She faced a large, mottled frog who sat unconcernedly on a perfectly round lily pad.

"Well, I don't know why I expected you to be any different," she sighed after a while. "Just look at you, sitting there all fat and slimy without a care in the world. You could have been something." She wiped a bit of residual moisture from her pouting lips. "You could have been my prince!"

The frog held his peace. The last thing in the world he wanted to be was a prince. It sounded too much like work. All that rushing about to this state function or that. No more time for the simple pleasures. And they surely wouldn't allow him to continue eating flies.

The princess grew morose as she sat. She had kissed a lot of frogs. A lot of frogs. And for what? They all continued to be nothing more than frogs. Green and lazy and emotionally distant. She reached into the water for one more try, clutching the frog to her bosom for a minute before giving him a long, heartfelt kiss. This time she used her tongue. Still nothing -- although, truth be told, it was a very enjoyable kiss.

There was an awkward moment when they parted, for their tongues were stuck together. After a moment of tugging, the princess returned the frog to his pond.

"If you were a prince, you wouldn't have that sticky flycatcher in your mouth, You would have a proper tongue," she grumbled, once more wiping moisture from her sensuous lips.

But then I wouldn't be able to catch flies, the frog thought. Could I really give up flies for the affections of a princess? He was beginning to wonder. It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore her advances. She had visited the pond every day for almost two weeks now, wearing low cut dresses and big puppy dog eyes as she tried to sell him on the idea of becoming a prince.

"You'll feel so much better about yourself," she told him. "The world will open its doors for you. I see so much potential... so much potential..."

But I am a frog, he thought. I eat bugs, my young have gills, and I hibernate when it gets cold. I can't just change my basic nature.

Or could he? He was starting to really like the princess -- the way she smelled, the way her hair tickled his back when they kissed, and the warm darkness of her cleavage. And she was strong-willed enough for both of them, that was for sure. Oh, the charms of the mammal!

That night when the princess went back to her castle, the frog thought long and hard, using his brain and libido in equal measures. Finally he arrived at a decision. He would do it. He would take a risk. Tomorrow, when the princess came, he would consent to be her prince if he could.

But when day broke, there was no princess. The sun crawled its way across the sky, but she never came. Maybe she had royal matters to attend to, he thought hopefully.

But it was not so. It seemed that his window of opportunity had been shuttered. Why did he never hop through them in time? He berated himself for his laziness and fear.

As days passed, the frog grew more bitter. The warm pond and abundant flies were no longer enough. He dreamt of the princess, of her glowing happiness with some other prince. Maybe a frog who wasn't afraid to take the leap. He would probably never know.

The bitterness eventually infected his very soul, and changed his body chemistry to one of utmost toxicity. The pond grew barren and brown around his small form.

The small, cold form of the Poisonous Frog of Regret.
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