Mirabel felt dazed and disoriented as the serene night she had been shrouded in faded away, and she found herself standing in the kitchen of Casita.

It was surreal how familiar everything felt, and yet how different. It was more sparsely decorated than it was before. Fewer pots and pans adorning the wall along the range, the family tree was a generation shorter, and seated at the smaller family table, bathed in the early morning glow, a younger but no less radiant Abuela Alma wept in harsh sobs, her head resting on her arms.

Mirabel's heart ached to comfort the woman, having been ignorant to the pain as she suffered in silence for so long. The girl knew though, that she could not. This world, this memory, was beyond her ability to alter. Still, Mirabel couldn't help but wonder, why here, why now? It was strange how people's minds worked, and what memories were tied to what emotions. The girl felt it was a puzzle she would never be able to solve.

Mirabel sensed him then, Bruno, and turned to see a little boy no older than Antonio, with wide brown eyes peering through the doorway.

He wore an expression of longing to repair what was broken, one that mirrored Mirabel's, though he seemed hesitant to act. Bruno stood anxiously for several moments before turning to leave his mother alone, pained by uncertainty, his heart bled for her, and the inadequacy he felt to help her.

Bound to Tio Bruno, Mirabel had no recourse but to follow, trailing him up the stairs and into the nursery where his sisters, her mother, and aunt still slept. All Mirabel could do now was wait, and watch, and pray that there was something she could do to help her uncle when the vision broke, as she, a silent observer, a shadow, stood in the ghost of her Tio's childhood ...

Bruno crawled back into bed, pressing himself tight against the wall. The boy lay awake, misty-eyed and troubled, his young mind hard at work, trying to find a way to help his Mamá. She was such a strong, beautiful woman, and the entire town seemed to look to her for guidance, and leadership. No matter what happened she always appeared to know how to make things better, and not just for her children, for everyone. This knowledge made the boy feel not only safe, but incredibly proud, to call the well-respected woman his mother.

Why then, he wondered, did she cry? It was a rare occurrence, and she always waited until she was alone, or at least until she thought she was. Bruno had seen her secret tears, and heard her murmured prayers every night when the woman had believed that her children were fast asleep. He knew that her sorrows had something to do with their Papá. A man whose son knew him only from rarely shared stories, stories that he had been a great hero who had sacrificed himself to save everyone. Mamá missed Papá terribly and seemed haunted by her every memory of him, where Bruno wished for even a single one.

It was like a tummy ache, but in your heart, he thought. What kind of soup did you eat when your heart was sick? He wasn't sure, but he was determined to find out, and make it for her.

"It's our birthday!" Pepa mused then, as she yawned with a growing wakefulness from her spot beneath the window. "I said 'its out birthday!'" the girl announced with more fanfare when no one replied.

Grumbling in response, the dark-haired Julieta clamoured out of bed. Her hair a static-filled mess, still wrapped up, blankets trailing the floor, the girl threw herself onto Bruno's bed with a huff, as she knocked the wind out of herself.

"Move over!" she commanded with muffled irritability as she made herself comfortable.

"No!" the boy complained, arching his back to take up more room than he had before, a flare of upset burning him as his precious thoughts were interrupted. Julieta was undeterred, shoving, and nudging her way beneath his blankets amid his yelps, and protests until they were tightly packed together.

"Hey!" Pepa whimpered plaintively. The other two peered at their sister who now stood beside the bed, arms overflowing with blankets, pillows, and her beloved muñequita.

Before anything else could be said or done, the girl who seemed to be all elbows, knees, and sharp points scaled the mountain of bodies. Joining them amid much shouting, and complaints, as the three furiously kicked one another in aggravation until they had tired themselves out. Finally settled, and a little breathless, the combatants lie still, secretly and ruefully relishing one another's company.

"Why is it always my bed?" Bruno whined then, feigning upset, in spite of the smile he was trying to hide.

"Because we love you best." Julieta muttered.

"Yeah," Pepa agreed, squishing her brother even harder against the wall as she made room for her doll. "And 'cause you're the littlest."

"I am not!" Bruno bellowed, turning around defiantly. He wanted to hit her, but settled for her toy instead.

