Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vanessa will be fine.

The elder sister paces the pulsing carpet beneath her feet. It’s heart-shaped, of course, because what else would it be?

Vanessa will be fine. No poison can harm her.

The younger sister whips up a storm of paper and ink. Everything is out of her reach. All the better to train her power with.

Vanessa will be fine. She can defend herself.

The eldest brother twirls a four-leaf clover in his right hand, a glass of champagne and gold coins in the left. He hopes and wishes on his luck that Vanessa is okay. He’s right, of course. He’s always right when luck is involved.

Vanessa will be fine.

Chapter Text

Nessa’s fine. She’s been riding for a couple hours, following news from her tía of another magical family to the west, thirty miles away from her home. She’s made it most of the way, leaving a trail of flowering tobacco to guide her home as her criollo, Oriana, follows Octavia’s guide. Only five minutes left until she arrives, according to the guide, and the flowers. Miercoles, the flowers. They cover every inch of ground, bougainvillea and jacaranda and heliconia, sugar flowers and blazingstars and begonias, rich in color and dense. Nessa is sad to trample them.

Two halves of a mountain, split straight down the middle, loom over her like giants. The crack between them is wide enough to allow a large airplane, so Nessa knows she’ll be just fine. She slows Oriana’s gait to a walk as she enters the village, which—unsurprisingly—is bright with the bustle of everyday life. People stop to wave and smile at her. One person, their form shifting rapidly, gestures for her to follow them to a massive house at the end of the road.

They shift into what seems to be a stable form and flash a mischievous smile. “Hello, strange person. I’m Camilo Madrigal. Pronoun-wise, call me whatever, I don’t care. Sweet prosthetic arm, by the way. I suppose you’ve heard about our humble abode?”

Nessa laughs and dismounts her horse. “Something like that. I’m Vanessa Rosales, but you can call me Nessa if you like. I’m from the next encanto over. Thirty miles away, due east. Wanted to meet the people Tía Octavia’s Guide said were so strong.”

“So your family is Blessed, too?”

She nods. “Have been for nine generations. Bisabuela Yesenia came to Ciuego in the mid-1700s, we’ve been around ever since. Seni’s Blessing was in a bag of marmalade bush seeds. They grow everywhere now.”

“Jesus, that sounds like some hardy magic.” Camilo whistles and beckons Nessa inside. “Not like ours used to be. It was a candle that never burnt out. Not anymore, but when it was…” He cringes. “Our magic almost died after a family fight, fueled by fifty years of generational trauma. Oh, and here’s Abuela!”

“Thank you, amorfe. Who is this?” The old woman’s eyes are world-weary but soft. Nessa can tell that she was the first one to be Blessed from the way she carries herself, as if the weight of fifty worlds rests on her shoulders and she is trying her best to bear it.

Nessa nods to her kindly. “I’m Vanessa Rosales, she/her. I’m from Ciuego, the next encanto eastward. My Tía Octavia sensed your magic with her guide a few days back, so I came to hopefully establish a friendship and partnership between our families.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rosales. I am Alma Madrigal, matriarch of this family. But please, call me Abuela. She/her as well.” Alma holds out a wrinkled hand for Nessa to shake and is quickly obliged. “I assume you’d like to meet the rest of the family?”

“Of course, that would be great, Abuela. I’ve already met Camilo, of course—ae’re quite the character.”

“Certainly.” Abuela chuckles. “Come, The family needs introducing. Have some chocolate santafereño ; Julieta always makes too much.”

“Thank you, Abuela.” The drink is steaming hot and spiced with fennel, just how Nessa’s amá always makes it. She pulls a dried oleander blossom from her pocket and drops it into the cup.

“You just put oleander in your chocolate santafereño .” A young woman in a rainbow dress gasps and dashes over. “You do know that’s deadly, right?”

Nessa takes a sip. “It’s fine. I’m immune to natural poisons.”

“But you’re not a Madrigal,” The woman squints, “If you were, I would know. Why is Abuela being so nice to you?”

Abuela chuckles. “Isabela, this is Vanessa Rosales. She’s from Ciuego, another encanto to the east.”

Isabela straightens and nods. “Sorry, Abuela. Um, I’m Isabela Madrigal. She/flor. Sorry if I was rude, I’m not great with trust.”

Nessa snorts. “No big deal. Trust issues are something I have far too much experience with.”

There’s a loud crash across the courtyard, followed by a shrill shout of “Luisa, you useless lesbian, I know she’s cute, but we have work to do! Stop ogling the poor girl and help me fix this cabinet!”

