The Frog Prince and the Witch Chapter 9
Translated by MissQ (ko-fi)
Chapter 9: The Witch's Culinary Affection
What did the old woman say? The Witch of the Wilderness?
His dear goddess, Joanna… a witch?
“Little frog, what’s the matter? Did those strangers scare you?” Joanna asked softly, extending her hand to him as she always did, her touch gentle and inviting. But this time, Ian recoiled, instinctively retreating from her reach.
His heart sank, its warmth quickly turning to ice. A terrible realization gripped him—a witch, that madwoman, had cursed him into this pitiful creature. And now, the woman he had adored with all his being, his precious goddess, was also a witch.
What if the others—those poor creatures that shared this home—weren’t simply animals in need of care, but cursed beings like him? The lizard, the turtle, the crow… were they once human too?
Oh, Joanna, my goddess, my mistress… tell me! What are they? What have you done to them?
But his silent plea, his desperate cry for answers, went unheard. To Joanna, his croaking was nothing more than the usual complaints of a pampered pet, irked by the presence of strangers. She smiled and gently stroked his back, amusement glimmering in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said with a light laugh. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you again. How does that sound?”
You’re a witch! Why can’t you see that I’m cursed? Ian’s thoughts screamed in anguish. Tell me the truth!
"Don’t be mad. Wait until you get your potatoes, alright? I remember how much you liked them!" Joanna's voice was soft, her hands gentle as she continued to stroke him, entirely oblivious to the storm raging inside Ian’s heart. She had no way of understanding the frantic thoughts behind his croaks, assuming it was his usual discontent, easily soothed by food and affection, as any pet might be.
But for Ian, her touch, once comforting, now felt suffocating. He fought to free himself from her hands, leaping awkwardly from her grasp and retreating to a distant corner, the very one he usually avoided.
His heart warred with itself. He didn’t want to see Joanna as a wicked, malevolent figure like the witch who had cursed him into this pitiful form. He longed to believe she was still the kind and gentle maiden he adored. Yet, his growing fears gnawed at him relentlessly. What if she was like the others? What if she had done unspeakable things to the creatures around her?
The more his anxiety grew, the more his heart turned cold. He couldn’t bear the idea that his goddess might be someone to fear. The sweetness of their past moments together, once so precious, began to sour, haunting him like a twisted dream. His body trembled, overcome by an inexplicable discomfort. Staying in this room, with the woman he loved but could no longer trust, had become its own form of torment.
Ian’s retreating movements caught Joanna’s attention. She assumed the little frog was deeply frightened by the earlier visitors. Next time, she thought, she would make sure to hide him away when unwelcome guests arrived. And now, the frog who was usually so eager to stay by her side had suddenly withdrawn, as if he were truly upset this time. Should she make him some potato soup to soothe his mood?
Despite his discontent, Ian couldn’t help but notice how lovely and gentle Joanna’s every movement seemed. Even in the kitchen, her steps were light, her actions delicate.
By dinnertime, Ian’s mind was still weighed down by heavy thoughts. Unaware of his inner turmoil, Joanna went about her usual routine, placing him on the table. She scooped up a bit of soup with a small spoon, about to feed him when she paused, recalling that frogs and other small creatures that dwelt near water often found heat uncomfortable—cool things suited them best. With this in mind, she gently blew on the spoon, again and again, ensuring the soup had cooled. Then, with a smile, she held the spoon before him and gently coaxed, “Come on, say ‘Ah’~.”
The frog instinctively opened his mouth and took a sip, but as the delicious taste of the food brought him back to reality, he immediately recoiled, tossing the spoon aside and spitting out the soup.
Joanna’s eyes filled with concern. “Does it taste bad?” she asked, perplexed. She was always confident in her cooking; the little frog would usually beg for more servings. But now, his silence unsettled her. Could she have accidentally used sugar instead of salt? Without hesitation, she tasted the soup herself—no, it was perfectly seasoned. Perhaps he didn’t care for the thick consistency and preferred the potatoes instead? She couldn’t quite figure it out.
Ian noticed her growing anxiety. She tasted the soup again and again, using the very spoon he had flung away. When she tried to feed him once more, the same spoon that had just touched her lips was now offered to him. Shyly, and with reluctance, he took a small sip of the thick soup. Joanna’s face softened into a smile, her relief evident.
Aren’t frogs considered quite repulsive? And yet, despite this, she still maintained that same friendly smile, her gentle care never wavering. Such grace, such warmth... even if she was indeed a witch, he couldn’t help but admit that these qualities defined her.
At last, he timidly reached out, touching her palm with the tip of his nose, silently asking for her familiar caress. Without hesitation, she obliged, stroking his slick back with the same tenderness as always. As she began to speak to him, her voice light and unhurried, sharing the usual trivialities of the day, it felt as though nothing had changed between them. And yet, within him, something had shifted—his attachment to her had grown even stronger, threading through his very soul.