The Queen swept into the room. Her midnight-purple cloak had a high collar, framing her elegant yet cruel features perfectly. I yawned.
“Hello, Quentin,” she said. Then she did this strange little flailing dance with her arms and chanted ominously. I think it was supposed to open the prophetic channels so I could see that she was the fairest or something. Or maybe it was just this witchy thing she did, because she was a witch. It didn’t actually do anything, so I don’t know why she even bothered. I don’t use any gift of prophecy when she asks me the “Mirror, mirror” question. I just tell her what she wants to hear.
In fact, I don’t even have prophetic abilities. Maybe if I were a huge fancy mirror, one of those that cost hundreds of dollars, I would. But when you are a smallish oval mirror with a plain birch frame that the Queen got at Goodwill for three bucks, you don’t get a lot of powers. All I do is talk. In an extremely blunt and opinionated way.
Back to the Queen. Once she was finished flailing, she stretched her hand out to me. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
There’s that question again! I hate that question! Well, this was my chance to get even. I answered the Queen, “Oh, Queen, you are very fair, but there is one who is fairer still.”
She was shocked. She glared at the inanimate objects in the room. Most of them mystified me, like the white feathers everywhere, but the purpose of one certain glass disk was perfectly clear. It was a lie detector, enchanted to turn a certain color if a person was lying or not lying. I am not a person. I am a mirror. Lie detectors do not bother me. The Queen glared back at me. “We must know the name of this fairest one!”
These mystic little rituals really got on my nerves. Not that I had nerves, being a mirror, but you get my point. Time to mix it up a little.
“Her name’s Snow White. She’s beautiful. Way more beautiful than you are. And she lives in your palace, in fact. Never noticed her? You probably wouldn’t. But anyways, she is a serving girl.”
The Queen’s face was going through an interesting spectrum of emotions: first surprise, then anger, then finally hatred. Her jaw was set as she waved a dismissive hand at me. If that was supposed to turn me off, it didn’t work. I don’t think I have an off button. I went silent anyways. My work was finished.
The Queen spoke into a shriveled Thing. I don’t think you want to know what it used to be. Now it was an intercom system through the palace. “Bring us the Hunter,” she said.
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