⏱ ~5 min reading
In a far, far swamp, among the reeds that rustled with every breeze, and the water lilies that covered the water with round green saucers, stood a small crooked hut. Its walls were made of rotten logs, the roof had moss instead of tiles, and from the chimney always curled a thin blue smoke that smelled of pine needles and something sweet. A sorcerer lived here. His name was the Transformer.
The transformer was not evil. And not good. He was just himself - in a long robe with stars, in soft moose-hair slippers, with glasses on the tip of his nose. But more than anything in the world, he loved one thing: turning frogs into princes.
He didn't know why. Maybe because as a child he had read books where princesses kissed frogs and they became princes. And the Changeling thought: why wait for a princess? I can do it myself.
Every Saturday he would go out onto the porch with a big book, a magic hazel wand tied to a string, and shout across the swamp:
"Frogs! Whoever wants to be a prince, get out!"
The frogs were scared at first. Then they started to climb out. Some were stupid, some were curious. The Transfigurationist waved his wand, whispered a spell - and in a moment, instead of the green frog with bulging eyes, there stood a tall young man in a golden crown, in a blue jacket with pearl buttons, in white boots. A prince! A real one!
This prince looked at his hands in surprise, scratched the back of his head under his crown, and went somewhere into the castle - where all princes go. The transformer smiled contentedly and waited for the next frog.
Over time, the swamp became notorious. The frogs who became princes returned home unhappy. That is, they didn't return themselves, but the rumors about them returned. Because the princes didn't know what to do with themselves.
When the sun woke them in the morning through the high window of the castle, they could not say "quack" instead of "good morning." Sitting at the long dining table, they could not stick out their long tongues and catch a fly buzzing over the cheesecake. Bathing in a marble bathtub with rose petals, they missed the warm, viscous, native mud. In the halls, princesses walked past them in magnificent dresses - and the princes thought only one thing: how white, smooth, not green it was.
But no frog dared to turn to the Changer and ask, «Do it back.» They were afraid they would laugh. Until one rainy evening, one came.
It was a young frog with sparkling eyes. It lived under a water lily, loved to croak at the moon, and ate mostly mosquitoes. But one day, after listening to other people's stories, it changed its mind.
"Transformer," she said, sitting on the threshold of his hut. "Transform me. I want to be a prince.".
The converter raised his glasses.
— Are you sure?
"Of course. A prince is better than a frog. They have castles. Crowns. Princesses.".
The Changeling shrugged. He waved his wand. He whispered a spell. And instead of the green frog, a handsome young prince sat on the threshold with red hair under a crown and sparkling eyes - exactly like the frog's.
“Well,” said the Changeling, “go, prince.”.
The prince went. To the castle. He stayed there for a week.
And a week later he returned.
Only now he came not in the morning, but in the evening - quietly, along a swampy path, with a crown in his hands, with a face so sad that even the Transformer felt uncomfortable.
“What happened, Prince?” he asked, opening the door.
“Turn me back,” said the prince. “Please.”.
The converter sat down on a chair. He took a cup of chamomile tea.
— Tell me.
The prince placed the crown on the table. The crown clinked against the wood.
"Being a prince is boring. Everyone walks slowly in the castle. They speak formally. They give me quail fillet for dinner, but I want a mosquito. I have a silk bed in my bedroom - and I want to lie on a lattice, so that my heels hang down in the water. Everyone around me expects me to marry a princess. And I want to swim in the mud. Catch flies. Sing croaking in the evening. I want to go back, Transformer. I want to be myself.".
The converter was silent for a long time. Then he laughed—quietly, into his gray beard.
"This is the first time I've heard such a request," he said. "In twenty years of work. Everyone wants to be princes. And you want it back. You know what I'll tell you, kid? Being yourself is the ultimate magic. The ultimate. I've been waving my wand around here for so many years, and I still don't know how to do this.".
He stood up, took his wand. Waved it. Whispered a spell - only different, not the usual one.
The crown remained on the table. And in its place stood a small green frog with sparkling eyes. She jumped. Once. Twice. Joyfully. It turned out that after a week without jumping, her feet were itching.
“Thank you, Changeling,” she croaked.
“Run, little one,” he nodded. “And don’t let anyone talk you into it anymore.”.
The frog jumped out the door. The rain had stopped, the drops were glistening on the lattice, the moon hung over the swamp, big and warm. The frog splashed into the water - and it felt as good as it can only feel when you return to where you really belong.
She lived the happiest life among her own. She married another frog, had green frogs, taught them to croak at the moon so beautifully that even the reeds fell silent to listen. And the Changer hung the crown on the wall. As a reminder. That sometimes what we consider «worse» is what is dearest to us. That someone else's castle will never be better than your own swamp. And that you shouldn't change what makes you you.
After that day, the transformer no longer invited the frogs out loud. If someone came, he asked twice. And sometimes three times. Because magic is a great thing. But the greatest of all is to recognize oneself.
✨ Don't change what makes you you - being yourself is the ultimate magic ✨