The witch and the frogs

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a girl whose beauty seemed almost unreal, as though it had been borrowed from a dream. Her hair was long and golden, falling in soft waves to her waist, and it was often decorated with a pale blue ribbon that matched the clear blue of her eyes and her long, blue dress.

She lived in a small, modest house at the edge of a quiet village, together with her poor parents who loved her very much. They worked tirelessly, from early morning until late at night, to provide their daughter with food and the few comforts they could afford. Though they never complained, the girl could see how worn and worried they were.

When she was old enough, she chose to help them. She began working at the village bakery, hoping to earn her own money and ease her parents’ burden, even if only a little. The work was hard, but she loved it dearly. Each morning, before the sun had fully risen, she helped knead the dough, tend the fire, and carefully pull loaves of bread and trays of cookies from the oven.

The warm, sweet scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, wrapping around her like a comforting spell. It made her heart happy, and she often sang as she worked—soft, cheerful melodies that drifted through the bakery like magic. Her voice was clear and joyful, so lovely that some said it sounded as though a fairy herself had come to work among sacks of flour and baskets of bread.

She was known throughout the village as the kindest and most polite girl anyone had ever met. Customers praised her gentle manners and her radiant smile, and word of her goodness traveled far beyond the bakery doors. Each compliment filled her parents with quiet pride, and though they had little, their hearts grew richer with every kind word spoken of their daughter.

Her days at work began early, and she rarely returned home before the afternoon sun had softened. On her walk back, she always crossed a narrow stone bridge that arched over a small river running through the center of the village. The water flowed calmly, sparkling as it wound its way past cottages and fields.

She often stopped there, leaning over the edge to look into the clear stream. She enjoyed watching tiny frogs resting among the reeds or slipping beneath the water’s surface. Sometimes she wondered where the river came from, and where it might go once it left the village behind.

One day, a man arrived at the bakery, so handsome that all the girls in the village whispered about him in awe. But he was vain and cunning, curious to see if the sweet bakery girl would fall under his charm too. It was the first time she had seen him, and indeed, he was striking: tall, with dark hair, and big mysterious eyes. She had heard the gossip about him and felt curiosity about the man whose beauty had stirred so many hearts.

The man began visiting the bakery often, buying freshly baked cookies and lingering by her side, speaking with her for hours. The girl found herself captivated by his polite manners, his easy smile, and the warmth in his gaze. She mistook his attention for love, believing that the quiet comfort she felt in his presence was mutual.

Encouraged, she confessed her heart to him one bright morning. But the next day, he never returned. At first, she feared something had happened to him. She searched through the village, her heart beating with worry. When she crossed the little river on her way home, she heard laughter and murmuring from the other side. Curious, she approached—and froze. There he was, speaking proudly to a group of men, boasting that he had made the poor bakery girl fall in love with him.

Her heart broke in that moment. She turned and walked home in silence, tears streaming down her cheeks, refusing to tell her parents of her sorrow. That night, she wept alone, and her grief did not fade with the days. Months passed, and the cheerful girl who had once sung as she baked was gone. Her songs now carried the weight of betrayal, her voice trembling and breaking with every note.

One day, a kind-looking woman stepped into the bakery and seemed interested in her. She smiled, talked to her, and gradually befriended the girl. The girl, grateful for companionship in her lonely days, trusted her completely, revealing every secret she knew: how to knead the dough just right, even the hidden trick to make the cookies golden and soft.

A few months later, as she and her boss prepared the morning dough, word spread that another bakery had opened on the far side of the river. “Don’t worry,” her boss reassured her. “They could never make cookies as good as ours.”

That evening, on her way home, curiosity led the girl to see this new bakery. The shop was nearly closed, and a woman was locking the door, her back turned to the street. Something about her figure seemed familiar. The girl approached cautiously. When the woman turned, the girl’s breath caught in her throat. It was her friend—the very friend to whom she had confided all her secrets, even the treasured cookie recipe.

The woman greeted her with a sly, mischievous smile. “We just closed,” she said, as the girl felt the full weight of betrayal settle over her.

“I trusted you…” the girl murmured, her voice trembling.

“Thank you for that,” the woman replied lightly, her tone teasing, almost cruel.

The girl caught a familiar, tantalizing scent in the air—the sweet, warm smell of her own cookies. Her stomach churned. “You even copied my cookies?” she whispered, disbelief sharpening her voice.

“No, no! Mine are just a little better!” the woman answered, smirking.

Stunned and heartbroken, the girl walked home in silence, tears burning her cheeks, revealing nothing to her worried parents. Her boss, too, was concerned about her. She knew the girl had shared her secrets with the competition, and she understood well how painful it is to trust the wrong people.

Meanwhile, the story of the handsome man in the village—who had deceived the girl—had begun to circulate in whispers. Her parents had heard, and their hearts ached alongside hers.

A few months later, a small, ragged child came to the bakery, asking timidly for a piece of bread. The girl, remembering the tireless work of her parents to feed her, felt pity. She handed the child some bread, and soon she began giving him cookies as well, sharing what she could to ease his hunger.

Day by day, the child returned. She welcomed him, offering warmth, food, and kindness. One evening, the child begged her for a place to sleep. “It’s too cold in the streets,” he whispered. Her heart softened, and she allowed him to rest in the bakery, careful to hide him from her boss.

