The story began, as many stories do, with a girl who bloomed too big for the space that the world had carved out for her. Her name was Cordelia Antoinette Bell, but everyone in her coastal New England town called her Lily. No one could remember if the nickname started before or after she planted her first famous garden, but all agreed that the name fit.
On the outside, Lily was a quiet girl, unremarkable except for her deep red hair, a gift from her Dutch ancestors, but on the inside, Lily’s mind blossomed in color. She spent sunrise to sunset working in her garden, and it was said that her poppies were redder than blood and her sweet peas attracted bees from miles away.
Lily’s gardens caught the eye of everyone in the town, including a young witch who lived on the outskirts of their community in a small ramshackle shack. The witch began visiting the girl in her garden day after day, demanding to know what spell Lily used to make her orchids unfurl and her roses bloom. Day after day Lily told the witch there was no spell. She could feel what the plants needed through her hands, and she did what they asked. It was as simple as that.
You’d think a witch would understand this kind of magic—the kind that comes to you as naturally as a breath. But deep down the witch was like most people—she didn’t trust what she didn’t understand, and her resentment grew thick and barbed as stinging nettle.
On the eve of Lily’s seventeenth birthday, her parents threw her an elaborate garden party, a debutante ball meant to show off Lily’s magical gardens and announce her eligibility to marry. The witch was passing by that night, her basket full of shellfish she’d gathered from the shore, and when she saw Lily dancing in her white dress among all of those beautiful flowers, her jealousy turned to rage. If Lily wouldn’t teach the witch her magic, then the witch would make sure she never practiced it again. The witch made her way to the middle of the dance floor, and in front of all the guests, she put a curse on Lily: Lily would never grow another flower for as long as she would live.
The party guests laughed it off, but not Lily. She had seen the look in the witch’s eye, and she felt the shift in the ground beneath her feet. What was done was done. Lily went into her house, dusted the earth off her satin shoes, and never touched her beloved garden again.
This was the beginning of the Bell family curse. From that day on, every Bell woman was cursed, their names a reminder of the things Lily had lost.
