The Frog Prince and the Witch Chapter 8
Translated by MissQ (ko-fi)
Chapter 8: The Witch of the Wilderness
Though he had transformed into a frog capable of croaking, Ian found himself unable to decipher the cacophony of frogs that inhabited the world outside Joanna's home. Similarly, he couldn't comprehend the murmurs of the crow, the lizard, or the turtle within her abode. Only Joanna's words resonated clearly to him; she often conversed with her pets, creating an atmosphere filled with gentle affection.
Perhaps it was the prolonged silence of isolation that intensified his longing for Joanna’s attention. In contrast to the lethargic turtle and lizard, who preferred to remain still, and the crow, who only ventured near her but shunned physical contact, Ian was the most animated creature in the household. Thus, he garnered the majority of Joanna’s dialogue. Yet, this attention was simply not sufficient for him.
He yearned for her embrace, craved to be the focal point of her life, and dreamed of receiving all her affection.
Lately, Joanna had noticed that the once timid frog had grown increasingly bold, even daring to climb onto her bed and nestle within her long hair as he slept!
She didn’t mind her pets showing affection, but this behavior was perilous for a frog! If he spent too much time away from the water, his skin would inevitably begin to dry out and crack. Wasn't this intimacy rather excessive?
When she first discovered this habit, Joanna felt a twinge of reluctance to correct him. However, after several incidents, she could no longer contain herself and reprimanded him, threatening to confine him if he dared to leave the water basin at night. Though she was addressing a frog, she felt a blush of embarrassment at her outburst. The frog's expression turned sorrowful, as if he were on the verge of tears. With a sigh, Joanna softly said, “The weather has been particularly dry lately. You really need to pay attention to staying moist—do you truly want to harm yourself?”
He didn’t want to die, but… he longed to be closer to his goddess!
Reluctantly, he knew he had to comply. After all, he could only remain by her side as long as he continued to live.
As this thought crossed his mind, a loud knock resonated through the door.
Joanna's home was tucked away in a secluded corner, far from the bustle of village life. Only a select few ever ventured to her abode, and those who did were typically individuals specifically hired for various tasks. Joanna herself was unaccustomed to much company, and few dared to visit her frequently. Nevertheless, families from the neighboring village would often seek her assistance, exchanging food for her services in writing. Literacy was a rare skill in this era, and even rarer still was a literate woman. In fact, women who could read and write without noble lineage were often regarded with suspicion, with rumors branding them as something sinister—perhaps even a witch.
Today, however, the visitors who arrived from the village did not seek Joanna’s skill for letter writing.
As Ian observed Joanna greet the newcomers, he noticed an abrupt shift in her demeanor. Gone was the tenderness she usually reserved for him. Instead, she adopted the air of a distant and detached hostess. There were no pleasantries exchanged, nor did she offer the visitors a seat, as she might have done with others in the past. Instead, she simply made her way to her favorite chair, sat gracefully, and cast her gaze upwards at her unwelcome guests, her expression one of cool indifference.
Behind Joanna's chair loomed a fireplace, adorned with a large portrait that seemed to watch over the room. The woman depicted in the painting bore a striking resemblance to Joanna; it was unmistakably her mother. Clad in garments of black and blue, her mother possessed chilling eyes and wore a similarly distant expression. Beside the chair sat a small table holding the water basin where Ian was currently immersed.
As Joanna settled into her seat, Ian sensed her discomfort with the visitors. The warmth that usually characterized her demeanor had been replaced with an icy detachment, a stark contrast to the tender woman he knew. He leaned forward, touching her fingertips gently with the tip of his nose. At his touch, Joanna turned her gaze toward him, her expression softening as her usual gentleness returned. In that moment, he was reassured; she was still his goddess, unchanged despite the unwelcome presence of the guests.
“Speak up. What’s the matter?” Joanna asked, her voice tinged with disdain. “What kind of trouble has your immature son caused this time?”
The guest, an elderly woman, pulled down her hood to reveal a worn, wrinkled face, marked by a lifetime of hardship. She appeared timid, contrasting sharply with Joanna’s forthrightness.
“He... he doesn’t chase after women anymore. He’s finally settled down with a job. But he’s taken to gambling!” The old woman broke down in tears, her voice trembling with distress. “I warned him time and again, but he insisted on borrowing money from others.”
The man standing behind her suddenly burst out in defense. “It’s because I couldn’t bear losing so many times that I kept gambling! I can’t help it... I promise I won’t trouble you again after this!”
Joanna, meanwhile, picked up Ian and began to gently caress his back, her fingers running soothingly over his small form. If she were cradling a cat, the guests might have continued their uncomfortable discussion without pause. But in this moment, she held a frog, an unusual sight that left the old woman staring in surprise and fright.
Ian, blissfully unaware of the unfolding drama, reveled in the attention from the girl. He nestled comfortably in her palms, croaking occasionally to express his contentment. Yet this juxtaposition made the scene even more unsettling, as Joanna's nurturing gesture stood in stark contrast to the turmoil that filled the room.
Joanna regarded her guests with a look of disdain. “You and my mother were good friends long ago. She often reminded you that spoiling your son would lead to ruin. She warned that a child raised in such a manner would become irredeemable once he fell into a pit. Yet, instead of heeding her advice, you allowed him to indulge in his whims, transforming him into a parasite.”
She paused, her gaze piercing as she continued, “The last time you sought my help, I treated you as my mother’s friend and did what I could to assist. However, this time, a solution will not come so easily. What price are you willing to pay for your son’s redemption?”
“Whatever you desire! Even my life!” the old woman cried, desperation in her voice.
“Why would I want your life?” Joanna's tone remained frosty. “What I need are the writings of Master Ferdelli... Yes, his books. If you can procure his works for me, I may be able to offer the help you seek.”
The old woman appeared taken aback. “This...”
Joanna’s eyes narrowed. “You were once the administrator of the grand city library. Surely, you know where those books are,” she said, her voice laced with an edge of impatience. Gently, she placed the frog back into the water basin and stood up with graceful composure. “Bring me the books, and only then will we continue this conversation. Now, leave—treat this visit as though it never happened.”
"Yes!" The old woman’s excitement was palpable. “I will! I will bring you the books, please help my child!”
Joanna offered a curt nod. "Fine. Once I have those books, your request will be considered." She raised her hand toward the door. “I won’t be sending you off.”
The old woman eagerly nodded and, with her son in tow, hurried toward the exit. But just as they reached the threshold, the woman hesitated and turned back, her expression filled with uncertainty. “Witch of the Wilderness,” she began softly, seeking reassurance, “please, make sure you keep your promise.”
“Mm.” Joanna gave a reluctant nod, dismissing them with a flick of her hand.
As the door closed behind them, Ian felt a deep, inexplicable unease stirring within him, as though an ominous wave had washed over his heart.