Chapter Text
The Casita crumbled, groaning under the shaking weight as it collapses underneath each other. The sound of shattering glass and crushed tiles screeching echoes in the air.
And Julieta- she's running, gasping for breath as she breaks through the broken doors of their casa. Debris is still tumbling down from each other, dust accumulating from every direction.
She screams her daughter's name, throat raw and scratchy from ashes clinging onto her aching lungs. Nothing stops her: the debris in her way, the yells behind her to be careful, or the fog of dirty particles clouding her eyesight.
What she stumbles upon is harrowing, a single candle liner a few inches from a hand-Mirabel's hand; the only limb she could see. Julieta drops to her knees, pulling every rubble and wreck from around Mirabel's hand, hoping to find her Mirabel underneath it.
There's blood- so much blood soaking the ground. Her anguish cries of help and desperate howl cut through the bleak atmosphere, but no one is there: just her. Julieta continues to scream and plead for anyone to get this blasted ruin off her baby girl. Tears spill and fall, like a never-ending waterfall.
She doesn't realize the hot, sticky, red liquid coating her hands as she proceeds to yank off every bit of debris and large fragments until she unearths what she's looking for.
And then, face-to-face, Julieta finally sees who she's looking for. Her Mirabel. But those beautiful chocolate irises are hidden by the petrified, dilated pupils, wide as saucers and unflinching as she reaches out and cradles her motionless head.
Her lips are parted slightly as if she was screaming before. Blood rivulets down her daughter's temple and cheek. Shards of ruin and blood are tangled in the girl's curly hair. She tries to run her fingers through them, but it's useless.
Mirabel's dead. Her baby's gone.
The edges of Julieta's vision start to blur. An empty cry escapes her lungs and the last thing she hears is the echoing of Mirabel's screams resonate throughout her mind.
Julieta's eyes flew open, inhaling sharply as she lurched forward. Beads of sweat appeared at her temple, a wave of heat radiating from her shaking body, nausea churning violently in her stomach. So vivid the dream was and yet it had happened similar to when...when-
She took a few shuddering gasps, trying to be quiet as she wasn't the only one in their temporary bedroom. Agustín lied beside her, snoring moderately with sheets and covers covering himself. He shifted slightly but nonetheless continued to sleep fitfully.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim night, breaths evening, but the urge to throw up did not alleviate as saliva started collecting inside her mouth. Pulling the covers off her form, she stood up as silently as she could and rushed towards the bathroom with her hand to her mouth.
When the toilet was near, she dropped to her knees and emptied out all the food contents she had the night before. Her stomach rolled violently despite the fact there was no food in her anymore, but she kept throwing up, remaining acid stomach refluxing as well.
Tears leaked out from her eyes, but she could not tell if the tears were from the utter nightmare she had or from vomiting. She heaved, hands clinging onto the rim of the toilet as she pulled herself up weakly, flushing the toilet.
Her limbs protested with even the slightest of movement, and she couldn't help but sag to the floor again, throat raw and achy from lack of oxygen. She held in a whimper as she closed her eyes when her head throbbed.
"Amor?"
She tensed when she heard her husband's groggy voice from the other side of the door. Julieta willed herself up again, grimacing when her stomach stirred. "I'm fine, mi corazón," she mustered out weakly. "Go back to bed, I'll be there in a moment."
There was a beat of silence before the doorknob jiggled. "Juli, I'm coming in." She grimaced when Agustín didn't take the bait and she heard the door swish open. It was still dark but she knew that Agustín could faintly distinguish her silhouette and the toilet's shape.
"Oh, mi amor," he sighed softly, approaching her like she was a hurt animal. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before sitting next to her. Like she was a puppet getting their strings cut, she fell into his arms, a wounding sound escaping her mouth.
"Shh, querida, it's okay," he murmured soothingly behind the shell of her ear, pressing a kiss to her hair. Julieta shook her head in denial, a small sob wracking her frame, shaking.
"It's not, it's not, it's not," she repeated between raspy gasps, more tears spilling from her eyes and another ragged cry erupting. Agustín held her closer, laying a cheek on top of her head as she continued to weep and mourn for their daughter. A few stray tears fell from his own eyes, dribbling down into her mussed hair.
Two and a half months of tears and grief. Ten weeks since their Casita collapsed and their gifts were gone, along with Mirabel-her life snuffed out as wreckage tumbled onto her vulnerable frame when she was trying to save that damn candle.
The grief felt all-too-familiar when Bruno disappeared but this one-losing their youngest daughter–was a knife slashing through every piece of organ, stabbing through her heart and leaving it out to bleed.
Julieta sobbed, hiding her face into Agustín's chest, shoulders trembling from every sob that stung her lungs. She wanted to scream, shout and yell at the universe until she had her Mirabel back. She'd do anything-anything to give her one last hug, to say one last "I love you" to her.
"I miss her," she cried out, fingers curling to grip at his sleepwear.
"I know, amor, I know," he replied in a near-whisper, burying his face into her hair.
And two months of this: late nights up with regrets, lamenting until dawn greets them, bags underneath and around their eyes. Nothing was normal anymore. Their home was no more alive with magic or even physically there.
Their 'home' was just an unoccupied house, empty and desolate.
Even with the men and other townspeople rebuilding their casa, it wouldn't be the same-nothing would.
Gift or no gift, casa or no casa, Mirabel was still gone. Everyone's words would go unspoken, apologies at the tips of their tongues, however, their tears will freely run down their cheeks even after the funeral, and more years to come without Mirabel.
