Authoress note: (I am in a feministique mood today). Be eternally grateful, for this (I think quick now, but I am only halfway through as I write this, so we will see, update! Let me call it "the talk". There have been some questions and I would be really glad to answer them. As to things getting better – I am a very evil girl and mostly my stories tend to get only worse, but as to this one, well let us see. About Shrek appearing again – hard question indeed – he might, but I am not sure – although he certainly does love Rose a lot. As for how long this story is going to get – I have no idea. It may come to an end somewhen. Would you like it sooner or later? It might be rather later, actually. Oh and time to celebrate – the first time a story ever got me over the 30 reviews mark!

„You want to talk." the bitter, defeated voice of an old, careworn woman. But I had decided to live after all. And I knew that living was not simply a going on and eviting any sorts of conflicts. The decision I had made, included the explaination of my lies, meant that I would literally have to face the music.

But I had lived closed off from everything for so long, that I was not sure if I could open up again. And I did not know if it was possible, or worse, if I even wanted to, let Harold in again.

It was so silent. Deadly silent. A year ago, it would have been a mutual, comforting and loving silence. Now it was painful, unbearing and my only wish was for it to end soon.

The silence at last was broken with my harsh "Do you not have anything to say to your wife?"

"Are you still my wife, Lillian?" I wished for the silence to return again, it had been better than his cruel words. "You certainly do not behave like it."

"Oh and what would your wife behave like? Obedient and serving, without her own will, not capable of feeling pain or anger?" I was overdoing it, I knew.

"That is not what I meant!" he almost shouted, his green cheeks reddening, as his human ones had so often when he had gotten worked up over something. "I simply want my wife back." his voice had quietened down. Harold was the unchallenged master of mood-swings.

"Just the girl I fell in love with and the queen who told me that she would always love me.

Even when I was turned back into this" he looked down at his small green body "thing." He spat out. And the caring side of me longed to say that he was no thing, that he was a human being still, a man even.

But he spoke again before I could bring myself to it. "What has happened to you, Lillian?"

"To us" I corrected "it was not only me who has changed." He snorted "You think I forgot that?"

"No, Harold." How superficial did he think me to be. "I am saying that you have changed in character as well as I have. And that we have changed into different directions."

And I thought of all the princesses who were forced to marry a complete stranger, who silently cried to themselves in the night, when their posessive kings had finally fallen asleep.

But at that moment I envied them. They were free to secretly have their lovers. And they were spared this sort of talk, of feeling.

Partly I longed for a real row, a heated argument to finally get it over with. It would be so much easier than this slow painful estrangement.

"If I still was human, would things be different between us?" It was a useless question, one of those "what ifs" that only brought pain with the truth. I wanted to say something vague and less painful, like a "maybe". But if I lied again, I could never stop. "Yes"

"Do you miss my good-looking physics?" he was getting sarcastic now. But in a way I did. This was not about handsomeness. I was no fool, I was aware of the fact that Harold had never been an eyecatcher. One aspect of my personality I had always prouded myself with, was my lack of interest in the looks and only judgement of character.

I had fallen for his strengths, for his politeness, care, devotion, loyality, strong will. But I had just as well fallen for his faults, the short temper, the jealousy, the moods. And all of it seemed so long ago, like from another life, another time, and not mine.

But I still missed his human form. The king who had stood next to me in front of our kindgdom and the man who had been lying next to me at night. I missed the touch of his hand and the feeling of his lips on mine.

And I missed the warmth of him next to me. And all those bodily flaws of his, his shortness, his grey hair that had fallen out in strands, the lines that had become more and more on his face, even the weight he had been putting on.

The only feature I had to remind me of these, were the brown eyes that seemed to haunt me. It would have been so much easier if that frog did not have his eyes. I could leave him then, for death or freedom or some far away land. If it were not for those eyes. That was why I hated this brown, almost as much as I loved it.

"I do miss you, Harold." In so many ways, I did. "I miss you as well" he retorted, as if justifying himself. And I wondered if we would have to spend all eternity missing each other.

"Why were you trying to kill yourself?" The question hit home. "Why, Harold?" did he really understand so little? Was he really that cold-hearted and careless not to notice? "You should rather be asking, why I decided on NOT going through with it?" I had gotten louder now, unusually loud for calm, collected Lillian.

"Is that not the same?" In that second I hated him, he was so uncapable of seeing the obvious, of noticing what was going on around him. Too self-absorbed to care. Surely I had known, for in 40 years he had been looking into my eyes and refused or chosen not to see the pain that lay hidden within them.

"No, it is not!" this was leading into the argument, I had wished for not so long ago. But I was ot sure if I still wanted it. "Well, it was looking like you were about to slice your wrist with a mirror splinter, but maybe my froggy-eyes just deceived me."

"They have been deceiving you for at least 39 years as it seems to me." Whenever had I started shouting?

"Or else I might have noticed my wife going into omnious bordells to pay for young, handsome, blonde men." I wished he was a human so I could slap him right into his face. But as he was a frog, and my fury had taken over control, I hurled him against the wall. Mind me, not too brutal, I never wanted to get him killed or seriously hurt. But that comment had been a pure blinding pain in my heart.

There was a bright, blinding light in front of me, enveloping Harold. I had to close my eyes, to shield them from the whiteness. God, what had I done? I was even afraid to open them up again. What if he was dead? Could I have murdered my own husband?

"Lillian?" it was Harolds voice and it seemed like a mountain that fell from my heart. But something was, no not wrong, but different. His voice did not seem a croak any longer.

Could it really be? When you wish for something for a long time and then suddenly have the feeling that it might have come true, your first reaction is fear. I was afraid of opening my eyes and seeing that nothing had changed, that maybe a bloodied frog was lying on the floor.

Still I forced myself to open them, slowly first, but as soon as my vision got clearer, they shot open. On the floor was lying my husband, true that far. But not the one I had been living apart with for the last year, but the one I had slept next to for over 40. Harold was human again.

Authoress 2nd note: Where did that come from? Mad girl as I am, I wrote and suddenly this idea popped up and what did I do? I wrote it, no idea about the consequences. The only flash of thought was of what happened in the real frog king fairy tale. I simply love fairy tales!