dyschronometria (n.) - a condition of cerebellar dysfunction in which an individual cannot accurately estimate the amount of time that has passed (i.e., distorted time perception).
OR
in which (name) madrigal struggles with their gift of freezing ti...
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The story of the Madrigal miracle was one that always fascinated (Name). Much like the rest of their relatives, they grew up clinging to their abuela's every word, the story of their Abuelo Pedro echoing in their mind as the years dragged on. They cherished this story as one of the only memories they could vividly remember.
See, (Name) always had trouble with memory. Either they could only recall bits and pieces or they could recall nothing at all. Big gaps were present in their mind, their thoughts jumbling together and the time escaping them.
And yet, with all of these issues plaguing their memory, the story their abuela loved to tell remained a staple in their mind.
"Abuela?" (Name) called out softly, a mere whisper leaving their lips as they nestled in their bed. Mirabel, the only other child awake in the nursery, seemed to know exactly what her younger cousin seemed to want. Camilo, on the other hand, had long since fallen asleep and was huddled underneath the blanket, his chubby hand clutching (Name)'s pajama shirt.
"Yes, mi vida?" Abuela hummed quietly, her hands holding the flickering candle the children had grown to admire. (Name) and Mirabel shared a glance, their smiles bright as the candle's flame sparkled in their eyes.
"Can you tell us the story again?" (Name) requested, earning a smile and a laugh from the older woman.
"I've already told you the story five times," Alma pointed out. (Name) nodded their head excitedly, letting out a quiet squeak when their older brother shifts in the bed.
"I know that," (Name) whispered after a few moments, staring down at the blanket covering their lap. "But... I like hearing it."
"I know that, but your ceremony is coming up," Abuela continued, glancing over at the clock placed on the counter. "We have a lot of preparations to handle, tomorrow. I think it's best for you to get some rest, just like Camilo."
"But, Abuela," (Name) whined, their lip jutting out in a pout. Alma let out another laugh and patted the child's head, a fond smile on her face as she pushed herself up to her feet, tiptoeing towards the nursery door.
"Dulces sueños--" Alma's lips snapped shut when she turned to see (Name) and Mirabel already buried in their sheets. It hadn't even been thirty seconds, and yet the children had already passed out in their beds. (Name) had somehow slipped underneath their covers without disturbing Camilo, clinging onto his arm as soft snores escaped their lips.
As quiet as she could, Alma turned and closed the door behind her, holding the candle close to her chest.
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