And still we must try once more. This time with the truth.

The story ended as it began, with a girl alone on an ocean shore, her destiny rising with the tide. Thalia had always known Lily was her sister, in the same way she knew the moon would empty and fill, but what she didn’t know was how far Abigail would go to make sure no one else knew.

Frederick had been unwell for close to a year by then. Doctors had been consulted, and nothing could be done. The night before the debutante ball, Frederick called the girls to his study. There he asked Lily if she might like to attend school. A college in Ohio had begun admitting women, and there was a program devoted to botany. Thalia could travel as Lily’s companion, and if she liked, perhaps she could find an area of study to excel in as well.

The sisters stared at each other in disbelief. Lily was ecstatic, her face shining, hair spilling from its twist, and Thalia, always the quieter of the two, could barely contain her laugh. They would no longer have to run away together. Their dreams had been handed to them as easily as the velvet box he handed to them next. Their gift was a set of golden lockets, a turtledove engraved on each. Two sisters, always together.

Lily’s locket was a lovely gift, but Thalia’s was a declaration. He had not said it in words, but Frederick had declared her his daughter, and with it, offered his acceptance and love. A deep feeling of relief swept over Thalia, and as she placed the locket around her neck, she felt her mother beside her, the words Sophronia had spoken over her nearly every night as a child suddenly in her ear. “All is as it is. So mote it be, today, tonight, under moon, over sea.”

After dinner that night, Lily and Thalia met in the garden, their hands clasped in excitement. It was the end of childhood. They could feel it in the way the summer heat lingered in the evening air, in the sway of the willow branches around them. The morning would bring them a new world, but tonight was theirs.

They spent the night in Lily’s midnight garden. Moonflowers opened, the bright yellow evening primrose and night blooming jasmine following suit. Even the night scented orchid opened to peek at the moon.

It was Lily who asked to exchange lockets. A few moments before dawn, they stood together under the willow tree, and as Lily placed her locket over her sister’s heart, she made a promise. No matter what the future held, they would remain together, their hearts as intertwined as the wisteria that grew along the house. Nothing could come between them, not now, not ever.

Thalia’s heart was filled with joy, and as she gazed up into the branches of the willow tree, she caught a glimpse of the future the way she sometimes did. She expected to see Lily among other young women at the school, thick books clutched to her chest, eyes heavy after a night of reading. But what she saw instead was this: a long white dress. Pink-cheeked babies. Years of dusting and soft satin slippers and stacks of teacups and books and letters.

She didn’t see flowers, and she didn’t see herself.

No matter how hard she looked, it was only Lily in this future. But Thalia kept that to herself. The future has always been malleable, and she didn’t want to frighten her sister. Besides, dawn was already on its way, its pink hues lightening even the heaviest thoughts.

The girls stayed up nearly until dawn, and when Abigail found them the next morning in the upper room, they were fast asleep, their red hair tangled together on the pillow, their new lockets clasped around their necks.

That was the moment Abigail made her decision.

It was late in the evening, the garden full of partygoers, when Abigail, holding a valise, ordered Thalia to follow her to the moon-swept beach. They walked in silence, and when they arrived, Abigail told Thalia her options. The valise contained jewelry and money, all items that the town would soon believe Thalia had stolen. A ship sat in the harbor, paused in Salem on its way to England. Its occupants were steadily working, preparing for imminent departure. Thalia could either board the ship tonight and use the items in the valise to create a new life for herself or stay and face imprisonment.

If Thalia left, Lily would be allowed to continue with her gardens and be sent to school. If Thalia stayed, Lily would suffer. Frederick’s doctors had told him he would likely not make it to the following summer, and once he was gone, Abigail would take Lily’s gardens away and forbid her from attending school. Either way, Abigail would see to it that Thalia never came near her daughter again. The choice was hers.

Thalia listened quietly, and as she looked at the hardness in Abigail’s eyes, she knew she was hearing truth. She also knew that Frederick would pass much sooner than everyone suspected. He had one moon cycle, maybe two before he would take his final breath, and Abigail would be the one left with all the control. If she left now, she could at least leave Lily her flowers.

Without saying a word, Thalia reached down and carefully took the valise. It was the only time she saw Abigail smile.

Abigail paid the ship’s captain in gold to take the girl as a passenger without leaving a record of where she had gone. No one was meant to hear from her again.

Thalia stepped onto the ship, keeping her back to Salem and Lily. She kept her eyes fixed on the dark ocean ahead, the horizon blurring through her tears, but the moon steady above her. She would do anything to protect her sister. Even leave.

All is as it is. So mote it be, today, tonight, under moon, over sea.

As the ship pulled away from the harbor, Lily felt a shift that stopped her feet on the dance floor. It was as though the world had suddenly tilted on its axis. She went to the kitchen to look for Thalia, but was only met with her mother, who insisted she return to the party.

When the party was over and Thalia was discovered missing, Lily became frantic. By morning, the entire town knew the story. Thalia, the young woman who had been so kindly taken in by the Bells, had succumbed to vanity and jealousy, and then the night of the ball had shown her true colors by stealing from the family and then escaping into the night.

The curse came later.

As Lily became more and more heartsick, her garden fell into ruin, and soon rumors swirled that the young witch had stolen more from the Bells than just their valuables; she had stolen Lily’s extraordinary gift. Some said Thalia had left her curse written in soot in front of the family’s hearth. Two women claimed to have seen an X drawn in blood across Lily’s favorite rosebushes. One man claimed to have seen Thalia standing in the shadows during the party, arms overhead, mumbling a curse as Lily danced.

Sometimes, the truth of a story lies only in how many times it’s told, and the Bell family curse took root as quickly and as wildly as the willow tree in Lily’s garden. If you were a Bell woman, you were cursed. Even if you claimed not to believe in it, you carried it with you—if only in the curve of your hip or the restlessness in your heart.

But the curse’s real tragedy was the effect it had on the relationships between the Bell women. No matter how deeply you loved your sister or mother, aunt or cousin, grandmother or daughter, the curse wound its way in, pulling at the relationship’s roots and blotting out the sun. If you were a Bell woman, you expected to lose the one you loved most.

The last story is ours. You know where to find it.