After a few minutes, when the latest bout of calamity, pulled hair, and hurtful words had died down, apologies and adjustments were made. Finally the trio was comfortable at last. His heart still beating with a pained rhythm, the boy couldn't shake the weight of his mother's secret grieving. He wanted to help her in some way, and feeling his sisters beside him Bruno felt more confident and sure of himself. Even if he couldn't help her alone, maybe the three of them could help her together.

"Mamá was crying again." he whispered to the wall, afraid that she might hear him.

The weight easing from his shoulders as Bruno confided in his sisters, the burden now shared evenly, he rolled over to look at their faces, only to find just as much worry and concern as he had felt earlier. The girls remained quiet for a while as they processed the information. It was their birthday, they should be having a happy day, yet, the children in their love and innocence were trying to craft a cure for their bereft mother.

Pepa spoke first, "I'm going to give her a really, extra big hug. She says my hugs always help her feel better." The other two nodded their agreement, as Pepa demonstrated with her muñequita.

"We should help with extra chores, and no fighting today!" Julieta chimed in, poking the others with an authoritative finger. Again the children had reached a consensus.

"And we should make her some soup!" Bruno piped up cheerily.

"Do you know how to make soup?" Pepa inquired, with a quirked, skeptical brow.

"Well, no." Bruno muttered.

"We'd have to ask for Mamá's help, and we're supposed to help her, remember?" Julieta added.

"Fine, then we need to get her a present." Bruno added, disappointed that his first idea had been so quickly dismissed.

"Like what?" Pepa yawned.

"Flowers." Julieta mused, her voice distant, eyes closed.

"Yeah!" Pepa agreed.

Bruno wasn't very keen on the idea, but couldn't think of anything better at the moment, so he said nothing, and instead tried to recall all the places he'd seen the most beautiful flowers growing around their house. Snuggling closer it wasn't long before the triplets, their breathing taking on and eased rhythm, felt themselves drifting off again. They had always relished this type of warmth, and closeness, and before much longer the Madrigal siblings had all fallen back to sleep.

With a chipper smile, and a merry tone to her voice their mother came to rouse them for breakfast, with kisses and a song. Her children's hearts swelled with love for her as she did, giving them each their own unique type of affection. From running her fingers through Julieta's hair, to kissing Pepa's dainty fingers, and rubbing gentle circles into Bruno's back, Alma cherished this morning tradition just as much as her children did.

Then, after a hearty birthday breakfast of huevos pericos, with arepa and hot chocolate, something the children were happy to see after what had felt like an endless cycle of calentado or reheated dinner, the trio set out to put their plan into motion. As a result their morning was an unusually chaotic adventure as each went out of their way to help their mother, inadvertently making more work for her in the process.

There were fresh linens scattered across the floor from Pepa doing her best to haul the basket upstairs. Sticky fingerprints of soapy masa covering every conceivable surface in the kitchen from Julieta's failed attempts to wash the dishes and clean the counters. And lastly, fresh mud tracked throughout the house as Bruno proudly presented his mother with a bundle of weeds.

The tension building up in the woman's chest came to a head. Throwing her hands up at the sight of them, Alma cried with exasperation.

"Mis bebes, ¿que les ha pasado hoy? ¡Me estás volviendo loco!" the woman asked, hands on her hips. "You're driving me crazy!"

Her children exchanged frightful looks of concern. What were they going to do? They couldn't tell her that Bruno had seen her crying without making her sad all over again, and that was exactly what they had been trying to avoid! Luckily Julieta thought fast on her feet, and beaming brightly she stepped forward with an answer to their antics.

"We're big today, so we decided we can help more!" she explained, looking over her shoulder towards the others, who nodding backed her claim.

Alma looked at each of her children with affection, "Si, you are all very grown up today," she nodded tearfully, moving to tidy each of them with the hem of her apron. "And how lucky am I to have three, responsible, helpful, beautiful children?"

The family hugged warmly, when Alma added, "How about tonight, after your party, we will move you out of the nursery. Would you like that?"

