Megan Van Autreve
When the princess lost the golden ball that day, she was sure that she would be dead by the morrow. Her father had told her to never touch the gold piece as it was too precious for the young girl to carry with her, but she loved it with her entire being. She took it with the intention to return the sphere to the study where it sat proudly on her father’s desk, but now it sit at the bottom of the pond deep in the woods.
The princess had dropped to the ground in sorrow for the golden ball she had so carelessly kicked. A tear dropped down her cheek silently. She had failed her father in too many a way to count.
Suddenly, she heard the croak of a frog in front of her and she jumped from the disturbance.
In front of her, was a frog with big, beady eyes and dark green skin that was covered in what she could only assume was a disgusting slime. Next to the unseeming frog was her golden ball. The look in its eye was one of confidence.
She approached the pond with uncertainty—she’d heard of witches disguising themselves to trick nobility into doing their bidding and she was prepared to oppose this dastardly woman if she needed to. One stomp of her foot would kill the mirage, she was sure of it.
Foot lifted and poised to smash the creature into the grass, she was suddenly startled by a man’s voice, “Oh, please don’t hurt me, your highness.”
Her foot fell into place beside her other as she looked around in a panic, “Who are you? Where are you?”
The voice rang out again, “I am the frog in front of you, your highness. I procured your ball from the bottom of the pond.”
She looked down at the small frog again, sitting down to be at her supposed-hero’s level with her exquisite dress spread out around her, “What sort of sorcery is this? Are you a witch? I order you to tell me if you are witch.”
“I am not a witch, your highness. A witch cursed me. I am—” a croak came deep from the frog’s throat.
Her eyebrows furrowed, “You are what?”
“I cannot tell you—it is a part of the witch’s curse that I cannot say who I am. Please, you must help me.” She swore she could see desperation in the small frog’s eyes.
She thought for a moment, eyes trained on the frog’s, before she finally made her decision, “I will take pity on you, but only because you have done me a great service this day. What must I do in order to assist you?”
The frog croaks again, “You must kiss me.”
A gasp came pouring out of her mouth, “Kiss you? But you are a frog!”
“And as soon as you kiss me, I will be a frog no more. Your debt to me shall be repaid.”
Hesitation befalls her before she gently picks up the frog with both of her hands, “And you are sure that this is the only way?”
The frog nods its head slightly, “Yes, I am sure.”
She raises her hands up to her face and looks at the frog once again—slimy body and huge bulbous eyes. Her eyes close as she pushes herself forward until her lips touch that disgusting skin. And now, her hands don’t touch that slime, they touch porcelain skin. Her lips have someone else’s on them and she’s opening her eyes when she feels a sharp pain in her stomach. She lets out a cry of pain.
“Princess, you have done me a great deed today. Now, watch as I take my throne back from your bastard father.”
He lays her gently on the ground, standing over her with pity in his beautiful eyes and the golden ball in his hand, “Shame, you were so beautiful too.”
His footsteps fade away as her vision fades into black, the knife twisted deep in her gut.