text: The door slammed open against the hearth to admit the princess. She was angry enough that the snow seemed to steam off her swaddled head. "The frogs have got to stop," she said by way of introduction, peeling back the layers of dull cloth she had used to conceal her identity. They did nothing to hide her regal bearing. The crone leaned back in her seat, eyes closing. "I can't imagine I know what you are talking about." "Don't give me that, witch. You and I both know that curses in the kingdom are up 600% this quarter, and almost exclusively frog transformations." "Sounds like quite a bother. But I'm not sure what your problem has to do with me." Princess Melba dropped the pile of drapery and rags on the table before whirling to fix the withered woman with an exasperated stare. In the cramped space of the cottage, she felt as if she were towering over the woman. "Do you know just how many frogs I have kissed this week?" she began. When there was no answer, she responded, each syllable punctuated with a sharp stomp of her foot. "Sixteen." The woman in the chair raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes closed. Melba rolled hers. "And do you know what? Each one said the witch told them the same. 'Only a princess's kiss can break the spell.'" "That does sound rather unpleasant, I'm sure," said the woman, turning her head as if to resume her interrupted nap. "Come now, we both know you are loving this. Can you please stop with the frogs?" The witch's eyes snapped open, the look of polite disinterest replaced with a humble smile. "Well, I'm sure whoever it is has your best interests at heart." "Best interests? I've got the court physicians putting together poultices at all hours to prevent me catching some disease. Plus, half of the frog men refuse to leave the castle. They are convinced we must be destined for one another since my kiss broke the curse!" "How can you be so sure one of them isn't your true love?" The woman rose from her seat and shuffled toward the fire, pulling a kettle from the hook. She began to make her way back to the table. Melba snorted and shook her head. "There are no true loves for me there," she said. "Regardless, most of them are preparing to duel to the death, so I'm sure that problem will take care of itself soon. Then I'll only have one dense, obsessed, and murderous suitor to contend with." The aggrieved regent crossed her arms and turned away from the offered cup of tea. The old woman shrugged and took a sip herself, moving toward a stack of cakes on the end of the table. "Why the frogs?" asked the princess, dropping her arms and her anger long enough to make a convincing plea. The woman stopped her walking and huffed. "Well, I can't believe you would be so ungrateful. What godmother would not try to help her charge find true love? They keep you locked into that castle all the time in 'advisor's meetings' and 'council sessions.' I thought you would be pleased to have the eligible bachelors come to you. Besides, aren't they handsome?" The woman paused, a puzzled look on her face. Most of the men had looked objectively better as frogs, Melba thought to herself. "Godmother, I--" Her mind reeled with dozens of sane, logical rebuttals. "I can handle my own love life," she said, convinced it was both the best argument and wholly untrue. Her godmother lifted one of the thin, yellow cakes to her lips and bit down, chewing sardonically. "Well, you're twenty-two and the last of your siblings to be married. I think we'd all agree you could use some help." Crumbs tumbled out of her mouth as she spoke, dropping to her chest before scattering on the floor. "Exactly, there are plenty of heirs already. I am in no hurry." "Well, you aren't, but some of us aren't getting any younger. What kind of fairy godmother would I be if I didn't make sure you were well established before my tragic departure?" Melba bit back the words. The precise kind of godmother granted to the youngest in a stable of princes and princesses. The bottom of the barrel had looked passable at first. "Your current legacy is of creating a plague of frogs while also decimating the eligible stock of middle and upper-class men." Her godmother kept her back turned, now puttering away at something on the counter. She hummed an out-of-key lullaby and shoved aside knickknacks and assorted clutter. "Good thing there is a princess to solve these problems. Simply kiss the frogs and pick a prince!" "I don't even like men!" Melba finally exclaimed, letting go of one final secret. The crone stopped her humming and her moving, appearing for one elongated moment to weigh this new information. Melba began gathering her things. Everyone had told her this was a hopeless request. She accepted her defeat and resigned herself to a life of kissing the never-ending tide of frogs. Once all the cogs finally turned in place, the godmother began shuffling about the kitchen again, nodding in a self-satisfied way. It was, after all, a simple solution. "Very well. I'll turn the women into frogs then if that's what you'd like." The door thundered on its hinges as Melba stormed out, not bothering to redon her disguise.