in horror as unfamiliar figures on horseback threw bottles after bottles into their neighbourhood, people trampled by horses and men alike.

A small group left managed to make their way through the thicket of bushes and rocky hills, thinking they were safe only for them to be trapped for a final time. Pedro, her sweet Pedro. He'd looked between her, the terrified families, and the sound of tracks; bending to kiss their children's heads, and then her, he walked in front of their community, pleading for a chance to let them live. To no avail, his body hit the ground only moments later; Alma's own scream making its way above the clamouring noise as the candle Pedro held only seconds prior exploded into a shimmering gold light, butterflies etching along the sides. The forceful wind knocked back their enemies, and mountains rose from flat grounds, a barrier protruding and protecting them at long last. A moment of silence ticked by before the others surrounded her.

Pedro's life had been the price of this miracle. His spirit was everlasting in the gifts that were provided with every life. When given that type of responsibility, the position to protect not only her people, but her children and later their children, it was easy to lose sight of the reasoning why.

All too easily had she lost one home, what was stopping the world from taking another?

In her first crisis, running was the only solution. The anger that resided in her own heart made itself known in the control she kept among her household. Control she'd lacked so many years ago. Staying to fight would have resulted in nobody leaving alive. Her word was final then, and would remain so.

Alma's relationship with her children wasn't quite as wonderful as she dreamed it would be. A raw wound that was left when he died. Their three babies growing up to look so much like her love, the glimpses she saw of him in their grandchildren were unbelievably painful.

Isabella raised herself gracefully, becoming everything Alma wished she could have been. Then along came Dolores came. Her gift was exciting in prospect; she would be able to hear anything outside the walls, if a threat ever emerged. But in doing so left her feeling drained, and there was the added thought of Dolores discovering things that were not meant to be known.

Of course, then, when Mirabel's door shimmered and disappeared, that carefully constructed world was crumbling around her once more. Why had this young girl been kept from their encanto?

Amongst the panic and confusion, she'd requested a vision from her son. Looking back, it was a bit hypocritical to trust this vision, yet berate Bruno for never coming up with a positive prophecy.

Bruno was a curious matter. The one to see in the future, the only one to protect them if it came down to it. But the thing was, Bruno was a shy boy, always hiding behind his sisters. The lack of ambition to help out the community worried Alma as he grew up, and the decision to make him spend time with others is a decision she always pondered. Would it have been better for him to remain hidden? Their reputation would have remained outstanding, no whispers following them around like a cloud.

Of course, then there came his own son, a shadow of everything that Bruno represented. Soft-spoken, hiding behind the cloak of his fathers.

Then the father disappeared, the night she asked for Mirabel's prophecy. The son was alone.

With this came another decision she was faced with. How was Camilo going to be raised? Pepa only had one child, Dolores, who was old enough to need less attention. The answer lay there. Camilo would have the parental and maternal figure in his life, and there would be no worries about his life until he came of age. The love would remain, and her grandson would be none the wiser.

When Mirabel had argued with her in the corridor, the rest of the family came out to witness the fight, every brick that Alma had built up was slowly falling apart. Then months later, when her armour was rebuilt, Camilo had torn it away with barbed words.

Years had gone by without a thought, she hadn't even considered telling Camilo about his father. The consequences of her choices were being revealed, and there was no clear answer now.

Sighing, Alma stood up, the exhaustion weighing down in her bones as she made her way into the hall, almost unnerved by the silence that contrasted the hours prior. The railings in the hall were cold as she wrapped the shawl closer to her, the warmth fading as voices rose behind closed doors.

Outside Isabella's door, she could hear Dolores questioning their role, "Was this destined to happen? Were we the reason it resulted in this?". Pain coiled in her heart, hearing how her oldest granddaughters were blaming themselves for things they had no part in. Alma so wished that she could reassure them, but there was no way that she could. The guilt was already festered, and there was nothing she could do.

And then, pausing outside Pepa's door, that was where the final piece clicked. Agustin's words reverberated through the room into the hall. The emotions that overcame the room, hearing the unknown prophecy was almost too much. Alma clutched her hands to her mouth, muffling the gasp that escaped her, for once truly understanding why Bruno had been so secretive all those years. She'd known that Camilo was sick, but had assumed it was a minor cold. Not understanding why her children were so tense, why they weren't focused on their duties and instead directing their attention to their brother. It had been a very good possibility that her son was going to lose his only child.

The sudden light snapped her out of her thoughts, Camilo and Bruno's doors shining briefly before going out once more.

Curious, Alma stood outside the door of three faces. This was the only door that remained silent. Her hand slowly reached towards the handle before shame overtook bravery, and she retreated back to her own room.

Upon the windowsill, stood the candle, flame moving along with the direction of the wind. A little light that in all its beauty, failed to reach the darker corners of the room, and much like the family secrets, leaving them shrouded in mystery.

"Pedro, my love, where do we go from here? Is this the end of our ties? How do we move on from such an event?" Alma pleaded, but the candle stood tall, silent and strong as her husband once had been.

The wind blowing through the trees and windows of her room, almost seeming to whisper, 'you know what to do.'

On the other side of the door, a figure laid on a stage, hands entangled in curls.

Camilo's head was pounding, weary over everything he'd done. He hadn't wanted to scream at the people he loved, much less essentially playing the victim. There were choices he made that could have gone better, he never told anyone he knew over the years; he could have defied the orders given to him, defended his father more.

But he hadn't.

This is why he didn't come back for you.

Because that was the ultimate truth, wasn't it? There couldn't be another reason, it had to be Camilo's doing. With learning that his father had been in the walls, there was no chance that Bruno hadn't heard his son repeating such awful words. Who would want anything to do with a child who seemed to hate their parent?

Facing the fact that an absent father had left him once again, there was no coming back from this type of hurt.

The exhaustion of being made to look like an idiot, waiting for a father who was losing interest?

Camilo was just so tired. Tired of the years he'd played the fool, and now fooling himself into a world where he was loved.

Slowly exhaling, Camilo sat up, glass from the mirrors shattered around him, dust scattering from his hair.

But as he made his way up the stairs, he paused, startled by a sudden noise.

Another knock made its way through the room.

"Camilo?"