It was Abigail who knocked on Thalia’s cabin door.

Abigail had known for years what the townspeople only suspected, and she reasoned that if Thalia was their live-in servant, she could no longer be her daughter’s best friend. Her husband could no longer look at the girl with that mixture of regret and sadness, the flames of gossip so close, she could feel their heat. With Thalia under her roof, Abigail would have full control. She made the girl a proposal: If Thalia would be the Bells’ servant, she could live in their house. She would no longer be Lily’s friend, but she could wait on her, and thus have security and safety.

Thalia was frightened and alone, numb with grief, and so she said yes. Of course she did.

And so began Thalia’s life in the Bell household. For nearly three years, Thalia lived in the uppermost bedroom, scrubbing stairways and stoking fires. The room was drafty in the winter, and sweltering in the summer, but Thalia had never known anything different, and besides, she would have lived in far worse conditions to be near her beloved Lily. What did a room matter?

For her part, Lily rebelled at her mother’s demands to treat Thalia as a servant, and whenever she could evade her mother’s gaze, she worked alongside Thalia. In the evenings she snuck upstairs to Thalia’s room, where they spent their time reading aloud and exchanging stories. And Frederick, who had spent the better part of two decades at sea, began spending long stretches of time at home, playing games in the garden with the girls, and taking long walks after dinner. Frederick had been haunted by his decision to abandon Sophronia for so long, it had aged him, turning his beard gray and his back stooped, and now with both girls under his roof, his eyes were calm for the first time in years. He even returned to church, reading his Bible and saying his prayers as devout as any minister, and this concerned Abigail most of all. What if his newfound piety moved him to confess his sin? What if he laid bare the fact that he had had two daughters, both of whom now lived under his roof?

Before long, Frederick began inviting Thalia to ride in the family carriage and insisting that she sit with the family at dinner. When they sat at night to read the family Bible, he occasionally asked Thalia to read aloud his favorite passages from Psalms. “For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee.” He took the girls to the tea-scented wharf to see the many exciting oddities arriving on ships from faraway places, and when he learned of Thalia’s interest in the natural world, he made sure she was there to witness every new animal arrival. On the wharf, she met clever monkeys and brightly colored parrots. She even felt with her own hand the thick, wrinkled skin of an elephant, sailed all the way from India on its way to New York City.

Abigail began to find sketches in Frederick’s office of mermaid girls, their eyes piercing, their hair wild, and she felt her control slipping from her grasp. The situation reached a head when Frederick returned from an overseas trip with two heart-shaped lockets, an L etched into one, T in the other. The lockets were a watchman’s cry, a warning. Abigail knew then that the secret would not be contained for long. She couldn’t hear the whispers yet but she could feel them pressing in around her, and she heard her own mother’s voice in her ear, “Take power where you can get it. Protect your family’s reputation at all costs.” She knew she needed to distinguish the girls from each other, remind her husband which one was the legitimate daughter. And so she made a plan.

At the end of summer, when Lily’s garden was sure to be at its fullest, the Bells would host an elaborate garden party, a celebration of Lily’s talents and an announcement for her eligibility to marry. Her daughter would be the pinnacle, the center of attention. In contrast, Thalia would serve the guests with the other servants. The dynamic would be set, her family safe. All would be well.

Lily met the news of the party with dismay. She had no interest in marriage, now or ever. Ever since Thalia had moved in, Lily had begun dreaming of faraway gardens dripping with blossoms and scents she’d only read about—jasmine and saffron, enormous lotuses blooming in crystal pools in marble palaces. She dreamed of large halls and libraries where she’d learn the names of every plant, studying the way they fit into the world. She had no interest in a life like her mother’s, one where her power was gained in meanness and hidden measures. She wanted the world.

Thalia had been born with the world inside of her, so what she wanted was simple: she wanted Lily to be happy.

Over flickering candles and long whispered talks, the girls made their plan. The night of the ball, when the family was occupied with their guests, Lily and Thalia would meet on the beach and then make their way by train to New York City. There they’d find a boarding house, someplace that allowed young women to live alone, and find jobs as governesses or in factories until they’d saved enough money for Lily to find admittance to one of the universities slowly opening their doors to women. They’d figure it out, the two of them, the way they always had.

They locked their intention over the dancing candlelight, pledging their devotion to each other and their plan, and Lily saw in her best friend’s eyes a dedication so firm and unwavering, she knew nothing would ever come between them.

Later, after Thalia had betrayed her, Lily would marvel at the way candlelight could hide a person’s true feelings. She would wonder how she hadn’t seen it, the way her friend’s jealousy and resentment had grown in the shadows. Her mistake was in seeing what she wanted to see.

The day of the party, Lily was so nervous she could hardly keep a thought in her head. Walkways were swept, windows scrubbed, the tables laid with exquisite china and delicate porcelain. The gardens, as though sensing the celebration, were particularly resplendent, every flower determined to outshine the next.

Lily’s hair was washed and set, her lips rouged, and her temples pressed with rosewater. A few minutes before the ball, Thalia helped her into her new gown, a cream-colored silk trimmed with blond lace and metallic rosettes.

When Abigail caught sight of Lily and Thalia coming down the stairs together, she gasped with delight. Her daughter was so radiant, she completely outshone everyone around her, most notably the girl beside her in the simple wool dress.

Lily began the evening thinking only of Thalia and their plan to escape, but the attention and admiration she received from the townspeople had a dizzying effect. She was used to being admired for her gardens, for the way she made flowers grow, but she’d never been admired for being herself, and the effect was nearly as intoxicating as the bright red poppies blooming along the perimeter of the walkway. As the night proceeded, she found herself checking the clocks less often, her cheeks becoming more flushed. She was so captivating, so in her element, that every young man asked to dance with her, every woman whispered their admiration, and slowly, slowly, she forgot about the plan.

Thalia sat on the beach for hours, watching the tide, checking the moon, listening to the whispering of the stars. By the time she saw the first rays of dawn, she finally felt her heart harden, her love falter. Thalia, who had known deep down for years who her true parentage was, who had lost her mother, who had spent years banished to the upper bedroom of a home she should have lived in in comfort, was being betrayed yet again, and this was the time that broke her.

Thalia snapped.

There were many accounts of what happened next. Some said Thalia appeared in the middle of the Bells’ garden as sudden as a storm cloud. Others say the girls met on the walk, and it was only their voices that were overheard. One man even claimed to have seen Thalia standing in the upper bedroom window, her arms held overhead as she uttered the words of the malediction. But everyone remembered the crucial point: Thalia pronounced a curse on Lily, and then disappeared into the night.

For years afterward, the town gleefully told and retold the story of the ungrateful Thalia, who after being taken in by the Bell family had succumbed to vanity and jealousy. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. That’s what happened when you invited a witch into your home.

The event so upset Lily that she retired from her gardens, leaving her resplendent blooms to be cared for by the servants. She married one of the young men from the party, and she went on to be a productive member of the community. All that remained of her great talent were a few memories, and if it weren’t for the names she gave her daughters, it would be as though it had never happened at all.

Once the curse had been planted in the Bell family, it never left. Generation to generation, the Bell women carried it with them. From that night on, every Bell woman would know with a burning intensity the thing they wanted most, and not one of them would get it. It was a pity. But that is what happened when you turned a blind eye to the darkness in someone else.

And Thalia? She was never seen or heard from again.

Find Lily.