The witch in question did not live in a swamp, like most of his ilk would say, but instead a sweet little prairie. The river beside it had been drained of it's water years ago when his father had taken the throne, and the grass had become significantly less green than when he'd first visited all those years ago as a naive little boy hoping for some peace away from home.

Originally, it was right beside that river he had been cursed. Even then, the only signs of water he had seen were the small puddles that formed from the downpour the day before, and a woman- The Witch -was staring at her reflection in one of them. Of course, as young as he was, Michael didn't know any better when he'd began talking to her. In fact, the two of them had a rather enjoyable conversation before he'd actually introduced himself.

The witch, who was neither as cruel nor as ugly as his family claimed she was, seemed to know everything. She spoke to him as if he were her equal, and was more than happy to tell him that in a village, just a few days on horseback away, there was an old friends of hers who'd made their own potions shop. He enjoyed her stories of big birds that flew and snatched up prey just as big as a cow, and was very quick to enthrall him with beautiful depictions of the other nations traditions with her magic forming their shapes.

Really, the entire thing was going well, and the witch seemed happy to have a company before the night had set and they both found that neither knew each other's names. Of course, Michael introduced himself, making sure to put some emphasis on his title as the prince just like dad had taught him. He was expecting the witch to rejoice or blush, like the other girls in the village, but instead she seemed to grow into a wild rage that made the clouds above grow and start thundering a sad sound. Even to this day, Michael couldn't remember what she'd said, just that she seemed to shout something towards the very heavens and Michael awoke the next day as a tiny ambphibian with odd coloring capable of doing the front crawl in the water.

It was... an experience, certainly. At first, being a frog wasn't much of a problem; it would only appear twice a day, always when the clocks began a loud chime, and only for as long as those gongs sounded. Michael, whose schedule was almost entirely in his control, was able to spare plenty of time for the transformation to be done away from prying eyes. He'd mostly just lay around on his bum in that form, but sometimes he would wander the castle knowing only the help would be around. Going through crevices between the stone walls, climbing himself up the towers to marvel at his lands beauty, and sometimes even found himself staring at the direction the prairie was in wonder. These were all common pastimes of his as a frog.

Slowly, however, the length of time he'd stay as an animal changed, became longer, until he'd had to constantly excuse him from lunch and be lost to everyone until the very next morning. Weeks of that passed, and soon Michael woke up as a frog who would stay that way for years until an interesting woman carried him to her home. She seemed rather odd to him at first; despite the obvious lack of funds, her face was constantly caked with makeup, and the clothes she wore seemed plenty out of leagues with her station. Amelia, for that was her name, often left at midnight frustrated and clutching a paper that smelled faintly of rosemary.

Often, she would curse some names out into the sky, most names spoken were not recognizable to Michael except his da, who had apparently died just days ago. It was... well, it made Michael wonder if the man had managed to find himself another heir to inherit his throne, but the papers Amelia left on the floor after a few tantrums told him he hadn't. Again, just like before, this pattern continued on for days. Michael would be fed with random insects sneaking in. Amelia would come and go to work, then return with angrily flushed cheeks and furrowed brows.

Finally, after a few more days, Amelia had huffed and looked at him. Really looked at him, enough so with a gaze that burnt through Michael's very soul. Before he could get a chance to jump away, however, Amelia had grabbed onto his slick body and gave him a hard kiss on the mouth before dropping him down to the floor and running to the restroom, no doubt to start scrubbing at her gums.

She came back moments afterwards to Michael slowly growing into his age, and the sudden push in height made it difficult for him to stand nor properly judge the distances between most things. After that and plenty of complicated politics that was mostly manipulated by Amelia, she and Michael had a tiny wedding. The end, happily ever after, freedom in his grasp and finally away from having to hunt for his own food in the vast wilderness.

. . . is what one would say, if Michael actually found himself liking this happily ever after of his. The entire thing was a sham, and clearly Amelia's attempt at getting a fortune and the lands that came with being the new kings wife. Now, he had to give it to her, she was very much good at the games she was playing, it's just that Michael wasn't very interested in those prizes. Hell, even before that prairie all those years ago, Michael found himself disliking the responsibilities of being the king very much.

That lead him to now, dragging his feet through dry ground to try searching for the witch who'd cursed him all those years ago. There were trinkets of hers scattered, a trail that Michael hoped would lead him somewhere, and one he followed with a bit of desperation - Auntie Milly had visited with a very detailed plan on the next trend for the city's architects to follow. After just two days of his quiet presence in the court room and he already found himself wishing for death.

In fact, if all went horribly wrong, that might actually happen! It would be a bit tragic, yes, but Michael also found it tragic how he couldn't extend his tongue to capture the delicious fruit flies he'd found in the bowels of the castle kitchens.

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