The Witch and the Little Prince – A Retold Fairy Tale of Laughter and Redemption

Once upon a time, deep in the shadows of the forest, there lived a wicked old witch named Hermia. She was every bit the part—ugly, gnarled, with a hooked nose and skin like crumpled parchment. Her only companion was Creepers, a mangy black cat with one eye and three legs who seemed just as irritable as she was.

But Hermia wasn’t content with her secluded, miserable existence. She longed for power—specifically, to be Queen of the World. And for that, she needed a potion. Not just any potion, mind you, but the most powerful spell ever conceived. The recipe? A baffling list of ingredients:

• A tail feather from a Bird of Paradise

• Soil from a kinder-garden

• The juice of a Has-bean

• Two petals from a Wallflower

• The mane of a dandy-lion

• Two scales from a silverfish

• And most elusive of all: Royal Baby Tears

Hermia spent eight long years gathering these obscure and peculiar items, which led her on many a bizarre and dangerous quest. Meanwhile, life in the kingdom carried on. The prince returned from a distant journey, fell in love at a grand ball (but that’s a story for another time), and soon became king. The young royal couple were soon blessed with a baby boy, whom they named Maverick—an ancient word meaning “He who giggles all the livelong day.”

Hermia’s timing was perfect. At last, she could collect the final ingredient for her potion. She cloaked herself in dark robes to conceal her ghastly appearance and made her way to Brandt Castle.

“I am a soothsayer from a far-off land,” she announced. “I have come to bless the royal child.”

The King and Queen, ever polite to guests from foreign lands, escorted her to the royal nursery. There lay little Prince Maverick, chuckling to himself as if the world itself were telling him jokes only he could hear.

Hermia removed her hood dramatically, revealing her hideous face, certain it would startle the baby into tears. Instead, Maverick giggled. She crossed her eyes, pulled grotesque faces, and even waggled her warty chin—but the more absurd she looked, the harder Maverick laughed.

“Sooth!” Hermia declared grandly, keeping up her soothsayer act. “I see a long, joyful life for this child… and almost no chance of being kidnapped by a witch seeking his tears.”

“That’s a relief,” said the Queen. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Definitely not,” agreed the King.

Hermia left the castle fuming but crafty. She secretly enchanted the castle doors so she alone could open them in the dead of night. And that’s exactly what she did—creeping back under a blanket of darkness, snatching the giggling prince, and scurrying back to her shack.

There was, however, one flaw in her plan. She had absolutely no idea how to care for a baby. She plopped Maverick in her Comfy Chair by the fireplace and waited for the crying to begin. After all, babies cried when they woke up—right?

Not Maverick. He awoke, saw Hermia’s ghoulish face looming over him, and erupted in delighted laughter. Hermia scowled.

“Fine,” she muttered. “If my face doesn’t scare you, perhaps my terrifying familiar will!”

She summoned Creepers, who hissed and spat, his single eye glinting menacingly. But Maverick just clapped his chubby hands, finding the cat’s antics hilarious.

Hermia tried everything. Loud noises, scary illusions, thunderclaps, tales of dread, even showing him tax documents—nothing made Maverick cry. She even conjured up scenes from the most horrifying films she knew, but still, the baby laughed as if enjoying a private comedy show.

Frustrated and sleep-deprived, Hermia finally gave up. At dawn, she trudged back to the castle, baby in tow. She didn’t sneak or skulk. She simply knocked on the castle gates and announced to the guards, “I’m turning myself in for kidnapping the prince.”

The King and Queen, summoned at once, were astonished.

“You… what? But why?” the King demanded.

Hermia slumped. “I needed his tears for a potion. But the little brat refused to cry. He’s… he’s defective!”

The Queen crossed her arms. “You witches. Always so dramatic. Most parents would be overjoyed to have a cheerful baby.”

“Yeah, well, I’m evil,” Hermia snapped. “It’s what we do. Just toss me in the dungeon already.”

But just as the guards took her by the arms, a wailing cry pierced the air. It was Maverick. His sobs echoed through the chamber.

“What’s wrong, my darling?” the Queen asked, rushing to him.

Maverick reached out his little hands—towards Hermia.

The Queen laughed. “Well, would you look at that. He likes you.”

“He… does?” Hermia was dumbfounded. No one had ever liked her before.

The King frowned. “So what are we supposed to do now? She kidnapped our son!”

But before a decision could be made, an awful smell wafted through the air. The Queen crinkled her nose. “Oh dear. That’s unmistakable. Someone’s in need of a change.”

And that’s when inspiration struck.

Henceforth, Hermia was appointed Official Royal Diaper Changer to the Prince. A smelly, thankless job, but better than a lifetime in the dungeon. To everyone’s surprise—including her own—Hermia found herself enjoying the role. Maverick adored her, and soon she couldn’t imagine her days without his giggles and gummy smiles.

As the years passed, Hermia was promoted to governess. The affection of the little prince thawed her frosty heart, and though she never became entirely good, her wickedness mellowed to petty mischief. She was still the sort who might finish the last cookie without asking or grumble about her chores, but her days of potions and dark plots were over.

All thanks to the little prince who giggled all the livelong day.

Moral of the Story

Sometimes, even the darkest hearts can be changed by the light of laughter and the innocence of a child. And sometimes, the best way to punish a wicked witch… is diapers.