“Sorry!” A deeper voice responds. “But it’s not like you’re functional around cute girls either, Mirabel ‘bisexual rainbows not-so-subtly embroidered on my shirt’ Madrigal!”

Isabela laughs. “Those are my sisters, Luisa and Mirabel. They’re great.” She indicates two girls on the balcony across the courtyard. Mirabel is short, with curly bobbed hair and round glasses, and Luisa… holy shit.

Nessa nearly chokes on her chocolate santafereño . Luisa is tall and extremely muscular, with possibly the biggest biceps Nessa has ever seen. And to top it off, she’s cute as hell and smiling from ear to ear.

Nessa is so gay.

“And that’s two more for today’s gay panic tally.” Isabela pulls out a notepad and scribbles two tick marks. “Seriously, though, I’m glad it wasn’t aimed at me this time. If one more person tries to hit on me, I swear I will have poison ivy growing from their ass.”

It takes a moment for Nessa to process everything Isabela just said. “I—you—plants?”

The latter waves her hand and a large hibiscus bush springs up from the ground.

“Me too, actually! Well, only poisonous ones, but still plants.” Nessa pulls a bouquet of foxglove from her arm. “Not sure why my gift is murder plants, but it works.”

“Wow, can you teach me?” Isabela’s expression is one of excitement and awe. “I’ve been wanting to grow my plant index. We can use my room, if you want.”

“Maybe in a bit.” Nessa looks to her left, only to see that Abuela seems to have disappeared. “Would you be so kind as to introduce me to the rest of the family? Well, except Camilo. I already met her.”

“Sure. Come with me.” 

The two take a few turns into the kitchen, then up a flight of stairs to the balcony, which has glowing doors on all sides. One at the base of a tower is closest, so Nessa is led there first. The engravings on the door are of a short man meditating, stern-faced, over an hourglass—the sign of seers—with the name “Bruno” across the top in a curling font. Isabela approaches the door gently and raps out a pattern.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-scratch.

“Isa” in morse code, Nessa notices. 

There’s a lower series of knocks from the other side— scratch-scratch-scratch. Tap-scratch-scratch-tap. Tap. Scratch. “Open,” again in morse code.

Isabela opens the door. 

Waiting inside is a shorter man, maybe 5’5”, in a green poncho and light brown pants. He’s fumbling and fidgeting with his hands, an anxious look in his eyes. His curly hair would, from a distance, look gray, but from a closer perspective, it’s just ungodly amounts of grayish-tan sand. His head jerks to the side a couple times.

“Hey, Tío Bruno,” Isabela chirps, “Someone I want you to meet.”

“Nessa Rosales, sir. She/her. I’m from the next encanto over. You a seer?”

He nods. “I’m Bruno— pop —Bruno Madrigal. He/they. Yeah, I’m a— tick, tick, tick —seer. You know more?”

“Yes,” Nessa agrees, “I have twin cousins, Daniela and Dianira. They’re attached at the hip, which explains why they got intertwining gifts. Abuela tried to give them separate seeds to plant, but they merged into one and the girls got the same flower. Share a room, too.”

“Seeds?”

“Oh, I forgot—you don’t have magic seeds. Our magic came to us in the form of a packet of seeds, so when one of us turns five, we’re given a seed to plant. It grows into a flower, which gives us our gift—but Dani and Dia’s seeds merged.” Nessa sits in the sand and pops a fried rosary pea in her mouth. “Forced their hands together like a magnet. When they planted it, it grew two identical flowers, and now, whenever they spout a prophecy, they subconsciously take turns with the verses. Real inconvenience when they’re apart.”

“I can imagine,” Bruno chuckles. “Hard enough for— tick, tick —one person to handle a prophecy. I hid in the walls for a full decade because of it. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock on wood.” With the last ‘knock,’ he punches his forehead. He stares at his fist dejectedly.

Nessa winces. “Oof, that doesn’t sound fun. I had to leave my town to stop the townspeople from learning that I can’t live without eating poison and ostracizing me.”

Bruno squeaks in shock but quickly regains composure. “You need to eat poison to—pop—live?”

“Oh, yes. Only plant poisons, though. I make an excellent manchineel pie.” She hums and pops a few more fried rosary peas in her mouth. “Not that it would be safe for you to eat. Manchineels cause severe damage to the gastrointestinal tract. And don’t ask for any of the snacks I have; they’re all deadly.”

Isabella finally pipes up with a vehement, “What the hell ?”