The Princess and the Frog: A Twisted Fairytale

He had said no. No to it all. The lighting was too garish, the glitter too flashy, and her dress too ostentatious. So when he cut her out of his life, she filled the void by bringing in absolutely everything she had been denied under his tyranny.

Every last detail had been designed to her exact specifications. The once unruly, yellowed grass had been watered and trimmed into a tidy patch of green. This green stretched on for hundreds of feet, before ending abruptly at the shores of a sizeable pond, dug for this very night and adorned with a quaint wooden dock, row boat, lily pads, and even exotic Koi from Japan. Up the hill from the pond was the patio, which now held tables full of her favorite snacks and sweets. From there grew a stone path, which forked in the middle. One leg lead to the dance floor, a wooden expanse with a DJ on one side and an orchestra on the other. The other leg ended in a white gazebo wrapped in cherry blossoms, which she had insisted was necessary for private conversations with her closest friends. The entire spectacle was lined in golden lights, little fireflies tracing paths above her guests’ heads.

The evening had begun splendidly. She was wearing a beautiful, royal purple gown, the kind that most girls can only dream about wearing to prom or some extravagant military ball. The corseted top only allowed shallow breaths, but that was okay when she remembered what it did to her silhouette in the moonlight. As guests arrived, they placed the delicately wrapped boxes on a table near the doorway, and then proceeded to kiss her on either cheek and congratulate her for another year of life well spent.

As the night progressed, she enjoyed sneaking extra pieces of chocolate and finding herself in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by her closest friends. She did not, however, receive any pleasure from the tasteless bits of gossip that reached her ears or the garish mouths from whence they came. As every foul word met her ear, she noted with irony the words of her father. Money buys happiness. Well if it does, why must so many get their jollies from tarnishing the reputations of others?

“Violet!”

She turned at the call of her name, immediately regretting the action. Her father was sauntering towards her, his arm clasped firmly around the shoulders of his best friend’s son, Ricardo. Technically, there was nothing wrong with Ricky. He was rich, good looking, and every other quality that Violet’s father insisted was necessary in a suitor. In fact, her father viewed Ricky as so perfect that the second Violet spoke of her break up, he went to work forcing them together, like opposite poles of a magnet.

“Look who has just arrived, Violet. I discovered him lurking near the champagne fountain, and when he said that he had not asked you to dance, well, I knew I must deliver him to you at once,” her father boasted, before making a completely conspicuous exit.

“The lawn looks beautiful, Miss Vaillancourt,” Ricardo noted. He was tugging at the cuffs of his suit jacket and glancing upwards at Violet with his chin tucked into his chest. She was certain that he found this angle visually appealing, perhaps it was meant to make his hair fall into his eyes in that sultry, cliché way. It wasn’t working.

“Thank you,” Violet answered, “If you’ll pardon me, I need to go greet some of my other guests.”

“Oh but of course. Why don’t I escort you?”

Before Violet could protest, Ricardo had taken her arm and began walking forward, making sure to talk loudly so that everyone in attendance would glimpse over to see the prize on his arm. Violet let him parade her around for a moment or two, as he droned on about some summer internship at his father’s company. When she had thoroughly tuned him out, she began to hear the whispers. They were low at first, but then they grew bolder, rippling like waves in Ricardo and Violet’s wake.

“They make such a cute couple.”

“I heard that Mr. Vaillancourt plans to have them married by next spring.”

“Ricardo should have his hands full with that one. Did you hear what she did at the Rosenthal’s Gala last month? That’s why Duncan Kennedy dumped her!”

“A new guy already? Man she works fast. What a little…”

Violet stopped walking, feeling Ricardo tug on her arm as he continued their pace. Her heart rate began to accelerate, as he turned to face her.

“Do you hear what they’re saying?” Violet choked out. Her throat felt tight, the iron fists of her father’s will wrapping around it.

“It’s better not to listen,” Ricardo whispered calmly, placing his hand on her bare shoulder. “Besides, it’s not like the things they are saying are lies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Violet, you can’t tell me that you don’t feel the way I do. I mean, our fathers have been planning our wedding for years. It’s just fate. You can’t control it,” Ricardo’s voice was steady, but his eyes flicked from side to side nervously. It was then that Violet felt the silence hovering in the room around them. A quick focus on her peripheral vision showed her that every eye in the room was on them.

