Worth The Shot

The Sin of a Miracle

Author's note: 

So many of you deciphered the code on my message board. Great job! Those of you who did emailed me to vote on (y/n)'s decision: should she help father to save Antonio? Read on to see what you guys decided... 

"Help us, or be responsible for Antonio's death."

"You're really going to kill a child? Just to save your selfish miracle?" You whispered, your eyes flicked between your father's, aghast. I had no idea. I really thought I knew him. 

"It's not selfish, (y/n)." Your father pleaded, his voice strained. "People are running out of oxygen, practically buried alive. Terrified. We need to save them."

"Fine. I'll do it," you blankly conceded, feeling sick. "Not for you. For Antonio. For the people under the mountain." 

"Good," your father nodded, satisfied, as he hurriedly untied you. "Remember, if you don't help, we'll be forced to continue the plan where Antonio gets hurt. We don't have much time." 

I'm a criminal. I'm the villain. Bruno was wrong. I'm not going to save the Madrigals, I'm going to rip their miracle away from them. You numbly stepped downstairs. Your father significantly positioned your miracle candle stump on the table and scattered dusty pebbles in a gritty ring around it. 

"This may surprise you," he softly murmured, striking a tiny wooden match, "but after our Encanto broke, the magic was not entirely gone." He smiled conspiratorially, excited to share a secret with you. You bitterly glanced down.

I wish I could like you. But I never will again. I can't, not after I've seen what you're willing to do. 

"Touch the candle," your father eventually continued, disappointed by your detached silence. You cautiously tapped your fingertips to the stump, then wrapped your hands snugly around it. "Our powers momentarily return when the candle is lit by an ordinary flame, but the catch is," the match's flame licked the wick of the candle, transferring the fire. "The wax of the candle melts away each time we use it, just like a normal candle. I'll leave this lit for exactly 4 minutes. Fly to the house, retrieve the candle, then bring it back. Save the miracle."

"What do you mean, fly?" You frowned, confused. As the candle glowed brighter and brighter, an exhilarating, magic tingle sparkled through you. 

"That's your gift, (y/n). Flying," Your father tearfully smiled at you as your feet magically lifted inches off the ground. He proudly whispered, "You're my little Mariposa girl." 

"Don't call me that," you sharply snapped. Hearing him use Camilo's pet name felt uncomfortably jarring. Lonely grief seeped through you, laced with guilt. He'll probably never call me that again, anyway. 

"Alright," your father dejectedly agreed, his eyes hurt. "You used to like it." He shook his head. "You need to hurry. Less than four minutes left. If you're in the sky when I blow out the candle, you'll fall. Hurry!" 

"I'm going, I'm going!" You muttered, unsteadily riding the drift of the night wind out of the window. 

I'm flying. For a brief moment, the giddiness of free levity swept over you. The cool air washed over your face, and you dipped down with the currents. You airily leaned left, extending your arms like a gliding bat. The air beneath you felt tangible and supportive. 

Casita innocently appeared on the horizon, cheerfully dotted with celebration lights for Alma's party. With shame shredding your heart, you swooped down to Alma's open window, where the candle majestically shone like a golden lighthouse beacon. 

You reverently lifted the candle, feeling its warm, intricate designs in the palms of your hands. The flame calmly burned, dispersing a million, tiny, glowing sparks. A deep shiver clenched you to your core. It felt like the shrieking protests of ghosts, like disturbing something sacred. I can't do this. I'm backing out.

The next ten seconds haltingly ticked forward with frozen precision. 

The fireworks sizzled quiet. 

"Dolores," you hissed into empty air. "Find Antonio. He's in trouble, my father-"

Suddenly, the air thinned to nothingness beneath you. 

The candle tumbled from your hands, rolling on Casita's main floor. 

With a sickening crack, the ground slammed into you. 

As you struggled to draw in breath like a beached goldfish, a man scooped the candle into his cloak, scuttling away. 

You wished you could melt into the tiles. 

Because the the worst imaginable person stared at you with betrayed shock. Camilo had seen everything.