It began with a frog.

A very smug frog wearing a tiny sash that read "4th place."

In the overgrown glade of Widdersnitch Mire, the frog croaked once, vanished in a puff of smoke, and transformed into—Griselda the Petty, third cousin twice-cursed of the infamous Hag Collective and three-time pageant runner-up.

She had skin like burnt lace, a bonnet with ribbons she'd enchanted to defy gravity out of spite, and a floating chalkboard that read:

TO-DO LIST

☑ Curse neighbour's garden

☑ Un-subscribe from Crystal Orb Weekly

☑ Comb out moths from cloak

☐ Sabotage Runklebean, Handsome Jerk

She'd just finished her second scone of the morning when her enchanted mirror picked up a conversation in the boys' camp, via the completely ethical method of magical eavesdropping.

Alistair's voice murmured, "I don't want Lucian or Nedrick to know."

Runklebean's voice responded, calm as ever. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm a prince, Bean. Drama is kind of cultural."

Runklebean sighed. "It's detrimental to your health, so it matters. Secrets like that have a way of becoming… everyone's problem."

Alistair's tone dropped into something softer. "It's nothing but a weakness. And I won't be a worthy rival anymore if he knows. I'll be treated differently."

"Then, is that your wish?" Runklebean blinked curiously. "To be rid of it? Because if it is, then when I get my powers back, I can—"

"No. That's not it. I don't want it gone," Alistair corrected. "Crazy as it sounds, there are positives to it. It gives me a good reason to watch my health, for one. But more importantly… it makes me feel closer to my dad. It's the way other people treat me, that I wish I could change."

Runklebean smiled fondly, while Griselda perked right up.

"Ooooh," she cackled. "Dark and mysterious? A tormented secret past? Yes, yes, yes, boring, but theatrically exploitable!"

She clapped her hands, and an entire cave system shuffled into the side of the mountain, complete with fog, a rotating floor plan, and a vegan snack bar (for her).

Later That Day…

As the group traveled onward, they encountered a handwritten sign nailed to a tree:

HEROES WANTED

Please help! A poor, helpless village is trapped inside a glittering cave of deception and thematic menace! Also, possibly ghosts. Rewards include eternal gratitude and artisanal jam.

Naturally, they walked directly into the trap.

Nedrick stared at the cave entrance, which pulsed ominously with pink-and-purple mist and distant flute solos.

"I feel like this is a trap," he said.

Lucian adjusted his crown. "Traps don't come with signage. That would be legally binding."

"I think that's exactly how all traps work," Nedrick replied.

But it was too late—Runklebean had already stepped inside, the yellow ear-appendages of his pointy hat bobbing as he did.

"I sense mystery," he said with a grin. "Also, something smells faintly of sandalwood and doom."

"Funny; that's how I would describe my love life," Alistair said. 

They all entered, and the entrance slammed shut behind them.

"Welcome," Griselda's skrunkly voice echoed from everywhere at once, "to the Cave of Reflection!"

A figure materialized in an illusion of sparkles and smoke: Griselda, wearing a pageant sash reading "4th Place, Regional."

"I am Griselda! You may not know me—"

"We don't," Nedrick said.

"—but I know you! You—" she pointed at Runklebean "—won a pageant that should have been mine, if not for your personality and big adorable eyes!"

Runklebean blinked. "What."

"But I'm not bitter," she lied, winking. "This isn't about revenge. This is about growth! Character development! And a teensy test of your collective psychological fortitude."

Lucian squinted. "That sounds like revenge to me."

"Silence!" she erupted, pointing her knobbly finger dramatically into the air. "You must traverse this cave. Each room will present you with illusions tied together by a common theme. If you solve the theme and reach the final exit, you may go free!"

Alistair folded his arms. "And if we don't?"

"Why, you'll be trapped forever, of course!" she beamed.

Runklebean smiled. "Original!"

"Not really," Nedrick muttered to him. 

Before anyone could protest, the ground beneath them vanished.

They fell for about four seconds, during which Alistair screamed very prettily, and Nedrick hollered something about pig farming never requiring mortal doom.

They landed in a soft puff of feathers, in a circular room surrounded by mirrors.

And then, quite suddenly… they changed.

Lucian looked down, realizing he'd transformed into a dog. "…Why do I have a tail?"

Nedrick, who was now highland cattle, screamed, "WHY DO I HAVE HORNS?!"

Alistair staggered to the nearest reflective cave-wall, horrified to see that he'd been turned into a chipmunk. "Is that—? Oh. Oh no. That is not a flattering species."

Runklebean looked at his leafy reflection, then bent down and saw the little pot he was currently stuck in. 

"…Okay, I'm a tree."

Nedrick distressingly flailed his tail like a windmill. "This has nothing to do with pageants!"

From a hidden speaker, Griselda's voice echoed: 

"Oh, darling Nedrick. That's because this part isn't about beauty."

And then, the mirrors opened into doors—each leading deeper into different sections of the cave.

Runklebean stiffly turned toward the others slowly. "This is going to be worse than the cheese gremlin."

"Find the theme that ties each room together," Griselda's voice teased, "or stay with your reflections forever."