The next morning, the girl arrived at the bakery to find her boss standing outside the door, tears streaking her face. Alarm surged through her. She ran forward, only to realize the truth: the child had left the door open for others, and thieves had ransacked the bakery.

“Did you leave the door unlocked?” her boss demanded, her voice shaking with anger.

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but the look in her boss’s eyes told her that the damage was far worse than she feared.

“Go away! Don’t ever come back!” the boss shouted, her voice echoing down the street.

The girl turned to leave, her hands trembling and her heart heavy, knowing that, once again, trust had led her into ruin.

The girl began to walk home, but quickly stopped. How could she face her parents? What could she possibly say? Her steps slowed until she reached the river and sank to its banks, her vision blurred by tears. She watched the water rush past her, tumbling over stones while frogs hopped along the banks, croaking softly.

A sudden decision stirred in her heart. She would follow the river, leaving the village forever. She had brought shame to her parents and could not bear to see their disappointed faces again.

For days, weeks, months, she walked along the river’s winding path. Cold winds bit at her cheeks, and snow fell in soft, relentless flakes. Her blue dress was streaked with mud and frost, her golden hair tangled and matted, her fingers stiff from the cold. Tears had swollen her eyes and reddened her nose, but she pressed on, driven by a fierce determination.

One morning, she awoke in a warm cave, a fire crackling beside her. She sat up, rubbing her arms, and glanced around. Where was she? Who had brought her here?

A tall, elegant woman approached, her long brown curls tumbling over a deep red dress that brushed the cave floor.

“Who are you?” the girl asked cautiously.

“I’m… a friend,” the woman replied.

“I don’t have friends,” the girl muttered bitterly.

“Oh?” the woman said, arching an eyebrow. “Are you talking about the one who stole your secrets?”

“How do you know that?” the girl asked, fear lacing her voice.

“Or the man who promised you love but lied? Or the poor child you fed, only to have your bakery ruined?” the woman continued, her tone sharp, almost cruel.

The girl’s heart froze. “How do you know all this?”

“The river told me,” the woman said softly.

“The river?” the girl shivered as she remembered the path she had followed.

“Your parents raised you to be kind and caring,” the woman said.

“I’m just an idiot,” the girl muttered, wiping her tears.

“No,” the woman said firmly. “You simply trusted too much. These were lessons to show you who you can become.”

“I lost everything!” the girl cried. “The man I loved… he didn’t love me back. My best friend… she used my secrets to compete with me. The child I helped… he ruined my bakery. I’m a disgrace. I’ve failed my parents at every turn!”

“You’re not a disgrace,” the woman said gently. “It’s not over. You can start again, and carry these lessons with you always.”

“And what about their lessons?” the girl asked bitterly.

“I can help you with that,” the woman said, her eyes gleaming.

“How?” the girl demanded.

The woman did not answer with words. She reached out and took the girl’s hand, whispering strange, rhythmic words that made no sense. At first, the girl felt her hand burn then a warm flame spread through her body, melting the cold from her bones and filling her with a strange, powerful energy.

“You’re a witch!” the girl exclaimed as the woman released her hand.

“Now you have magic too,” the woman said. “It is yours to wield. Use it wisely… and decide what to do with those who have wronged you.”

The girl awoke shivering on the snowy ground, the dream fading but the feeling of power lingering. She knew what she had to do. After weeks of winter’s chill, she returned to the village following the river as the first warmth of spring touched the earth.

First, she went to the man who had lied to her. When he opened the door, he froze. She was more radiant than he had ever seen her, her eyes shining with confidence and authority. He could see that she no longer loved him, and the realization unnerved him deeply.

She raised her hand and spoke, her voice steady. “I wish your ugly soul were reflected on your face.”

Before her eyes, he shrank and croaked—a small green frog staring up at her. “I wish everyone could see your darkness,” she added. His croak echoed in despair.

Next, she walked to her former friend’s bakery. The woman was leaning over a tray of cookies as the girl entered. The friend jumped back, seeing her shine with a new power. The girl extended a hand, scattering gold coins. “You can have some extra…” she said, letting her former friend’s jealousy and spite fill the air.

The girl raised her hand again, calm and deliberate. “I wish everyone could see your jealousy and malice on your face.” In an instant, her former friend transformed into a frog.

Finally, she went to the streets where beggars gathered. The boy who had taken advantage of her stood there, raising his hand for coins.

“You?” he exclaimed. “It’s… you?”

“Yes,” she said fiercely. “I am the girl you lied to, the girl you tricked into giving you shelter, the girl you betrayed and ruined my bakery.”

“No… you’re different… stronger… smarter…” he stammered.

“I wish everyone could see your lies until you regret them,” she said, and the boy turned into a frog as well.

She followed the frog to the riverbank, where the other two croaked miserably. “If you do not change,” she warned, “you will remain as frogs forever.”

And so, the lessons had been learned. The witch had shown her the path, and she had become the girl she was meant to be—wise, strong, and unafraid. She brought riches and happiness to her parents, who had waited so long to see her smile again, and then she travelled far and wide, seeking out hearts as cruel as those that once hurt her, turning them into frogs without remorse. But she knew she could not catch them all, and so a trace of wickedness still wanders among us.