From "The Stinky Prince and the Mirror of Longing"
[Setting: A cobblestone path near the castle gardens. Prince Boggart walks slowly, head down, as flowers wilt around him. Two villagers, Mags and Old Pibble, whisper from behind a hay cart.]
MAGS:
There he goes again. Poor lad.
OLD PIBBLE:
Poor? Bah! He passed me once last spring and my mustache curled up like fried snails.
MAGS:
Still. It’s not like he asked to smell like swamp socks.
BOGGART: (overhearing, sighs)
I’m still right here, you know.
MAGS: (startled)
Oh! Er… good morning, Your Royal Reekness—I mean—Your Highness!
BOGGART:
It’s fine. “Your Royal Reekness” is honestly an upgrade from “Pongface.”
OLD PIBBLE: (pinching his nose)
Just keep walking, lad. My turnips are turning sour.
BOGGART: (to himself)
Even the vegetables hate me.
[A daisy crumples into dust as he walks by. A pigeon swoops down, smells the air, and instantly flutters away gagging.]
BOGGART:
Lovely. Another romantic stroll through the kingdom of Grumblegrime, where even the air judges me.
[A small child, Tilly, peeks from behind a barrel.]
TILLY:
Is it true you once made the Queen’s perfume bottle explode?
BOGGART:
It boiled and shattered on contact, yes. Apparently my scent has “volatile undertones.”
TILLY: (giggling)
That’s kind of cool.
BOGGART:
Not when your laundry runs away from you.
[He trudges toward the castle gates. His voice echoes in the empty courtyard.]
BOGGART:
Hello? Sir Bluster? Anyone?
[Silence. Then a voice from a tower window.]
QUEEN MUM:
Darling Boggart! Please don’t come in through the front hall again, dear! The tapestries haven't recovered from last week!
BOGGART: (muttering)
They fainted. A rug fainted.
[He heads toward the servant’s entrance. Inside, two maids quickly scatter.]
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
MAID 1:
Run! It’s the Stinkening!
BOGGART:
Really? Again with the dramatics?
MAID 2: (from a safe distance)
We still love you, sire. From afar!
[He slinks into the kitchen. Cook is stirring a pot with a gas mask on.]
COOK:
You're not here for food, are you? The last time you sniffed my stew, it grew legs and ran off.
BOGGART:
I’m not hungry. Just… lonely.
[Pause.]
COOK:
You're not a bad prince, lad. Just… cursed. Can’t blame people for breathing.
BOGGART:
I don’t want to be “The Stinky One” forever. There must be something—anything—that can help.
COOK: (glancing around)
There’s rumors, you know. Old castle stories. About the Mirror of Longing.
BOGGART:
That dusty thing in the East Wing?
COOK:
They say it shows you what your heart truly wants. Magic’s old and twitchy, though. Could be dangerous.
BOGGART:
So is being a teenage prince who smells like hot garbage.
[He straightens his crown.]
BOGGART:
I’m going to find that mirror.
COOK:
You sure?
BOGGART:
It’s either that or wait until the castle plants organize a mutiny.
[Outside, another flower dies.]
COOK:
Fair point. Take a cloak. And maybe a sprig of mint.
BOGGART:
Thanks, Cook. I’ll find a way to fix this. To fix me.
[He turns dramatically—then slips on a soap puddle and crashes into a barrel of onions.]
BOGGART: (groaning)
Perfect. Now I smell like doom and dinner.
Prince Boggart, cartoonishly exaggerated, walking sadly while flowers instantly curl and die at his feet. Villagers peek from windows or hide behind barrels, holding their noses. A pigeon mid-flight has its wings clamped over its beak. A little girl (Tilly) grins in awe nearby then Prince boggart suddenly ran hurriedly towards the castle to hide himself because of the terrible embarrassment he just experienced..
