𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 ᶜᵐ

13 ┃ 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨

━ ⭒─⭑━

Before the dawn had fully broken, you found yourself in the quiet sanctity of your room, kneeling before the large, ornately framed painting of Santa Muerte. The air was heavy with the scent of marigolds, the flowers traditionally believed to ward off evil spirits. With a deep, steadying breath, you closed your eyes, allowing the serene silence to envelop you, save for the soft whisper of your own voice as you began your morning prayer.

"Hear my prayers, Santa Muerte, mother of death, most Holy of all. May you give me strength to continue your work with your very presence. I ask, oh Holy Mother, that with your scythe you protect me from the dark spirits that wish to weaken my faith. Oh Miraculous Muerte, cleanse my soul for today and the days ahead so that I may continue to be your ever-faithful servant."

The words flowed from you in a reverent cadence, repeated twice more, each iteration accompanied by a bow of deep respect. Upon completing the third recitation, the two candles that flanked the painting flickered out in unison, a sign you took as an affirmation of your prayer being heard. A warmth, comforting and reassuring, washed over you, leaving a gentle smile on your lips as you rose.

Gathering the candles and other ritualistic items, you carefully put them away, knowing they would be called upon again for your nightly prayer. The moment of spiritual communion bolstered your resolve, infusing you with a sense of purpose and protection as you prepared to face the day ahead.

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Despite the spiritual fortitude you had drawn from your morning prayer, you were dead on your feet, your heart heavy with exhaustion as you made your way through the cobblestone streets of Encanto towards the town square. The encounter with Camilo, still fresh and stinging, weighs on your mind, casting a shadow over your already daunting task. Despite this, you muster every ounce of strength to push through, driven by a sense of duty and the fear of letting down the Madrigals, your father, and the spirits counting on you.

The ceremony is set to begin under the fading light of the day, the town square filled with the faces of those you've grown up with, those you've helped, and those you're about to guide in this sacred ritual. As you step onto the stage, your heart beats a frantic rhythm, not just from nervousness but from a deep-seated dread that something, somehow, might go wrong.

Drawing a deep breath, you begin, your voice carrying across the crowd. "I want to start by thanking Doña Alma and the Madrigal family, for not just their unwavering support in preparing for today, but for their constant guidance and love. Without them, and without all of you, none of this would be possible."

You then turn your attention to Isabela. "Isabela, if you would, please bring forth the sacred thistle." As you speak, Isabela steps forward, her hands dancing in the air, coaxing the earth to yield its treasure. A single thistle rises from the ground, its petals glowing with an ethereal light, a symbol of resilience and protection. It's not just a plant; it's a beacon, guiding spirits back to the world of the living.

"Louisa," you continue, your gaze shifting to where she stands, ready at the large cauldron. "Please place the thistle within." Louisa moves with purpose, her actions resonating with the significance of the moment. The thistle drops into the cauldron, its essence merging with the flames, sending plumes of fragrant smoke into the air.

Inhaling deeply, the smoke's mystical properties begin their work, easing the tension in your mind, opening the pathways to the spiritual realm. You feel the veil between worlds thinning, the presence of spirits drawing near, their whispers like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.