Eyes bright and wide, the trio turned to express excitement, and concerns, when the house shuddered. Alma crouched and clutched her children tightly, heart racing; she was ready to protect them from whatever harm may come. It was Bruno, peering over his mother's shoulder, who first noticed the golden glow.

"Mamá," he whispered, pointing. "Look, the doors!"

Watching as his mother crossed herself with superstition and reverence, Bruno and his sisters quickly followed her example. Then the floor tiles began to clatter, in that strange language only their mother seemed to understand.

"Casita says, there is a room, a gift, for each of you." their mother whispered, still unable to tear her gaze from the doors that shone with a heavenly candle light.

Excitement bubbled within the children's hearts, and without any discussion at all they tore off up the stairs as Alma called out for them to stop. Julieta reached the first door and clasped the handle. The light flared to life, earning a gasp from Bruno and Pepa, who grabbed onto their sister, pulling her away from the door in fright. As they did an image of Julieta, and her name appeared on its previously smooth wooden face.

"Mamá?" the girl asked nervously as Alma joined them, pulling her kids protectively towards her. Bruno could feel his mother's body trembling, her voice suddenly hoarse with emotion she rasped. "It's alright Mija, open it."

Tentatively Julieta edged forward, eyes squeezed shut, she turned the knob and thrust the door open.

Paradise was on the other side of the door, or so it had first seemed to Bruno, who gaped at the warm light that dappled fertile fields, orchards, vineyards, and pasture land beyond. The family cautiously edged their way inside, staring in awe and wonder, following behind Julieta who trailed her fingers along towering stalks of beautifully-eared corn.

Then, her face puzzling, Julieta turned to them brightly with a squeal before dashing off with a certainty of her destination.

Bruno, concern and nerves written upon his face, called after her only to turn towards Pepa and find that she had abandoned him as well, all giggles as she chased after a cluster of hens.

"Mamá?" he asked, following Alma who seemed to be entranced as she waded between vast grainfields.

At last, Alma tore an ear of corn from its stalk, pulling away the leafy covering to reveal the most beautiful and sumptuous kernels either she or her son had ever seen. In disbelief, she pulled another, and another, and another, dropping them like tender treasures into the front of her apron. Overwhelmed by the beauty of it all, the woman fell to her knees cradling the food with a hallowed reverence and appreciation.

"We're saved!" she whispered, tears of gratitude watering the soil. "The town is saved! Thank you my Pedro, thank you!"

Bruno touched his mother's shoulder with concern as she started to cry.

"It's alright Brunito, it's going to be alright. We are so very blessed." she smiled, just as Julieta appeared, jumping up and down with excitement.

"Lulo!" she shouted, unburdening her skirts that had been filled like their mother's with the small orange fruits. "And I have a house! It changed and changed, and got bigger and smaller, and whatever I wanted it to be! It had everything inside!" she added, taking out a knife and several intricately decorated spoons with a grin.

After enjoying some of their favorite fruits, the dream of the room still enthralling the Madrigals, Pepa eagerly begged to go next, her entire frame bouncing with pent excitement. Without even allowing their mother to finish her thought, the red-haired girl tore across the lush green grasses and back out the door, into Casita. Try as they might, no one had been able to keep up with the girl, and the family found themselves confronted with a door bearing her name and visage left ajar.

Peering in, now Bruno was sure that he was staring at Paradise as he watched his sister dancing across a field of clouds. "This is amazing!" she exclaimed, cartwheeling across the wispy flooring of her room.

Julieta stepped cautiously across the threshold, followed by her mother and brother. "Whoa!" Julieta gasped, as Pepa thrust her hands through the floor as though she knew exactly what she was looking for. With a great tug, Pepa produced an armful of crystalline flecks of light, throwing them over her head and watching as they fell in a cascade of rainbows about her.

"How are you doing that?" Bruno asked easing himself to sit, anxious of falling straight through the floor, as he dug around the billowing clouds to find himself empty handed.

"I don't know," Pepa shrugged, scooping up a shimmering armful of fractured light. "But it feels right. Just think really hard about what you want and I think you can do it."

