By Lauren
We were given an English assignment to write a short story based on a fairy tale. I chose the Frog Prince. For context, the themes of the original fairy tale are all about how girls who keep their promises will be rewarded, but the themes in my version are slightly different.
Unrequited, devoted, some would say obsessive. But I’m not one to do things by half measures.
An oath to serve
Is one worth cherishing,
As all oaths often are.
It’s my mantra, tattooed on my chest as a reminder. It repeats over and over in my head as I watch the prince’s pond from my hermit’s hut. Over and over in my head as I watch the girl sitting by the pond, fiddling absentmindedly with a necklace. She’s pretty, and wears beautiful, brightly coloured clothes. They’re wealthy colours, the royal colours the prince used to be surrounded by.
Frivolous, stupid girl.
I scan the rest of the pond and notice I’m not the only one watching the girl. The prince is sitting on a rock, staring at her, fascinated.
There’s a soft splash and I turn my head back to look at her. She’s dropped her necklace in the pond. Her eyes widen in slight shock as she stares stupidly into the water, as if she can will it to float to the surface.
“Did you lose something?” asks a very familiar voice. I almost collapse from the shock, and so does the girl, only just saving herself from falling into the water.
“Yes,” she says, composing herself, “I dropped a necklace in the water.”
“Well, I can fix that,” the prince says, “but only if you promise to do something for me.”
I smile slightly. The prince said something similar to me, once.
The girl’s sadness melts away almost instantly. She grins, revealing perfect white teeth and dimples. The prince used to have both those things.
“It’s a deal,” she says, holding out her hand to shake the prince’s. Her manners surprise me, and I almost like her.
The prince dives beneath the water and soon returns with the girl’s necklace. He hands it over, and the gratitude on the girl’s face is beautiful. The prince can have that effect.
“Now it’s your turn to do things for me,” he says
The girl giggles. I forgive her insincerity - when the prince asked his favour of me all those years ago, I didn’t know the importance of the decision I was making either.
“What do you need?” she asks playfully. Stupidly.
“It gets very lonely here,” he says, “I don’t have any company, I-”
My stomach lurches and I stop hearing what he’s saying. “No company”? He knows I’m here… he’s always known I’m here.
The tattoo on my chest burns with failure.
…
I take a day to recover. Once I do, I quickly learn that the prince requested the girl comes back to the pond each day. She does this religiously for four days, sitting on the banks as he tells her stories I recognize from his own life. She listens in awe.
On the fifth day, the girl doesn’t come. The prince waits – sitting in his usual spot, staring at the path the girl would normally walk down. He doesn’t move all night.
She comes the next day, running along the path.
“I am so sorry!” she says, plopping down by the pond, “I tried get away but I just couldn’t make it!”
Her apology is genuine, but she doesn’t realise the extent of her betrayal. I find myself almost pitying her. I know what comes next.
“I waited all day for you, you promised me you’d be here,” says the prince coldly, sadly. I cringe – I’ve been on the receiving end of that sharp rage and bitter disappointment too many times.
The girl just looks at the ground, wearing an expression I know well. Embarrassed, self-doubting, shocked. I know what she’s thinking as clearly as if she was saying it out loud.
I didn’t know how badly I’d acted
I didn’t mean to let him down
She doesn’t understand just how important it is for a prince to have complete trust in those around him. I learned pretty quickly that the slightest slip-ups are devastating to him.
But the girl just hasn’t learnt yet. Although she should know better than to break a promise.
“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.
He doesn’t say anything, just hops up to sit on her thigh. He’s never done that before. The girl doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t say anything – she betrayed him; he’s owed this.
Two weeks go by and the girl arrives every day like clockwork. And every day the prince sits on her leg. Every day he’s a bit more comfortable… a bit more intrusive. And every day she looks slightly sadder.
One day, she’s late.
knowing the prince won’t be happy, I wait nervously in the trees until she eventually comes hurtling down the path, sobbing. Her skin looks disturbingly ashen.
The prince makes it clear to her what a despicable thing she’s done, preaching his fears to her; his anger and his broken trust. The girl just kneels in the dirt, crying, apologising and regretting her mistake. She doesn’t defend herself; the prince won’t care.
He makes her stay even longer this time, and I listen carefully to their conversation. It’s enthralling, the way the prince weaves insults into otherwise innocent statements. Every sentence he speaks is a rollercoaster of condescension and belittlement, constantly wearing her down. And any time she looks ready to pick herself back up again, he’ll go on about how she betrayed him. How generous he’s been and how horribly she’s treated him. The cycle is eerily familiar. I find myself wanting to scratch the words off my chest.
It’s long after dark when she’s allowed to leave. Hunched over and utterly exhausted, she stumbles into the woods. I know I have to follow her. I have to help her.
It’s dark in the forest, but the moonlight tends to illuminate the things that matter; dark circles under eyes, hunched shoulders, uneven steps.
I run up and stop her. She looks at me, startled but not afraid. She doesn’t care about anything anymore.
“I’m not ever going to let you go back there again,” I tell her.
She doesn’t know who I am, but she still wraps her arms around my neck as she cries.
“Ok,” she whispers.
And from then on, neither of us visit the pond.
Sometimes I imagine that if I went back, the frog would still be there, sitting on the banks, angry and manipulative, certain that one day those he’d held power over would return.
But we won’t.
I won’t.
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