Annabell's grandmother adjusts her posture, her back turning into a rigid pole. She was in a strange room that resembled an attic.

"Elle, I am severely disappointed in how you have chosen to spend your life! You are an arrogant fool who weighs everything based on beauty!" speaks Gram to Annabell's mother. No one calls her Elle anymore, since she insists that everyone else address her as Eileena. But, of course, Gram has never cared.

"I hereby use the family spell given to us generations ago to make Annabell Hart of the Hart Clan perfect!" Gram puts much emphasis on perfect.
"Young Bella shall have perfected features, perfected abilities, she shall be charming to all starting on your death day, as I sense the date draws near," Gram declares.

"Oh Elle, attempts to stop me is futile. You deserve this punishment for your wrongdoings. It may not seem like much, but just wait," her grandmother continues. She lifts her hand high and a devious grin comes over her face. As her hand comes down, a white, misty veil shoots out. It swirls down and makes its way to a room of a little girl. Annabell sleeps in her bed, as peaceful as can be. The mist enters the girl's body in a sparkling wave.