Moments later, Pepa, whose bed was hung from a star, had engaged the entire family in a daring game hurling multicolored balls of light that left their skin and clothes glittering with magic. Laughing as they raced up cumulonimbus hilltops, and skated across thin lakes of cirrus stratus, the merry quartet engaged in a type of playfulness that somehow escaped them in the day to day happenings of their lives, until finally the family had collapsed, panting and laughing in a star-studded patch of the heavens.

"My turn?" Bruno asked after a while, shaking rainbows loose from his hair as he sat.

"Si!" Alma smiled, tickling the boy with excitement.

Bruno could barely contain his enthusiasm, after seeing the unbelievable, monumental rooms, and gifts his sisters had received, the boy's mind was a whirl with the possibilities. His room was going to be the best, he knew it. Though, how it would top an endless field with whatever foods you might want, or an airborne playground, he had no idea, but he was pridefully certain that it would.

Bruno's door was further down the hall and up a little flight of stairs, but he preferred it this way, he told himself. Girls were gross. Palms sweating, the boy cast one last glance to his sisters before grabbing the handle and giving it a turn.

Sand spilled out from beneath the door.

He had little time to wonder what this meant before, and entirely without warning, the sand began to swirl and dance about the boy, turning green as knowledge trickled into his mind.

Bruno saw it; terrible, destructive, rushing waters, tearing down homes, and washing away roads. Families clung to one another, all they had left of their lives before as they watched their worldly possessions drifting down the river. Pain, destruction, death.

There in his hand a green glass image of the destruction appeared.

"Mamá," the boy whispered, trembling as he turned towards her. "There's going to be a terrible flood."

Alma looked at her son in horror, a hand pressed firmly against her rampantly beating heart. "How do you know this?" she asked sharply.

"I just... know." he explained, handing the engraved image to her.

Alma gasped, blinking back her own fears and sorrows for the sake of her children.

"I will take care of this," she assured them. "I don't want you to worry. Now, do you want to see your room?" she asked, trying to put all else aside for Bruno.

"No!" Bruno shook his head, recoiling from the door in fear.

"Brunito?" Alma whispered as her son wrapped his arms around her. "This is our Miracle, do not be afraid. Clearly," she said, glancing at the image she still held in her hand, "you were meant to warn us about what dangers are to come. You will protect all of us, Brunito, like your father. Don't be afraid."

Burying his face deeper into the folds of his mother's apron the little boy shook his head. Alma, though conflicted, found her faith was still unwavering and left it at that.

Moving on with their day, and getting things ready for their party was a task easier said than done, as everyone, their mother included, found themselves drawn back towards the rooms, even if only to peek inside, just for a second to assure themselves that the wonders beyond their door frames were still there.

It didn't take long however, for the day to wear on into early evening, then, the party that was meant to celebrate the triplets birthday had become a lively festival of a great and momentous occasion. People flowed in and out of Julieta's room, smiling and laughing as they collected what foods they needed as adults at last spoke openly of the shortages their town had been facing, though now, no longer. Julieta seemed to thrive off the attention as she manipulated and grew her personal home into a lavish estate, allowing the many kitchens within to be used as new dishes were cooked up in an eager frenzy, some of the fresh produce in her room having been hard to come by as of late. Now, she felt, it was a real party.

On the other side of their mother's room Pepa was feeling the same, as she entertained everyone with radiant light shows and glittering battles that left combatants literally and figuratively aglow. Whooping loudly as she bounded after the other children from the village, the nimble redhead's aim was steadily improving, as her brother watched anxiously from the doorway. He didn't know how, or why, or even how to begin explaining what he'd seen and felt when the green sand had engulfed him, but Pepa was involved with the flood in some way.

It scared the boy, and left him unable to enjoy his own birthday party.

This secret knowledge of his sister's connection to the sinister destruction he somehow knew was coming for them, gnawed at his insides, his heartbeat thready every time he thought about it. Appetite non-existent, he spent much of the night watching the fun from the sidelines clinging to his mother, or fearfully chasing curious guests away from his bedroom. It was cursed, he felt, cursed, and unsafe, and he dare not even look inside. He hated it, even though his mother implored him to see the benefits to his gift, plying him with promises that it would be just as wonderous a room as his sisters'.

