The witch cackled all the way to her humble home, deep in the woods, a hovel made of old stones, wood and thatch. Yet it was surprisingly warm inside. The inside itself was full of jars, pots, herbs and various ingredients, some usual, others more sinister. A cauldron was on the fire and a shelf contained a few books. An adjacent room led to a tiny bedroom with a small bed. The space of the main room was taken by a huge table which was littered with other ingredients. This got Damon to be worried. Would HE finish as an ingredient for that horrible hag's brews, spells and potions. She said he'd be a pet, but for how long? In spite of himself, he let out of worried and pitiful croak. That got the witch laughing.
"Worried, little frog prince? Don't be. You are my pet. And I am interested in the drool of a frog that used to be a prince, not the rest of your anatomy. And few witches have frog pets that used to be human royalty."
Damon was reassured but the witch tipped the jar he'd travel into and he found himself in a large terrarium, locked safely. Damon could only hop on his long green legs and splash in the mud, water, grass and twigs. He was appalled at being a frog, naturally, but rather amazed at what he could do. He could jump around so high! As if he was a trampoline! It was... rather fun, really. At least until he tired out. Later, when the witch dipped worms and flies in his new home, he felt disgusted. Or rather, his human mind was. His body of an amphibian had other ideas. His massive tongue shot out and before he knew it, he had gulped and swallowed the offensive meal. And it tasted good. And filling. This new desire for eating foul beasts confused and angered Damon. What else would he start doing?
It turned out he couldn't refrain from croaking and singing in a froggy way at night, in tune with the other frogs he could hear outside. Even though keeping his skin moist was a new bliss for him, Damon started to long for a nice deep pond, full of lush vegetation and lily pads in bloom, with the breeze in nearby trees. The witch took him out of his enclosure to gather his saliva for her potions and brews, while she also lead him on a leash of velvet for showing him off at the next witches' gathering. Likewise she dressed him in silk and velvet, mostly velvet tiny clothes, with jingling bells. Damon knew he looked absolutely ridiculous but the witch thought he looked just darling. She pampered him, magically dressing Damon in these humiliating clothes that looked like a doll's. Damon hated to think what he would look like and how he'd be received in the witches' meeting. How could he have fallen that low, from prince to stupid doll for a crazy old witch?