The Frog Prince and the Witch Chapter 17
Translated by MissQ (ko-fi)
Chapter 17: The Cursed No More
The moment Joanna’s lips met the little frog, the curse shattered like fragile glass.
Vivian Heisbourg let out a harrowing scream, so sharp and sudden that it startled the dragon who had been pinning her down. The beast recoiled in shock, lifting its claws just as two dark shadows materialized from the ether, seizing the crazed woman by the limbs. Dragged to the darkness, Vivian struggled in vain as the shadows pulled her toward a yawning, invisible vortex that appeared to consume her very essence. In a blink, she was swallowed whole. As the vortex collapsed upon itself, silence fell over the battlefield, the chaos of the duel lingering only in the scorched ground and shattered mansion.
Legends often spoke of how the kiss of true love from a princess could undo the most malevolent of curses. There was truth in such tales, though the nature of the kiss had often been misunderstood. While true love's kiss was potent, the power of loyalty, of selfless devotion, could also break enchantments. It did not always require the lineage of royalty, though such bloodlines were known to amplify the kiss’s magic. A king’s kiss, perhaps, would have the most formidable power. Yet, even the loyal kiss of a general, a soldier, or a devoted companion could be enough to dispel the darkest of spells.
While Joanna's kiss had nothing to do with true love, it held an extraordinary power unique to witches. A witch’s kiss could break various curses, mend souls, and bestow blessings, for witches could channel their potent magic through the act of kissing. This ancient method was particularly effective for dissolving enchantments—the greater the witch’s power, the more profound the magic’s effect.
Thus, the gentle kiss she had bestowed upon the "servant" earlier had not merely been an act of compassion but a deliberate breaking of the dark magic that had entrapped his shattered soul. Her kiss had freed him from his wretched existence, granting him peace and a final, restful passage into death’s embrace.
Of course, Ian knew nothing of this. All he understood was that his goddess had kissed him. To him, the kiss was a transcendent moment of pure connection—so profound that even if he were to die then and there, he would do so content, cradled by her affection.
But death did not come. When he next opened his eyes, he beheld the astonished face of his goddess, her gaze filled with disbelief as she took in his presence.
He knew he was no longer a frog; sensations coursed through his body, confirming he had regained his human form. Yet, Joanna's reaction filled him with anxiety and discomfort, leaving him uncertain and uneasy.
Though Ian had never concerned himself with whether he was handsome, the reactions of others suggested he was not unpleasant to behold. Yet here he was, facing the woman who had always been his goddess, and she seemed utterly stunned.
Doubt gnawed at him. Joanna had said Vivian’s curse was incomplete—Could it be that I look worse now than that poor servant? Have I turned into something even more grotesque?
Hesitant, Ian raised his hands to touch his head. It felt normal enough, his hair long and familiar as it fell over his face. He glanced down at his feet, marveling at the sight of toes instead of webbed digits. His chest no longer swelled like that of a frog’s, and when he touched his belly, it was flat, solid, unmistakably human.
The curse had been broken. He was himself again.
Why was Joanna so startled? Ian wanted to ask, but words escaped him as he grappled with how to address her. Should he call her 'Lady Joanna'? Or perhaps ‘Mistress’? He dared not call her ‘Goddess’—that secret title was something he cherished in his heart, known only to him.
He was unaware of the intensity in his gaze as he looked at her, emotions swirling within him like a tide that threatened to overwhelm her, forcing her to look away just to catch her breath.
Joanna, for her part, had imagined that he would be a child—perhaps no older than ten, given how small and delicate the frog had been. But standing before her was not a child at all. He was a fully grown man. And—of course, he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Why would a cursed frog be dressed? She told herself it was perfectly reasonable, but her eyes lingered on him far too long.
She had treated countless patients before, had seen more bodies than she could count. Why should this embarrass me now? Yet, despite her rational thoughts, she found herself flustered.
Joanna quickly pulled off her cloak and handed it to the man, her eyes carefully avoiding his as he accepted it like a blessing from the heavens. Ian, now wrapped in her cloak, pressed his face into the fabric as if savoring its scent. The gesture reminded her of the way he had once nestled into her hair as a frog, and the memory only deepened her embarrassment.
"Put—Put it on quickly! Or do you intend to freeze out here?" she snapped, her voice sharper than intended.
"Okay!" Ian eagerly donned the cloak, the warmth and scent of it enveloping him like a second skin. He felt as though he belonged to her now, like a piece of her that had finally found its place. The cloak, though clearly ill-suited for his much larger frame, only reached his ankles, while on her it had always swept the ground. Yet, despite the poor fit, he looked perfectly content, as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Joanna, trying to ignore the odd twinge in her chest, shifted her focus back to the familiar motions of her routine. She placed the lizard, which had reverted to its original form, on her shoulder and raised her wooden staff so the crow could settle comfortably on it. Clearing her throat to mask her flustered state, she forced herself to speak calmly. "Now that the curse is broken, it's time for you to return. I’m sure you remember your way home. I’ll give you some money for the journey. Will that suffice?"
If Ian had been a child, Joanna would have naturally taken him back with her. Children, after all, might not remember where their home is, and she would have been willing to care for the child until his origins were discovered. She even entertained the idea that, had he been a child, she might have taken him on as a disciple, passing down her knowledge and inheritance as a witch. The title of "Witch" wasn’t always passed from mother to daughter; a master could teach a student, even if that student happened to be male. But this was different. Ian was not a child—he was a grown man.
As she finished speaking, a sharp pain pricked at her hand. Startled, Joanna looked down to find Ian kneeling before her, his strong hands gripping hers with a desperation that surprised her. His eyes, wide with fear and glistening with unshed tears, were locked onto hers.
"No, don’t go! Please, don’t abandon me!" His voice broke, trembling as he clung to her like a drowning man reaching for his last lifeline.
He was not merely afraid of being sent away—he was terrified. Terrified that if she left him now, his whole world would shatter, leaving him lost and hopeless.