It was late by the time the last of the guests had gone and Alma gathered her children in her bedroom around the candle that held their Miracle. This was secretly their favorite part of any birthday, or holiday, when their mother would sit with the candle in one hand, a framed photograph of their father in the other, and would warmly regale them the story of how they had met, and fallen in love. These were the quiet moments when the triplets felt truly connected to the man, as with each retelling their mother recalled a new detail, and no matter how small, they clung to it, engraving it onto their hearts to be forever treasured.

"Mamá?" it was Pepa who asked, her brow furrowed. "Why can't Papá be here, now?"

The children, who had a tangential understanding of what the words "death" and "sacrifice" meant, waited with nervous anticipation for her answer. Alma was quiet for a long while, and seemed unable to come up with anything, so Pepa pressed on.

"You said he saved us when we were just born, but we're big now. Why can't he come back?" she whined, flinching when Julieta, who understood the taboo of these lines of questioning, elbowed her.

"Because, mi preciosa," Alma murmured. "Your Papá died to save us. He's dead. Do you remember what I told you about Heaven?"

The triplets nodded.

"It's where all the good people go when God says their work is done and they can rest!" Bruno explained, eager to be the first to get it right.

"Si," Alma nodded, tears spilling from her eyes, her lips beginning to quaver. "Your Papá's greatest work was protecting the ones he loved, and when he had done that ..." their mother grew quiet, her gaze locked on a distant space in the wall.

"Mamá?" Julieta asked, rocking the woman's shoulder.

When no response came the children looked to one another in worry as her breathing changed.

"Mamá?" Bruno tried, shaking his mother who seemed far away.

Then it happened. Letting out a ragged scream, one that frightening the children, Alma reached out for something they could not see.

"No!" she screamed her voice breaking into a harsh sob. "Pedro! My Pedro! Pedro!" she continued to shriek as the triplets scrambled away from their mother. Hearts pounding as they gripped each other, they watched as Alma stared at her hands in horror, before wiping them on her dress over and over and she wailed, forehead pressed hard into the floorboards.

Huddled in the corner the children watched as their mother, and the foundation of their world, crumbled to pieces before their very eyes. Starting slowly, the pitter-patter of rain struck the roof of Casita as they, clinging to one another, began to cry, holding on so tightly it hurt. Something clicked in Bruno's mind as the rains steadily grew, the deep base of thunder growing all around the Encanto, until they could feel it shaking through the very foundation of the house.

Pepa. It was Pepa. She was making the rain, he thought, this is what he'd seen. It was jumbled, but this was it, the moment half veiled by whirling sands.

"Stop crying!" he breathed in a nervous whisper.

"Mamá's scaring me!" the girl wailed. "Make her stop! I don't like this game!"

"No, you have to stop!" Bruno commanded, shaking her in an attempt to break the girl of her tears.

"Why is she doing that?" Pepa demanded to know as they watched Julieta move away to comfort the woman who was laying on the ground quaking with grief.

"Mamá!" Julieta called. "Mamá, you're scaring us! Are you hurt? Mamá stop it!"

"She misses Papá," Bruno explained. It was simple, why didn't Pepa understand? That was always the reason for Mamá's tears. "He's in Heaven."

"Why?" Pepa howled, the torrent of emotions within the girl swelling into a horrendous downpour outside, lightning, rain, and ice beating their little town. "Why can't the miracle give us back our Papá? It's not fair!" she screamed angrily, mourning his loss for the first time as she finally seemed to understand that his absence from her life would be an eternal one. "Does he love me in Heaven? Does he know I love him? It's not fair!"

Heart hammering in his head so loudly he could no longer hear himself think, Bruno could do nothing other than hug her, as outside the flood played out just as he had foreseen. Pressed tightly together, the boy kissed his sister's forehead, and smoothed the long tangle of hair out Pepa's face as they wept, trying his best to be of some comfort. Neither one had been aware of their mother, emerging from her state on the floor and coming towards them until she snagged Pepa by the arm and hauled her from the floorboards in a single movement.

