Deep in the shadowy, jagged peaks overlooking a sprawling kingdom, there once lived a wickedly bitter witch. She possessed a terrible, defining flaw: she utterly refused to wash her teeth. Day after day, year after year, she neglected basic hygiene, and because of this foul habit, she grew increasingly wicked in both body and spirit. Her mouth and soul were slowly rotting away from the inside out, and the deeper the decay took hold, the more viciously she would curse the innocent people living down below.
Down in the valley, nestled beneath the mountains, lived a remarkably pretty princess in a bustling city where the weather was eternally pleasant. She seemed to have the world at her feet. Not only was she extraordinarily intelligent, but she was also blessed with striking, natural beauty—a gift of exceptionally good genes. She was destined to marry a noble prince from a neighboring kingdom, and frankly, there was seemingly nothing she could not achieve. Her life was the very definition of perfection.
At the time, however, the princess was completely unaware of the evil witch lurking in the crags above. The entire town was bustling with festive energy, joyfully preparing for the upcoming Christmas season. Meanwhile, high in her cavernous lair, the witch was plotting her own cruel surprise. She despised happiness and could not bear the thought of joy spreading through the valley. Once upon a time, the witch herself had been quite pretty, but her stubborn refusal to brush her teeth had destroyed her appearance, turning her bitter and wrathful.
One crisp morning, while the princess was enjoying a peaceful stroll through the royal gardens, she encountered a strange gentleman she had never seen before. He wore spectacles perched on his nose, and as he drew closer, she noticed he sported a magnificent, bushy mustache. For a brief second, she considered calling the palace guards, but an overwhelming, magnetic curiosity compelled her to stay and learn more about him. He looked like an eccentric time traveler dropped straight out of a different era of history.
The man walked right up to her, doffed his hat, and remarked out of nowhere, "Did you know that the Russian word for 'mouth' is rot [рот]?"
The man introduced himself as Friedrich Nietzsche. "It is a most fitting word," Nietzsche continued thoughtfully, "because the mouth will inevitably rot if you do not brush your teeth."
The princess stared at him in absolute shock, blinking in disbelief. "I brush my teeth every single day," she defended herself instinctively.
Nietzsche nodded approvingly, his mustache twitching with a smile. "Then you are a wise princess indeed."
A surge of pride warmed the princess's chest. Nietzsche pressed on, imparting his philosophical wisdom. "One should always brush one's teeth immediately after eating food. And never, under any circumstances, go to bed without brushing your teeth first."
The princess nodded eagerly, committing every word to memory. She agreed with everything he said. But the moment she looked away for a fraction of a second to adjust her shawl, he vanished into thin air.
Well, she thought to herself, feeling quite accomplished, I suppose I am rather wise.
True to his word, she began brushing her teeth after lunch as well, ensuring that the bristles of her toothbrush touched every single tooth before bedtime. Consequently, the princess maintained a wonderfully healthy mouth. She knew with absolute certainty that she would never suffer from dental rot.
Observing this from her mountain cave, the wicked witch became incandescent with rage. She realized that the princess's immaculate hygiene—and her acute awareness that the Russian word for mouth, rot, meant decay—was shielding her from corruption.
When Christmas finally arrived, the wicked witch descended from her cave like a dark storm, determined to ruin the holiday. She stole wrapped presents from doorsteps and set fire to the outlying wooden churches. The princess woke up in the dead of night to the choking smell of thick smoke billowing through the windows. She immediately demanded that something be done, but the local firefighters reported back in despair that the magical flames refused to go out.
Something rotten is truly behind this, the princess thought, her jaw tightening.
Determined to end the madness, she left the castle grounds and marched straight into the royal garden. There, half-hidden by the frost-covered rosebushes, she came face-to-face with the wicked witch. It felt like looking into a distorted mirror reflection, save for the fact that the witch was the exact opposite of everything pure and good.
The witch did not notice the princess at first. When she finally spun around, her yellow eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful princess whose grace was beyond compare.
Suddenly, the sheer, radiant beauty of the princess hit the witch like a physical blow. The wicked sorceress simply melted into a puddle of foul, smoking sludge right there on the cobblestones. The sheer force of goodness and light was too much for her dark soul to bear.
The princess stood in stunned silence. She had always known her beauty could melt a man's heart, but she had never imagined it possessed the raw, elemental power to vanquish a wicked witch.
When she walked triumphantly back to the castle, the magic of the valley righted itself instantly. The stolen Christmas presents magically reappeared beneath the trees, and the scorched churches were restored to pristine wood and stone. The princess smiled, running her tongue over her sparkling teeth. She remembered Nietzsche's lesson: the Russian word for mouth was rot, but her teeth would never rot because she cared for them. Because her teeth were strong and healthy, her entire kingdom would remain uncorrupted.
The people of the kingdom adored their princess, placing their absolute trust in her leadership. They knew that if the wicked witch had somehow seized control, the land would have rotted away under a regime defined by poor hygiene and bitter cruelty.
That evening, a grand feast was held in the Great Hall. The princess sat proudly at the head of the long dining table. The air smelled fresh, and getting rid of the witch felt as satisfying and cathartic as finally pulling out an infected, aching molar.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors swung open, and Nietzsche walked casually into the room.
"Oh, hello again, stranger," the princess said, her face lighting up. She immediately offered him a seat of honor at her right hand.
Nietzsche smiled, explaining that he was merely passing through the centuries on a philosophical detour. But the princess insisted, declaring that he was her most special friend. Unable to refuse the heartfelt request of such a brilliant and radiant princess, Nietzsche gracefully sat down to dine with her.
They spent the evening discussing metaphysics, the changing seasons, and the crisp winter air that felt as refreshing as mountain breezes. Nietzsche openly admired the princess, noting how her vibrant spirit brought life to the entire kingdom. He promised he would return whenever she needed counsel on matters of the soul, and she welcomed him back anytime.
After a rich meal shared in companionable silence punctuated by witty small talk and fond glances, the princess turned briefly to speak with her royal maid. When she turned back around to invite Nietzsche to stay the night in the royal guest chambers, he was already gone.
The princess smiled gently to herself. She knew well enough that he was likely a ghost of philosophy itself, but she decided she didn't mind in the least.
With a light heart, she walked up the grand staircase to her bedroom. Before slipping under the covers, she meticulously brushed her teeth, letting Nietzsche’s words echo softly in her mind. She could hear him reminding her that the Russian word for mouth was rot. As she rinsed her mouth out with cool water, she thought of him, marveling at how clean her teeth felt—and how fresh his philosophical ideas had left her mind. With the wicked witch permanently removed, the mountain air of her kingdom was finally clean again. It was as if she had successfully extracted a troublesome molar once and for all, with a little help from her mysterious, wandering friend.