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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Mirabel stepped in front of her second cousin's door, staring down at the beaming face etched into the wood. Camilo's door was always one that didn't seem to change much. Unlike the rest of the family, whose doors seemed to age with them, his almost stayed exactly the same.
The only thing that changed was the size of the lines behind him. Those silhouettes were the only passage of time evident in his door. But, something that no one in the family ever noticed was that Camilo's image did change. It was subtle, but there were changes.
A few more curls here.
A fuller face there.
His appearance only slightly changed on the door. And yet, the more Mirabel stared, the more normal it seemed to her. And so, she grasped the doorknob and twisted it open, quietly entering the room.
Unlike Dolores' room, Mirabel could recall the last time she had been in Camilo's. It had been a few nights before her own gift ceremony and a month or so after (Name)'s. The trio had spent their night together in Camilo's room, chatting with each other until they ultimately passed out on the floor.
From what she could remember, Camilo's room was full of trinkets and junk. Ever the trickster, Camilo often stole, or rather borrowed as he liked to call it, things from the people of Encanto, keeping them safe in his room until they either demanded it back or it was forgotten. The only time she ever saw him give things back without demand from the townspeople was when his mother and father got involved, scolding him lightly and bringing him door to door to deliver the stolen goods.
She also remembered the colors. The bright mix of orange, (F/Color), and teal would be permanently engraved in her mind, the messy splotches of color covering the walls and floors like splattered paint. She loved that about his room. It was always so vibrant and carefree and just so Camilo.
So why did she catch a glimpse of an empty canvas, one that Camilo wouldn't normally be caught dead in?
"...Camilo?" Once his name left her mouth, the boy she had spotted curled up in his bed jumped up from the covers, his room transforming into a similar mix of orange and teal that she had last seen just before she turned five.
"Mirabel?!" Camilo exclaimed, his body twisting and turning until he finally fell off his bed, landing on the hardwood floor with a harsh thud. He wheezed as he scrambled to his feet, shaking off the uncontrolled shapeshifting his body had undergone before rushing towards Mirabel, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where were you, prima?! We were all looking for you! Abuela was looking for you!"
"I know," Mirabel laughed, knowing deep down that she was trying to put off the inevitable spiral she would witness from one of her closest cousins. "I heard you a few minutes ago. You turned into a baby."
