Even when she pulls back, her hands don't stray from Mirabel - picking dirt from her curls, from her clothes, moving, moving, moving. Like a whirlwind, Pepa is, just as she's always been. Even in this bizarre, dark place, it doesn't change.

Her face falls a little at the answer. Her newfound habit of not bottling things up so much has been great for her, but terrible for her poker face.

"Oh, Mirabel - it's okay. It's okay, we're going to be okay." A bit of jabbering, assuring herself as much as her niece. "We have each other, and we are still Madrigals, together."

Her smile twitches.

"Powers, or no powers."