The next morning Mibbet awoke to a familiar, and delicious sound. Of course Rosalind was already up and complaining about how early it was when the appetising buzz drew close. Instinct took over and Mibbet woke up with a snap, and a gulp. Followed by a cacophony of horrified screeching from Rosalind.

As the fuzz of sleep wore off Mibbet became aware of two new, and she was realising vital pieces of information. Number one was that she was still human now. Number two was that flies do not taste half as good without insectivore taste buds. Then an additional piece of data floated to the forefront of her brain, Rosalind in fully pissed off Princess mode screaming in your head felt like a chunk of 2 by four to the noggin, from an irate bodybuilder, with a grudge, and no concept of holding back. Finally 4. apparently if a human eats a fly they will regret it (though sincerely she hoped the song in which the human died from it, after consuming increasingly large creatures in order to pursue said fly was just more silly human nonsense. Because she really didn’t even want to imagine the logistics involved in swallowing a horse.)

Suppressing a wince from all the irate shrieking Mibbet got herself out of bed, because contrary to popular belief frogs do not lead a sedentary lifestyle. (at least not for long, relaxed and lazy frogs meant chubby frogs, chubby frogs meant less chance of escape AND looking more tasty. Two things that did not result in you hopping about under your own power for long.)

Mibbet quickly threw on a bathrobe (since apparently humans get really uptight about the whole nudity thing) and a pair of slippers. Secured choppy to her back, and went in search of food that wasn’t insectile in nature.

As she threw open the door a maid appeared at a dead sprint, if she remembered correctly this particular maid was called May. She quickly stood between the princess, and the inadvertently gawping guards.

“Your Highness, how unexpected to encounter you up and about so early in the day, I trust you slept well.” May said, plastering on a big ol’ fake smile she wore to hide her thoughts on what the hell Her Highness was up to now. "I’ll summon your wardrobe consultants immediately”

“But I’m really really hungry now May” Mibbet whined, as May's brain short circuited over being addressed publicly by Her first name by a Princess. Usually she firmly believed the Princess assumed they were all called You.

“I’ll arrange food to be brought up immediately” May quickly but gently chivvied her back into her room, before rumours could begin of the crown Princess running around the castle in a state of undress.

It took a mere two minutes for food to arrive, followed by wardrobe consultants travelling at a full on sprint. (An impressive feat for staff pushing along multiple racks of dresses, mounted on wheels that seemed to take the idea of travelling in a straight line as a suggestion rather than how it should work. But when a royal calls and accidentally or otherwise implies your tardiness it is generally considered advisable to arrive ten minutes ago if not sooner.) Mibbet quickly devoured the food presented to her. Ignoring Rosalind’s constant exhortations about her apparently appalling table manners, then quickly began to scan the clothes.

Dresses, dresses, and more dresses, each one crafted with enough fabric to double Mibbets weight. How on earth was she supposed to hop, skip, or fight with her legs in a metal cage, and her guts squished in by the torture device they insisted on. She liked her guts on the inside, yet it seems that these so called “consultants” were determined to squeeze them all out of her.

Mibbet tolerated it for a few minutes, but Rosalind’s temper was now hers, and so the inevitable explosion happened.

“Get these corsets out of my sight” she howled. “Next time somebody tries to put one of those things on me going to be very upset, and you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

The consultants paled, they would usually have tried to convince, and cajole, but ever since the Princess had come back from her journey, wearing a tattered (and three whole days outdated) dress covered in blood, that rumour had it came from an adult Owl-bear, and wearing an axe with a head as big as her torso, she seemed to have changed.

Mibbet furiously sorted through rack upon rack of fancy dresses, some from designers most queued up for months for a measuring session with, with palpable disgust on her face. “too heavy, too ugly, CORSET! gaaah burn it, how are you supposed to move your legs in this?” as dress after dress was discarded. To the mounting horror of the consultants.

Eventually after much rummaging, and plenty of colourful language, the gathered assistants weren’t even aware she knew. Her expression changed into a beaming smile as she pulled out a well made set of jodhpurs, and a well tailored hunting jacket were pulled from the mounting pile of clothes.

“An interesting choice your majesty” said the consultant, slapping on her best approving smile to hide her mounting horror at the horrendous colour coordination being displayed. (Inside Mibbets head Rosalind was once more screaming, something about a colour wheel, whatever the heck that was.) “I apologise for my ignorance, I was unaware your majesty was due to attend a hunt, we’ll have the royal tailors have a suitably coordinated equivalent manufactured immediately.” She tried desperately to pry the horrendous monstrosity from her hands while keeping up her dignity.

After some convincing from Rosalind, Mibbet reluctantly released the clothes she was clinging to for fear of yet more of the dreaded dresses. (Under the threat that if she didn’t let Rosalind help with wardrobe management she would get a full lecture on the history of fashion, colour coordination, embroidery, quilting vs. layering, and fabric suitability,) and agreed to await the completed and according to Rosalind far better stylistically matched alternative options.