Encanto: After

The One Who Is

Lingering like a bug, aching her graying mind - the word rippled through all of her good thoughts and corroded them into a haze of hostility:

"No."

Alma awakened from her deep slumber.

However, that sentence was proof that words lied.

Alma came back up from her deep unrest, that restraining restlessness kicking in as she darted into a sitting position, her eyes open. It looped. The silent wails of the lost wind looped, feeding into the dark abyss that was this night. Then it would cease with a whisper that'd tear through the dark and pierce her ears:

"No."

No. It would never go. If there was anything Alma could pray for in this very moment, it would have to be to be able to disturb this terribly disturbing silence that this absurd, harrowing night had bought with it.

Oh, anything to keep it quiet! She could sing hymns, whistle, whisper for help from Pedro - or cry. Though, not even tears could help. She gave away a deep breath, a misery-breath, if you will, that would hopefully resolve her deep unrest - but that kind of ludicrous thinking would only occur in her helplessness and be, and always would be, stupid to think. You'd give your breath to close your eyes in peace, without the mockery of nightmares or the ghostly sounds of the night.

She gave her bed a pat, pat, pat and a tap, tap, tap. It didn't help either. Maybe staying in bed wouldn't help. Alma finally got up, taking a walk around her room, glancing at each happy picture, most of them being crazy photos of her and the triplets when they were all young. Though, as nice as it was, there were actual photos - such as the family photos they took every year - or the ones with each side of the family - or the one with Antonio and all his animal friends. In all honesty, no, Alma wasn't a picture hoarder or someone to gush over different memories. I mean, anyone would from time to time. But maybe - just maybe - she just wished to see her family truly smile in their every past.

That wish was her answer every time anybody bought it up.

The wish was incomplete.

...Tick! Tock! Tick–

Time: 02:03 AM

Out of all the pictures stuck to the walls, one stuck out the most: the picture of her holding Álvaro on the morning of his ceremony. Or, technically, Álvaro holding onto her: tears swelling in his eyes; fingernails digging into the maroon fabric of her dress - and a face, whose cheeks were bleeding pink, smushed into the skirt of the dress. Alma had whispered to him, "You'll be fine, mi hijo." over and over - but, to no avail did it soothe him. The two just stood in the middle of the stairs: Álvaro crying, and Alma running her hand through his curls. It was the only sad picture.

It was a memory not so long ago.

Alas, that was not a worry anymore for him, and hopefully no-one else upcoming. Alma slipped on her slippers and walked out her door. She looked across the balcony. Parallel to her was Bruno's door, which was in itself adjacent to Mirabel's door, which was now comfortably situated besides her sisters' rooms, making Pepa's side of the family nice and symmetrical with Julieta's. Slowly and surely, she headed through Julieta's side of the family, stopping to open Mirabel's door and command, "Go to sleep."

Stuffed away in the corner of her room, there Mirabel was sat at her station, working away on whatever. "Mhm! Sure.", she hummed, eyes glued to the dress she was embroidering.

Alma sighed, "Mirabel, your dress can wait."

"And I can't.", she fought back, finally breaking her eyes off the dress and onto her abuela. Her cheeks turned a bit, "Sorry, that sounded a bit harsh."