The Frog Prince: The Prince Returns

His existence was a dull cacophony of far off sensations in a bleak void. Each night he would perambulate from one pond, to some muddy field, to the next distant landscape. It was like grasping at a waking dream, never entirely sure of what he sought. 

But there came night when the flashing of a firefly awoke him from his reverie, and the frog pursued. He found himself in a shrouded grove, where his presence scattered a lightshow of insects - a terrifying twinkling like a black spell from a distant memory.

The amphibian peered beyond, saw a marshy plane, and recalled a great battle. Ah, it was there, within the candlelight of his commander’s tent, he penned a frantic letter. One of dire importance. 

A hazy memory at the tip of his tongue, the frog hopped onward. He discovered that same pleading letter, disintegrating back into mud. Still legible was, “at the throne…before midnight.” And nearby, the skeletal remains of its messenger.

Soon, he found a dirt path which transitioned to tessellated stone. Here was the meeting place. In a moment of clarity he remembered her face, the kiss of her lips, and who he once was. And then it slipped away.