Ricardo’s right hand tightened around her shoulder, as its twin captured her wrist. His lips formed a perfect smile, but through his clenched teeth he whispered, “Don’t make a scene, Vi.”

Those five words took Violet back to that place, the one she never wanted to visit again.

The Rosenthal’s Gala was known for being even more boring than it was gaudy. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal hosted the party every spring, in order to remind all the other wives that Eloise Rosenthal did, in fact, have the most beautiful rose garden in the country. The party began with a finger sandwiches and tea in the parlor, continued with a tour of the grounds and the mansion, which looked the same every year, and ended at sunset with appetizers and champagne. However, there was one custom that always spiced up the party. It was tradition for the princes of Violet’s world to propose to their lovers next to the golden fountain in the center of the garden, the one where the water showered over a statue of Aphrodite, herself.

Violet’s family had just acquired enough social status to obtain a coveted invitation to the event, and her parents were beside themselves with arrogant bliss. In all honesty, Violet hated the idea of traipsing across the Rosenthal grounds for an entire day, but she delighted in the opportunity of spending the afternoon on, her boyfriend of two years, Duncan Kennedy’s arm.

Instead of muttering soft admirations of Mrs. Rosenthal’s flowers and antiques, Violet passed the afternoon by explaining to Duncan the plans for her birthday extravaganza the following month. However, much to her dismay, Duncan found something wrong with all of her ideas. No, she shouldn’t hire a DJ and an orchestra. Yes, twinkling lights would look juvenile. A Koi pond, really, Vi?

Just as Violet was really getting frustrated with Duncan’s negativity, things began to look up.

“Let’s get some air,” Duncan suggested, nodding his head towards the doorway to the garden.

“Sure,” Violet agreed. As they rose to exit the room, the rest of the party’s heads moved, almost imperceptibly, in their direction. Violet’s mother, Vivian Vaillancourt, tugged her husband’s pocket square out of his suit jacket, her eyes tearing up. That’s when the reality of the situation clicked in Violet’s head. Duncan was taking her to the fountain.

The lists of dates, decorations, and guests in Violet’s mental file cabinets quickly shifted from birthday plans to wedding plans. They would have to find a suitable location, and of course there was the matter of a band and dinner and the cake and color scheme. Oh and let’s not even think about dressing the bridal party! There was so much to do, and by the time they reached the fountain, Violet was already red-faced and overwhelmed.

“Violet,” Duncan began, tactfully ignoring the witnesses that had gathered on the patio, suddenly engrossed in the mansion’s siding and in desperate need of cigarettes, “I feel like we’ve gotten all that we can out of the current state of our relationship.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, widening her eyes with innocence, but letting a smirk fall upon her lips.

“I just…I feel like we’ve been stuck in this limbo, and we need to make some changes. The way things are just isn’t working like it should, you know?”

The speech wasn’t exactly shaping up to be romantic, but Violet had to give him credit for originality. Duncan let the question hang in the air, so Violet sat down on the edge of the fountain, as was custom. With her in position, all Duncan had to do was drop to one knee and ask a question.

But he didn’t.

“We need to break up.”

He stated this in the same matter-of-fact tone that he used when he dismissed her birthday ideas. It was a tone she had heard a thousand times before, but this time, it took her breath away.

“What did you just say?” Violet shrieked, standing up and looking Duncan straight in the eyes.

In the back of her consciousness, Violet could hear the idle chatter from the patio come to a screeching halt. Duncan flicked his eyes around nervously, in anticipation of the gossip Violet was going to create. He grabbed her wrist with one hand and her shoulder with the other, as if anchoring her to the ground so she couldn’t float away. Then Duncan smiled, and Violet felt a wave of relief. It was just a joke. Of course Duncan would want to get a rise out of her. It was how they played.

“Don’t make a scene, Vi,” Duncan commanded, his smile never faltering as he struggled to maintain the civil façade.

“I’m not going to make a scene,” Violet stated slowly, waiting for Duncan’s grip to loosen.

After a few seconds of gauging her face, he let her go and stepped backwards. Violet matched him step for step.

“I thought you weren’t going to make scene,” Duncan whispered harshly.

