━ ⭒─⭑━
As you find yourself at the heart of the ceremony, a sudden, inexplicable force bursts forth from within you, casting Camilo, your father, and the onlooking Madrigals away as if they were mere leaves caught in a fierce wind. Their bodies are flung backward, expressions etched with a mix of utter shock and deep fear, as they struggle to comprehend the unseen power that has just torn through the fabric of reality.
In the midst of this chaos, your form begins a slow, eerily graceful ascent, rising above the cobblestones of the town square. Arms extend outward, your posture mirroring a figure of crucifixion, head lolling backward in a silent plea to the heavens. Your eyes, now glowing a deep, menacing red, fixate on the darkened sky above, a silent witness to the storm that rages not just outside, but within.
Around you, the rain intensifies, each drop a torrential downpour that seeks to drown the world in its sorrow. Yet, remarkably, not a single droplet touches you; they veer away at the last moment, repelled by an unseen shield that encircles your levitating form. This bubble of dryness amidst the deluge becomes a symbol of your isolation, the physical manifestation of the barrier that now separates you from everything you hold dear.
From below, your father's voice cuts through the storm's cacophony, desperate and laden with an agony that mirrors the tumult in your own soul. "Muñequita, please!" he cries, his plea a beacon of love in the overwhelming darkness. But it's as if you're in another world entirely, his words unable to bridge the distance that this unseen force has created.
Inside, trapped within the confines of your own mind, you're a spectator to your own body's betrayal, screaming for release, for any semblance of control. Yet, your cries echo back, unanswered, in this prison of darkness until a chillingly familiar voice whispers, offering no comfort, only resignation. "There's no use. You might as well give up."
Turning, you're met with Sidero's visage, a ghostly figure who had once been a source of comfort, now the architect of your despair. Relief at the sight of him quickly morphs into confusion and then horror as you realize what he meant.
"Sidero," you start, voice trembling with a mix of betrayal and disbelief, "why?"
He looks at you, his expression a complex tapestry of sorrow and resolve. "I suppose it's time you knew the truth," he begins, his voice echoing strangely in the confines of your internal prison.
The space around you shifts, colors and shapes melding into scenes from a past not your own. You watch, helpless, as Sidero narrates the tale of his life—and his death. "I was just a boy, no older than you are now," he says, the scenery changing to show a vibrant town, its life snuffed out by disease. "My family, my friends... I watched them fall, one by one, to an illness we had no means to fight."
You see him there, a young boy with eyes too old for his face, the specter of death looming over his town. "Encanto was a mere legend to us, a whispered fairy tale of magic and miracles. But when I passed, and I saw it... saw them," he continues, the vision morphing to show the Madrigals in all their vibrant glory, "I realized the truth."
The bitterness in his voice is palpable as he recounts how he latched onto you, a lifeline to the physical world, during a moment of your own vulnerability. "You were so close to death, so close to joining me in the void. But you lived. And through you, I saw my chance for... justice."
The word hangs heavy between you, a condemnation of the Madrigals' perceived selfishness. "They had the power to heal, to save, but they chose to hide away. My family, my town, we could have been saved. But we were left to suffer, to die, because they wouldn't leave their precious Encanto."
The visions Sidero conjures are vivid, heart-wrenching—images of suffering and despair outside the magical borders of Encanto, a stark contrast to the peace and prosperity within. "And so, I made you my vessel, a bridge between the living and the dead. Through you, I'd bring them to their knees, make them see the cost of their isolation."
As the last of his words fade, the visions dissolve, leaving you back in the dark recesses of your own mind, facing the ghost who had been your friend, your confidant. Now, he stands revealed as the architect of your torment, a spirit consumed by vengeance and a twisted sense of justice.
"Sidero, how could you?" The question is a whisper, a reflection of the hurt and betrayal that courses through you. His plan, his hatred for the Madrigals, has turned your gift into a curse, made you the unwitting perpetrator of his revenge.