Julieta barely registered anything going on after her death. Sometimes Agustín would have to remind her to get out of bed to keep some sort of normalcy, to eat, to go out and get some fresh air, even though it pained her to even breathe the atmosphere that took her baby away.
She took a difficult gulp of air, wanting nothing more than to just bury herself next to Mirabel's grave and join her. She missed her, so much. But she would never do that, not when her two daughters were here, coping just as horribly as she was.
Isabela wouldn't utter a word to anyone, disappearing without notice. Luisa would join Agustín at the construction site, wanting anything to distract her, even for a brief moment before she would break down into tears.
Every time Luisa or Isabela would come back from wherever they were, they would return with bruises, small cuts, and red-rimmed eyes. And each time, Julieta would wrap her arms around her daughters and comfort them. Sometimes, Isabela wouldn't want to be comforted and brush her away to be alone. Luisa wouldn't return the action, tears streaming down her blank face.
It still wasn't enough.
And then Agustín would help her. Be there for every late-night spent up and bawling her eyes out. And it wasn't helping that the lack of food, sleep, intense grief, or her aging body was hindering her efforts in doing... anything.
She was useless, a mantra that her mind kept repeating over and over again. Her whole life she had been healing injured people with her food, all-day-everyday, and now that she no longer had that gift, there was little she could do.
She couldn't even heal the minor cuts or bruises her daughters would accumulate over the day. Another reminder of how useless she really felt.
Going back to Casita still hurt. It left a pang within her heart, pulsing painfully whenever she would witness someone take parts of their casa and throw it away because there was no use for it.
Still, Agustín encouraged her to go to sort some stuff that was found in the heap of rubble. When he mentioned that most of their materials would be thrown out if they didn't come by and pick up the important things, it sent fear down her body.
Julieta couldn't let that happen, not when there could be something of Mirabel's.
"I want her back, Agustín, I-I-" her face screwed up, and Agustín shushed her, his tone soft and melancholy.
"I know... Juli, we all do."
She looked at him, expression so pained that it made his heart hurt. "I didn't even-I couldn't-" she choked on her words and stopped trying to explain before breaking down again because she knew that her husband understood what she was trying to convey.
He knew it with every vein and vessel in his body because Agustín wished that too.
Once her cries were reduced to sniffles, Agustín shifted to face her, but still in his embrace. "You're doing so good, amor," he encouraged softly, rubbing a hand up and down her back. She felt a shiver crawl up her spine and couldn't help but quiver in response. "You're cold, mi vida."
Julieta closed her eyes and bobbed her head, unable to produce any words after leaving her throat scratchy and raw from crying. She managed a small exhale when her husband swooped her up bridal style.
It reminded her of their younger years, where he used to do that whenever he tried to be romantic and bring her to their bedroom with a certain intention on his mind. Now, it was useful when she was weak and incapable of moving herself.
She remembered the first few weeks without Mirabel, lost within grief and emptiness, inept to move from a spot that Agustín had carried her to. She didn't think any of her coping mechanisms were healthy, and it was this one action she pursued that Julieta considered shameful, especially after her daughter's death.
Shortly after Mirabel's funeral, all she could feel was the never-ending emptiness. She wanted to feel something, anything to get rid of this numbness. To be filled with pleasure and euphoria, even for just a mere moment. Agustín was reluctant, but he gave in anyway, understanding the need to feel.
He was always like that - understanding and caring, just like she had been before their world crumbled into pieces. Was it that weird that she wanted to feel complete again? No cracks, no breaks, just for a short moment.
So he-always so loving and doing as she wished- gave her just that. He made her feel something. With their emotions raging, they held onto each other, desperate and passionate with hazy lust, faces flushed from ecstasy while their bodies moved with familiar tandem.
The very next day, regret had replaced that desire. It was only time where she resented having intimacy with her lover, and Agustín's feeling was mutual.
Agustín brought her to bed, gently laying her down before crawling next to her and drawing up the blankets to cover them. He tucked the soft covers around her shivering frame and ran his hand up and down her arm, trying to produce heat.
Their legs were tangled together, his own body generating heat for her.
"You've been having these chills and hot flashes for a while, corazón," he noted quietly, brushing a curly strand that fell onto her face.
Julieta let out a trembling sigh as the warmth seeped within her sore bones. "Menopause," she answered weakly.
Though she couldn't see his face through the dark, Julieta could see his forehead creased in worry. "Are you sure, querida?"
"Sí, there can't be any other explanation," she murmured.
"Very well-" he paused and kissed her forehead gently. "I just don't want you getting sick."
"I'm not," Julieta assured calmly. "It's just my body telling me I'm getting old."
It was true. She have never felt old since until she started experiencing the nightmares of menopause. Nausea, chills, and hot flashes along with dull pains in her limbs. Aging lines formed along her forehead and the corners of her eyes, along with freckles that dusted over her cheeks.
Old age had taken her husband too. Grey and brown hair now took refuge in his hair, old creases featured his face whenever he smiled or frowned. They weren't that elderly, but it certainly felt like in the past few months.
Agustín chuckled softly and reached out to wipe away the dried tears that stained her cheeks. "You'll always have that beautiful youth to me."
"You flatter me."
He hummed and put a hand on her hip, rubbing circles soothingly. "Go to sleep, cariña. I'll be here when you awake."
Julieta's eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion overwhelming her entire being.
She breathed in deeply, and then exhaled, following Agustín's breathing before falling into a fitful sleep.
When he knew Julieta was asleep, he closed his eyes, holding her close. "Te amo tanto, mi dulce."