"Mamá?" Bruno asked watching the woman who glanced about herself in terror like a caged animal as she drug his sister down the hall.

"Mamá?!" he screamed again when she didn't answer. In his panic when none of them had been able to get a response from the woman as Pepa's feet swung loosely in the air, the rains gathered inside the house now as well. The boy began beating his fists against his mother's legs while Julieta tugged at her skirts trying everything they could to stop her.

"Mamá stop!" Bruno begged. "You're hurting her! Mamá you're hurting mi Pepita!"

Without word or acknowledgement of any kind, Alma threw open the door to Pepa's room and shoved her inside, slamming the illuminated panel closed behind her. Her brown eyes wide as she held the knob firmly against Pepa's attempts to escape, Alma listened as the rain outside slowed then finally stopped all at once. The triplets mother was deaf to their cries, as she seemed lost in thought, holding the doorknob tightly, until the rattling from the other side had stopped.

"Stay here," she commanded her voice hard, and brow set with determination. "And don't let your sister out."

"But -" Julieta began to argue as their mother swept past them, and down the stairs.

"Mamá, are you ok? What happened? Mamá?" Bruno screamed after her.

Ignoring his frantic questions Alma instead reiterated, "Do not let her out! I am going to see what I can do to help."

With that, she was gone.

Casita was quiet, the clatter of tiles still, and outside, not even a breeze rustled the trees beyond the windows. The world felt at peace, lulled under the clear moonlit sky. This peace disquieted Bruno and Julieta, who glanced at each other, hesitating only a second's time before opening the door to Pepa's room and diving in.

Mamá had only said that she couldn't come out, not that they couldn't go in.

The two were drenched to the bone with frigid waters that made their teeth chatter violently together the moment they stepped inside. Hurrying over the shifting black thunderheads as fast as they could they found Pepa hugging herself in the eye of the storm.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Pepa wept over and over, reaching out for the comfort and safety of her siblings when they came for her.

"It's alright, shh, it's alright!" Julieta said in soothing tones, sounding more mature than her five years of age, as she brushed away the tears and rain from Pepa's red, weathered face.

"Mamá hates me!" the girl sobbed.

"No she doesn't!" Bruno argued with a shiver.

"She hurt my arm!"

"It was an accident!" Julieta was quick to defend the woman who had acted in fear.

"I'm sorry!" Pepa cried again.

Shuddering Bruno wrapped his arms as far as he could around his sisters, hugging them tightly. The chill of their clothes uncomfortable as it pressed against his skin.

"It's going to be okay," he promised, voice straining to be heard of the roar of the storm as they struggled in vain to warm themselves beneath the supernatural downpour. "Everything is going to be alright!"

Huddled together, their heads bent against the rain, the triplets shared in a misery and suffering all their own...

Bruno woke to the feeling of his wet shirt being lifted over his head. Peering curiously through dark lashes the boy saw his mother. She appeared worn, her lips held in a grim line, exhaustion in her gaze, twigs and dried mud tangled in her hair. She noticed him watching her as she slipped a warm, dry night shirt over his mass of hair and peered down at him with a bereft love.

"Shh ..." she hushed. "Don't wake your sisters."

Turning, Bruno could see Julieta and Pepa were already warmly dressed, sleeping curled closely together in their mother's bed.

"Mamá?" Bruno asked.

Shaking her head, the woman dismissed any question he might be trying to pose.

"I'm sorry." she instead whispered. "I was scared too. I didn't know what else to do," the woman explained, turning to each of her children, as her girls peeked up at her from where they pretended to sleep. "But I promise, I will never, ever, do anything like that again." she vowed, reaching to touch Pepa's red, swollen elbow with tenderness and remorse.

Crawling over the blankets, Bruno wedged himself between his sisters, the chill of his rain touched skin relishing the contact. Throwing her quilt over their tiny shivering forms, Alma joined them beneath the blankets. There she pulled her babies close, their body heat driving away their discomforts. Quietly at first but growing in strength, Alma began to sing between heart-torn apologies, as the family Madrigal slowly dropped off to sleep, the pain and confusion in their hearts comforted only by one another's nearness...