Page 40 of The Frog Prince

Wait…wasn’t there someone I needed to find?

The thought was a growing weight in his chest, a prickle against his mind as that golden glow got brighter. Yes, yes, he was missing something. Someone. They needed his help. He was certain of it.

He broke from his hiding spot and followed the footsteps into the darkness. The glow retreated, and he turned corner after corner chasing it. It remained frustratingly out of reach, growing fainter and fainter no matter how fast he ran.

“Hello?” he called. “Wait, please!”

They didn’t, and soon he couldn’t hear the footsteps at all.

He was all alone in the darkness as it came tumbling in around him.

He began to grow scared, then terrified the longer the endless maze went on. He could not remember his way back, and every way forward was a twist or a turn.

Where were they?

Where was he?

“Please,” he gasped. “I’m lost.”

Helplessness weakened his legs and had him tripping and falling. Fat tears rolled down his ruddy cheeks as his hands and knees stung.

“Where are you?” he sobbed, feeling bereft and robbed and not knowing why.

Steady arms wrapped around him. Deep breaths against his back guided his own breathing into something sustainable.

A gentle hush was whispered into his ear as cool hands ran up and down his arms soothingly. He didn’t know who it was, but he allowed them to comfort him. He relaxed against their safety, closing his eyes as gentle golden light began to pour back in to chase the darkness away.

The fingers kept up the steady rhythm up and down his arms. Soft and gentle. Soothing.

Until the hedges fell and revealed a forest around them that sang softly.

“Otto…” the trees whispered in a lilting lullaby.

He pushed deeper into those arms around him, turning his head into threadbare fabric and inhaling the scent of grass and water.

“Otto, wake up,” the trees called again.

He shook his head, reaching out to grip the material under his cheek between his fingers. His hand was his own again, large and blunt and rough, all traces of youth chased away.

“No,” he mumbled, body relishing the closeness of whoever had their arms around him.

Deep down, he knew who it was. He could sense him there. The green hue behind his lids wasn’t the green of the forest. The fingers dancing over his arms and back weren’t human. Too long. Too spindly. And only eight of them.

He knew.

And he wanted to stay despite that knowledge.

He pushed closer.

“Otto!” the voice called again. Not the trees, or the wind. It had a croak to it—a gentle rasp that Otto could recognize now. “You need to wake up!”

He jumped up, his eyes flying open, scrambling across the bed before he even knew where he was going. He couldn’t go far, and his back hit the windowed wall the bed was pressed against. His brain surfaced enough to realize the Frog Prince was crouching on the floor next to Gisela’s bed, watching him with a pinched expression on his face.

A single candle was lit in the room, and a glance outside showed it was still the middle of the night.

“What?” he asked cleverly, confusion still making him dizzy.

The prince from his dream wasn’t the same one he was looking at now. The one in his dream cared for Otto, was gentle and kind.