candles to guide you home (Encanto AU)

Eleven

So what if I just watched encanto, read a few fics on ao3, listened to "the view between villages" by Noah kahan then randomly decided I needed to update this after two years? im just girl!!

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Sofia clings to her side for a little while after. Her head fitted beneath her mother's chin, reminiscent of quiet days in their first home. Before Sofia had started school, their days revolved around each other. Mirabel orbited her daughter. But that always seemed right. She's always firmly believed that that universe planted Sofia at the right moment. And if any miracle had a heartbeat, it belonged in the body of a chatterbox five year old, with a heart nearly too big to hold.

At one point, Maria knocks on the door. She claims her mother has formally released her from chores, so Sofia just must join the other cousins in a serious game of tag in the yard.

With a kiss to the head, Mirabel waves her daughter off. Emotions seemingly forgotten for the moment, Sofia races off with the promise to return inside for lunch. A grin mirrors Mirabel's facial expression. She sighs, tilting her head to the side upon her knees.

A mirror is placed on the opposite wall, above the drawer chest. Her fingers raise to faintly brush against the beginning formations of crows feet at the corner of her eyes. When did her mother begin to appear in every inch of her face?

There's a rough clamber of little feet hitting the wood. Mirabel bites back the urge to discourage running in the house. She almost chokes on wistfulness. It seems not too long ago her fingers twisted with her sister's and the burden of family had yet to slow them.

Feeling sufficient with her poignant longing, she packs away the photos into the box her mother had them stored away in. Upon organizing single childhood photos, which is a remarkably low amount in comparison to the pictures Mirabel has of her daughter. She elects technology as blame instead of mulling over that a moment longer.

Her door is wide open. Allowing for Bruno to halt in his walk past the bedroom. Just as she tucking away the last of an album, he sticks his head in. Mirabel lifts her head, a smile easing the ache in her jaw.

"Hi, Tío," she greets. Her voice flutters with warmth. Bruno accompanies his smile with a wave before tucking away his hand beneath his rauna. Mirabel makes a silent note of its slightly disgruntled appearance. She eyed a few vibrant shades of green when browsing her mama's collection of scraps and fabrics. A new project is always worth delving into when avoiding internal issues.

"Mira," he greets sweetly, kindly. It's times like these when Mirabel can't quite figure out why he'd been deemed such a disgrace growing up. His gentleness never had faltered, least for his youngest sobrina. In the early days, Mirabel trailed like a baby animal, tugging in his rauna and making sandcastles in his room because he always said it got dreary in there sometimes.

"How is Sofia?" He asks. He settles on the edge of the bed. His fingers dance across the hand stitched quilt draped on the end of the bed. She made it years ago, just barely sixteen as a fresh apprentice for a local seamstress.

"Restless," Mirabel's smile doesn't waver, though she can't quite soften her own, sad reflection. Her eyes glance to the hallway. She can hear her Tia Pepa make a remark to Dolores that sends the younger of the two into a fit of suppressed giggles. Mirabel has always thought too much. The small details never got away, both a blessing and a curse in its own right. It made her mother's efforts to make her feel special excruciatingly noticeable, but only highlighted the general look of dissatisfaction Abuela always seemed to wear past her fifth birthday.

Bruno gently nudges her with the edge of his sandal clad feet. "You got away from me, Mira," he teases, "but I understand—I really do. My first few weeks at home were hard."