☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents:
The Legend of Belladonna Briar & the Cursed Courter
Oh you’re back, are you? Couldn’t resist another cup of cursed romance? You darling little danger-sniffer. Well buckle up, sugarplum, because this tale’s got thorns.
Belladonna Briar was the original Bad Witch with a Garden. Roses that bled. Ivy that whispered secrets. A willow tree that was rumored to weep for the lovers it buried. Her manor? A vine-wrapped dream, veiled in fog, hidden by spells and sass.
She was elegance and venom, enchantment and razor wit. And she had rules, darlings.
- Never pick her roses without permission.
- Never ask her about the scar on her neck.
- Never, ever fall in love with her.
Enter: Thorne Evernight. A duelist. A prince. A walking scandal in a velvet coat. He arrived at her gate with a cursed ring, a silver tongue, and a request—break the enchantment binding his heart, or he’d never be able to love again.
Now Belladonna, being as dramatic as she was divine, said no.
Three times.
He refused to leave.
Three nights.
By the fourth moon, she said yes—but with a challenge: He had to spend seven nights in her garden without losing his mind, his soul, or his shirt. (She didn’t specify in what order.)
What followed was a whirlwind of flirtation and fury. He danced with the statues. She turned his wine to thorns. He wrote her poems that caught fire. She kissed him under the moon and then pretended it never happened.
But oh, my dears, by the seventh night? He was hers. And she… was terrified.
Because that cursed ring? It wasn’t keeping him from loving. It was keeping him alive. And the moment it came off? His time would start running out.
So what did our Belladonna do?
She broke her own heart.
She sent him away.
She locked her garden and cast a spell so that no man could find it again.
Legend says he died with her name on his lips.
But the real tea? That cursed ring showed up on her doorstep a year later—glowing. Pulsing. And inside it… a heartbeat.
Some say she keeps it in a glass box, whispering to it on stormy nights. Others say she used it to grow a rose that only blooms under a blood moon—and whoever smells it will dream of their true love’s last words.
Either way, darlings… the garden still grows.
And Belladonna? Well. No one’s seen her in a century.
But every so often, a velvet coat shows up caught in her brambles.
Coincidence? Ha. You know better than that.
— Alice, Mad Mad Queen of Petals and Poison