As Siderio's scowl fades, replaced by a look of what might be construed as regret, he steps closer, his movements slow, almost hesitant. "If there was another way, I'd do it," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the cold anger that had filled the space between you moments before. He reaches out, his hand coming to rest gently against your cheek, a gesture that once would have offered solace now only serves to heighten the sense of betrayal coiling within you.
You instinctively turn away, repelled by the touch that now feels like a violation. His hand falls away, and a huff of frustration escapes him. "You'll understand sooner or later," he insists, the softness giving way once more to bitterness. "Those Madrigals are selfish, caring for nothing but themselves." His frown deepens, the scowl returning as his eyes begin to glow an ominous red, mirroring the storm of emotions raging within him.
His rant escalates, anger and resentment fueling his words until they are a venomous tirade against the Madrigals. "They deserve to pay for their crimes," he declares, the intensity of his fury sealing you away, leaving you a silent witness to his full possession of your body.
In the heart of Encanto's town square, with the Madrigals and townsfolk gathered in a tense circle, the atmosphere thickens with anticipation. Your body becomes a conduit for Siderio's fury; his voice, emanating from you, is laced with venom, each word a dagger aimed at the heart of the Madrigal family.
"People of Encanto," Siderio begins, his tone dripping with disdain, "you stand here, blind to the selfishness that festers within the walls of that magical house." The crowd shifts uneasily, the air charged with a growing sense of unease.
"For years," he continues, "the Madrigals have hoarded their gifts, basking in your adoration while just beyond these walls, people suffer, people die—abandoned and forgotten." Murmurs ripple through the assembly, faces turning towards the Madrigals, seeking denial, seeking reassurance.
"Alma Madrigal," Siderio's voice booms, "patriarch of this so-called blessed family. Tell them, tell them about the families that could have been saved, the lives that could have been spared if only you had stepped beyond your precious boundaries."
The accusation hits like a physical blow, and Alma stands, her posture that of a leader, yet the sorrow in her eyes speaks volumes. "We did what we thought was best to protect our own," she starts, her voice barely above a whisper as she attempts to explain, to justify. "The world beyond our home is fraught with danger. We couldn't risk exposing our family, our children, to that—"
"Protect your own? Excuses!" he scoffs, his voice growing bitter, as he recounts the loss of his own family, the helplessness and despair that marked his final moments. "My family... we could have been saved. But you chose to keep your gifts to yourselves, hoarding your miracles while the rest of us perished. What of the children who starved, while your tables overflowed with food? Your gifts, a beacon of hope you chose to extinguish for those not fortunate enough to be born within your enchanted borders."
Gasps and murmurs swell in the crowd, the image of the Madrigals as protectors and heroes cracking under the weight of Siderio's words. Children cling to their parents, their eyes wide with fear and confusion, while the younger Madrigals, those who had grown under the shelter of innocence and pride, look to Alma, their foundation, now questioned.
"You speak of danger beyond the walls, but the true danger lies in your greed, in your refusal to share your miracles," Siderio rages on, his anger palpable. "While you chose to watch from your walls, people died. Families were torn apart. And for that, you shall all pay."
The declaration, a curse spoken through tears and centuries of pent-up bitterness, leaves the square in stunned silence. Alma, the matriarch, the symbol of the Madrigal legacy, stands diminished, her struggle to defend her family's choices laid bare before those she sought to protect and those she inadvertently harmed.
━•༓☾ ❝ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀/𝐍 ❞ ☽༓•━
***poor siderio 💔💔. and not me having an exam tomorrow 💀 finna cram study so hard then have an existential crisis with the realization that the professor gave me weeks in advance to learn the materials for a reason🥴
(tactus mortis)
camilo madrigal x fem!medium!reader
@winxanity_ii
(wattpad)
~
ⓇⒺⓂⒺⓂⒷⒺⓇ:
ᴠᴏᴛᴇ 💛 / ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ💜 / ѕнᴀʀᴇ 💙
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