A hairdresser combed his snowy hair. It rested upon his forehead in slight strands. A dark apricot surcoat hung over an armor shimmering with medals. He stood in front of a body mirror, yet all he could see in it was his stylist adjusting invisible garments.

"How do I look?" The King asked cautiously.

"Absolutely stunning, Your Majesty." Millard assured, balancing on the balls of his feet.

"Take this mirror away."

"Right away, Milord." Millard said, and then it was quiet. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Find the lad the man with the mirror mentioned yesterday. I want him in my dungeons for fooling with me."

∞

At his entrance, a burst of cheers roared over the streets followed by a cloud of raining brilliant daffodil yellow confetti. The King waved and his lips parted into a great king smile.

He rode on top of a toad, it was tradition. Phynsia, the name he had decided to give his newest toad, was glistening in jewels and adorned in silk. A polished leather saddle had to be adjusted for the king to ride, and he held on to her horns for support. Behind him, six more frogs leaped into the air. As one exited the castle, the townspeople began a series of applauds and whistles for their favourite one.

The buildings were blooming with colour. Laces of all colours were draped on the houses like webs of string. The windows and doors spread wide open, pouring with laughing children. The music seemed to circle, filling the air with emotion. The cheers never died, because as the King surged forward into the main street that followed one straight line, more houses appeared as the ones behind him watched him leave.

The King knew the name of every flower blooming in each porch and sprayed over every roof: callas, ranunculus, chrysanthemums, solidasters, tickseeds, daisies, sunflowers, to name a few. He bowed thanking for the flowers.

Nobody knew what made the King so exceptionally content about the yellow plants, but they did, and so the people thrust them in the air as he passed by. The young ones threw pieces and crumbs of hot fresh baked bread at the enormous toads. Their tongues caught them in the air and the kids screamed and laughed.

It was past twilight, and the parade was nearing the end of the street. The smaller toads, Lasathia, Vinka, and Tresp, three Egyptian yellow beauties with splotches of black hopped on to the top of sturdy-made houses. From their backs, fireworks shot into the air, exploding into giant balls of showering golden sparks and green and red bombs of puffs spiraling upward into the fraying orange sky.

The fireworks lasted a few minutes, and then they had reached the end of the street, where the houses spread out to reveal an oval amphitheater. The townspeople rushed to steal the first rows, but the King had his own place to sit, where he and Phynsia watched with wide eyes.

The show began shortly, exaggerated music played along with the magnificent maneuvers of the toads. Long feathers bobbed around their necks as they caught nearly impossible things in the air with their tongues. They jumped into water from the tallest towers and sang in choir. Then the curtains closed, and they prepared for their final act. The people sat on the edges of their seats, including the king. Every year, the performances varied, but the final act was always, without fail, the most breath-taking.

The drummers began a drumroll as the curtains pulled apart. When Gypha, his first and most talented toad (and also the majority of the people's favourite), reappeared behind the curtains, it was no surprise to the King. She had an ash colour skin and was embellished in pearls. Feathers spread out to cover her, the drums got louder and faster, and when the feathers pulled away, Gypha was gone, and a naked woman appeared. She looked as surprised as everyone in the crowd to see that she was naked, and quickly grabbed a feather to cover herself. The people clapped and sent whistles into the air, astonished by the final act, but the King furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it. The curtains were closing up when the King sprang to his feet, crossed the stage, and slipped inside before the curtains fully closed.

He did not find Gypha behind the stage. The clothe-less woman was there, mesmerizing over her curvy body, while the rest of the crew gaped. The King looked around, confused and flustered. No one acknowledged his presence, no one bowed.

"May I ask, who is she?" The King said, his tone was hard but composed. Finally, heads turned his way but no one said a word.

"Must I have to repeat myself?" He asked, louder this time. Patience drawing thin.

"We don't know, Milord." Said the tailor, trembling from head to toe.

"What exactly do you mean, you don't know?" The King clenched his jaw. He knew the face of every single citizen in his land, there was no one he did not know of, and he did not know that woman.

"We just don't know, Milord. This wasn't part of the show." One of the drummers informed.

"Where's Gypha?"

Then, the bare-bodied woman spoke, "I am Gypha." She said with a sweet voice, pronouncing "I am" like "I yam".

The King's head snapped her way; a towel had been given to her, which her wrapped around her body. "Yes, I saw your act. But where is my real Gypha." He demanded.

"King, it ees me," She repeated, "And my name ees Häna, not Gypha."

The King swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His knuckles turned white and he tsk'ed. "So you turned back human, how is that possible?"

"It ees not of my knowledge, my King. But now that I yam free, I wish to leave." As the last words slipped from her puffer lips, a breeze wheezed in from a crack in the curtains, spilling Gypha's auburn silky hair away from her face.

"You are free..." The King tasted the words in his mouth. Then he barked a laugh and clasped his hands together. "You don't actually plan on leaving this land, do you?"

"I thought I had made myself clear, King."

The smile wavered on the corners of the King's mouth, "But I have taken care for you for so many years. I've given you hospitality and a place in my land. You live, and can still continue to live in my palace; will you not stay with me?"

"I have appreciated your kindness, King, but I dream to see the world. I have been here for much too long."

"You do not wish to rule by my side?" His words quavered.

"No."

"You can have anything you want. You've always have." The King offered with everything he could think of.

Gypha shook her head, "I tink I have been spoiled enough, King. I don't want your riches anymore."

"You are my dearest thing, Gypha. I can never forget the day I found you."

"I yam Häna." She frowned with her beautiful face, and left the backstage.

∞

The feast had begun, and nobody except the King and the stage directors had a clue of what had happened. To the people outside the curtains, the last performance had been a magnificent act of magic, and it had been.

Long tables had been set in the middle of the marble stone street. Food of all kinds hidden under cloches, the steam of bread loafs eddied in the crisp night air. Wine was being poured into the King's bronze cup, but he did not drink it afterwards. He had an arm under his chin, holding his head up.

Gypha had left. He offered her clothes, food, a horse... She said she needn't that. So he gave up, and she left. He wondered if she would survive the night. But now the king had forgotten Gypha, and he began to worry about his other toads. Would they turn human as well? Would they all leave him? He had given them everything he had, and he knew they were happy. They croaked joyously when he visited them on the bridge over the black lake. They adored the children of Prashc and the children did the same.

Why had Gypha turned human again?

The lamps hanging on laces of string from house to house washed the faces of the people in an orange light. The King, although he felt like he would collapse, stood up, holding on to the edge of the table. He raised his cup, his arm barely being able to lift it, and said, "For my people, and Prashc." And then he gulped it down.

∞

He found himself at the edge bridge that went over the black lake. His frogs were surely sleeping by then at the bottom, maybe dreaming about another place besides Prashc. The King had slipped away from the feast, for a moment of peace and tranquility. His head was bursting open with pain, and he needed a second to think without the roaring of the people, and clinking of forks on plates.

He had hauled a boulder to the middle of the bridge, where he watched the moon's shine quiver over the ripples of the lake. His hair swept back with the breeze, he could feel his blood pumping through his dark veins. His little effort, he heaved the rock onto the railing and then dumped it. A second later, dived in with it.

The water was bitter and dingy. The only source of light came from the crescent moon. In the lake, he was no longer the King, nor the Collector; he was just part of the universe, a piece in the world.

That feeling was what brought him so often to the lake.

Hugging the boulder, he sank deeper and deeper into the inky water. One of his ears popped, followed by the other. His hair reminded him of seaweed, undulating with the currents. He had taken his armor off, but his surcoat rippled as he descended further.

He heard music, and closed his eyes.