“Mirror, mirror, on my wall,” I chant in quiet glee, “Who’s the fairest of them all?” I gaze at my reflection, awaiting no answer in particular. My fingers comb through my soft, luscious raven curls, and I bat my hazel eyes. I dust blush onto my high cheekbones, brush my lips with oil and wine, and smile at the perfection before me, giving my gown one last twirl.

I giggle and laugh at my reflection, entertained by wild thoughts of meeting a princely man. But as I turn to leave through the double doors, an unmistakable voice—deep and resonant—rings out from within the mirror’s reflective gaze.

“To answer the question you seek, you must hear what you may not like. For I am just a humble mirror, and I tell only the truth of what I see. No amount of jewels, makeup, or fine clothes can hide the vanity and conceit in your heart. I see not only your face, but the beauty of your soul—and yours is rotting from within, hiding a deadly, infectious disease behind a steady beat.”

I stomp toward the mirror, raising my hand to shatter it. Yet, as I pause, I look into the mirror once more, no longer gazing upon my beautiful self but upon a horrid ugly monster staring back.