“I’m not going to make a scene,” Violet repeated. “I’m going to make a tsunami.”

With that, she pushed Duncan into the fountain, tidal waves crashing around Aphrodite and water spewing over the sides.

“I’m not going to make a scene,” Violet stated, eyes locked with Ricardo’s. But this time,

Violet didn’t have a snappy one liner to follow. Instead, she simply turned away from him and began the brief walk to the pond.

Violet’s heels stuck in the grass with each step, but she kept trudging forward, determined to leave the whispers and assumptions behind. As she strode out onto the wooden dock, her stilettos made soft clacking noises against the planks. For a moment, Violet just stood at the end of the dock, admiring the smooth water as it slept soundly under a blanket of fog.

But then she saw the row boat and knew she must disturb the water.

The boat rocked unsteadily at first, as Violet struggled to fit her ball gown into the tiny ship. Once situated, she picked up the oars and started to row. A sense of peace overcame her as the little ferry carried her into the grey haven. Here, noise and light from the party disappeared. It was only Violet and the boat, floating serenely near the lily pads. Or so she thought.

The first sound he made was a gentle croak, not unlike the chirping of a cricket. Violet turned her head sharply, disappointed with the disturbance.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Violet was unsure of how to respond to this. She didn’t usually speak to beings of his kind. He was clearly below her, and the evident division unsettled her more than the fact that he was floating amongst the lily pads in her pond. But he was so beautiful with his exotic coloring and shiny black eyes. And besides, what could one conversation do after all the scandalous acts she had already committed?

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. She knew the answer would be obvious, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“Oh, just hunting flies,” he chuckled, flicking his tongue for emphasis. Violet laughed politely at his joke. “What about you, Princess?”

“I’m not a princess,” Violet retorted, all the while wondering how many times she had been called royalty and accepted it with pride.

“But you could be. I could make you one,” he proposed.

Violet shook her head, “I don’t want to be a princess.”

He shrugged, and then jumped into the boat with a startling swiftness. At this point, Violet should have been severely concerned, but instead, she gathered the fabric of her dress against her knees to allow him more room. She looked down at him across the expanse of the boat, waiting for him to speak.

“You never answered my question,” he reminded her.

“I needed to get away.”

“Is this far enough?”

“No,” she sighed, “I think I could go to the other side of the world and it still wouldn’t be far enough away from these people and their politics.”

“Well it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

The stranger smiled mischievously, as the moon broke through the fog, creating a circle of blue light around the boat. “I could take you there.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you wish.”

Violet’s instincts told her to deny his offer, but her heart screamed for her to leap at the opportunity. It reminded her of Duncan, Ricardo, and her father’s expectations; of the cookie cutter life that he had planned for her. She would host hundreds of party, wear fancy dresses, and produce half a dozen smug-mouthed Ricardo Juniors.

No, no she wouldn’t. This stranger would be her escape.

“What do I have to do?” she inquired.

He crawled over to her, his black eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Kiss me.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” he replied, watching her silently, his face void of emotion.

Violet thought one more time about the life she could have. It was one that thousands of girls would kill for, but she knew that it would never be what she wanted. Without another thought, she lifted the stranger’s chin up with her finger and placed one light, delicate kiss on his cherry red lips.

Instantly, Violet’s head felt heavy and the boat began to spin, creating a small whirlpool in the pond. Her surroundings turned into a grey blur and her up-do unraveled, her curl’s whipping her in the face and neck. Only the stranger remained still, his black eyes never leaving hers.

Violet felt sharp pricks all over her body and looked at him in alarm. Already she could feel her heart rate accelerating, as fear overtook her senses.

“Something’s stabbing me!” she screamed, rubbing at her skin.

The stranger climbed closer to her and whispered, “Shh, Love. That’s just the poison darts.”

Her heart beat slowed, as she eased herself down onto her back. Eventually, the pain ceased and the spinning stopped. The world was completely silent, save for her heart, which was beating out a quiet rhythm.

Thump thump. Still. Thump thump. Still.

Thump croak. Still. Croak thump. Still.

Croak croak. Still. Croak croak. Still.

The guests found Violet three hours later, the pond water like glass and her lying peacefully in the little row boat. On the left side of her chest lay a brilliantly colored frog, croaking out a beat where her heart left off.