“Mirror, mirror on the wall…?” I’d ask, knowing I’ll never be the fairest one of all.
Red curls riot across my head, freckles march across my nose; teeth bullied by gleaming metal. Not boyfriend material.
“Mirror, mirror…?” I asked the morning following our school formal.
“You’re amazing.” The lanky Year 12 new boy, glasses sliding down his lopsided nose, shiny braces, had walked me home and our lips had met in a sweet metallic kiss.
“You are the fairest one of all,” it answered.