Vereluna came alive with lights. They tangled up the streets like fever dreams, clinging to every eave. Papel picado (decorative paper banners) rattled in the wind. Threads of turquoise and crimson fluttered over the blur of faces. The town pitched its holiday mask to full effect.

Call it a festival, call it a selling point, just don’t call it home.

MJ weaved through the market with her head down, wide-brimmed hat shadowing her face, hands full of herbs and a braid of dried marigolds. Nochebuena flowers blazed along every rail and storefront.

She adjusted her mismatched socks, a small rebellion no one would notice. Festivities were for tourists anyway.

She sidestepped a family next to signs that read “AUTHENTIC PANQUETZALIZTLI EXPERIENCE!” in sparkling letters.

Authentic, whatever.

Her jaw clenched. She whistled softly, a melody her brother used to taunt her with. The sound lost in the press of tamale vendors, blaring music, and camera flashes to the swing of pinata bats.

She kept moving, heart beating wild. A long list of errands and places to volunteer scrolled through her mind—better to keep moving, to stay gone. Anything to stay out of the spotlight, out of the clan's orbit.

The flower shop bell chimed a nervous welcome. Inside, the air was damp and sweet with floral perfumes, vases packed with seasonal flowers and wild herbs. Cristina, the owner, grinned and waved.

“Hey MJ, you’re here early! Trying to dodge the sea of tourists?”

MJ shrugged and dropped the herbs on the counter.

“Humans love their pageantry. Whatever makes them feel special, I guess.”

Cristina laughed. “Let them pay to feel special. They can call it whatever they want, but what’s real stays with us.”

She gestured toward a vase. “You mind delivering these later?”

MJ nodded. She wove stems together. Her fingers moved without need for thought. Tying knots was easier than talking. She finished the bundle and ducked out before Cristina could offer cinnamon tea.

“Happy anything-and-everything,” she called behind her, the door jangle fading fast.

MJ swept through the alleyways. She dropped herbs on a neighbor’s doorstep, replaced wilted flowers on bakery windowsills, showed a shop clerk how to keep petals from browning. 

Always a tip, never a story. She refused thanks, sliding away before anyone found their words.

The side streets thinned. From a distance, MJ saw the crowd at the plaza. Tourists clustered, snapping photos as “locals” sculpted amaranth and passed out food with rehearsed smiles.

“Pageantry,” she scoffed, the word caught between her teeth.

She fished a tamarind candy from her pocket and unwrapped it with deliberate slowness. The sharp tang hit her tongue as she slipped past the hordes of bodies, anchoring her in the present.

MJ saw it all. Vendors hawked candy and trinkets; couples dragged each other through looping attractions; children shrieked and scrambled for falling sweets as paper stars burst overhead. She let it all roll past, a wave she’d rather not catch.

She kept her hands busy, always a motion to be made.

Keep moving. Stay ahead, and nobody can rope you into their spectacle.

***

Maya laughed, watching Ariel’s gaze bounce between paper banners, blinking lights, and the river of tourists.

“Wow, Vereluna really takes the holidays seriously,” Ariel said, surprise written all over her face.

“It’s mostly a show for the tourists,” Maya replied, shrugging. “Anything for money, right?”

Ariel gestured at the sea of red blooms. “So many Nochebuena flowers!”

Maya smirked. “You are such a big-city girl.”

Ariel folded her arms. “Why, because I said Nochebuena?”

Maya nodded. “City name.” She let the Nahuatl roll off her tongue. “It’s Cuetzlaxochitl.”

Ariel tried to repeat it, tongue stumbling. Maya’s laugh turned soft.

“You’ll get it. Just practice.”

They walked on, drifting toward Café de Lago. A blur zipped through the market—unmistakably MJ, all elbows and quick maneuvers. Ariel nudged Maya, pointing subtly.

“Hey, that’s your cousin?”

Maya acknowledged. Ariel waved; MJ slipped between shops and stands, a cyclone on a mission. Ariel waved again. MJ paused mid-step. Her side-eye glare was sharp as knives, then vanished around a corner.

Ariel lowered her hand, puzzled. “What’s she doing?”

Maya smiled with fond exasperation. “That’s MJ being MJ. She tends to be busy this time of year. Especially today.”

“Why?”

Maya leaned in. “It’s her birthday. She doesn’t do celebrations. Doesn’t want attention, doesn’t want a fuss. She celebrates by keeping gone.”

Ariel blinked. “Her birthday? Shouldn’t we…do something?”

“No,” Maya said, gentle but certain. “This is her gift. Let her work, let her move. Let her enjoy it quietly.”

***

At the West lake’s edge, color flattened into silver and violet. The sun dipped slowly down the horizon. The streets behind her echoed with bursts of festival noise, but here, MJ worked slower.

She pulled a small lantern from her bag and set it in the sand, sheltering the flame from the breeze. Copal and wax stung her nose.

 MJ hummed, low and tuneless, a prayer she learned when she was small. For her brother. For anyone who needed a candle burned in their name.

She skipped a stone. One bounce, two, sink. Another stone, another ripple out on the mirror of the lake. MJ let her mind empty.

A rustle and slow steps behind her. Maya and Ariel. MJ tensed, her sharp eyes scanning the two of them. Maya halted her approach. Her voice, soft, floated out.

“Just us, MJ. Just checking in. You ok?”

“You two should go back and join the festivities. I’m fine here,” MJ muttered.

Ariel glanced around, taking in the quiet. “I never knew Vereluna had a spot this empty. It’s pretty.”

MJ shrugged. She tossed another stone. Maya crouched beside her, lowering herself to the sand. Ariel found a spot and sat, not too close, not too far.

The festival lights continued, the noise echoing through the streets. Around the three of them, the air stretched thinner, cool and alive. MJ let herself breathe it in, slow for the first time all day.

Without looking up, MJ pulled a tamale from her bag, steam wafting up. She handed it to Maya. When Maya took it, she smirked and nudged Ariel.

“Ma cualli Panquetzaliztli,” MJ said. The phrase rolled off her tongue with a twinge of mischief.

Ariel blinked, unsure but polite. “Thanks. Happy Pan-kwetz-a-lee-tee?”

MJ’s lips curved. “Good try. Happy holidays, rock bird.” She offered a churro too.

As the food passed between them, MJ’s foot tapping slowed. She knelt by her lantern and whispered her brother’s name, a half-joke, half-bargain for the year ahead. The words floated away with the candlelight’s embers.

Maya reached over and bumped MJ’s shoulder.

“Hey—happy birthday MJ,” Maya said, smiling soft. “Next year, you let someone else bring the candles. Life’s a hike.”

“Still wearing sandals.” MJ shot back, finally relaxed.

Ariel watched, confused but not intrusive. “Both of them are wearing boots,” she muttered to herself. Then, more certain: “Happy birthday, MJ.” She bit into a churro, sugar and cinnamon lining her mouth.

For once, MJ let the scene stay quiet.

The festival echoed across the lake. Strangers shouted for candy, music wound through the trees, laughter and pop songs chased the dusk as cameras flashed.

MJ watched it all and felt the distance grow kind, not lonely.

Under her hand, the lantern warmed as the first stars appeared above the trees. She realized she didn’t mind letting them see her, not when she chose how much.

For tonight—

 That was enough.