Queen Evilia stood in front of her enchanted mirror, her figure draped in what she fondly referred to as her "casual interrogation robe"—a silk monstrosity with so much lace it seemed designed to choke the life out of anyone in its path. The robe billowed dramatically around her as she struck a pose that conveyed both unshakable authority and the vague impression that she had possibly pulled a muscle.
"Mirror," she commanded, her tone imperious as she gazed at her reflection, "Show me my reflection. But make it flawless."
The magic mirror flickered, its usual bright gleam dulling for a moment. "Your Majesty," it intoned, its voice heavy with reluctant wisdom, "we've discussed this. I can't 'make you flawless' if you don't give me something to work with."
The Queen's left eye twitched, a muscle in her jaw tightening. "What does that mean?" she demanded, her voice a dangerous hiss.
"I mean," the mirror said, zooming in on her forehead with alarming speed, "this wrinkle right here? It's got its own postal code."
A maid in the corner dropped a tray of crystal vials with a clattering crash, and the Queen's face flushed a deep, furious orange—matching the shade of last week's failed "Radiant Plum" lip stain.
"FIX IT," she growled, teeth gritted.
The mirror sighed in defeat. "Fine. Activating... Beauty Mode."
A shimmering glow passed over the surface of the mirror, and suddenly, the Queen's reflection morphed into something so smooth it could have been sculpted from porcelain. Her lips puffed up to an almost comical degree, her eyes expanded to unsettling proportions that made her look like something out of a surrealist painting, and her skin—if you could even call it that—was as flawless as a CGI creation.
Snow White, who had been wandering by with a basket of freshly picked, and highly suspicious, mushrooms, stopped in her tracks. She blinked a few times, then shook her head in disbelief. "Whoa. You look like someone inflated a balloon version of yourself."
Queen Evilia's lips parted in a self-satisfied smile as she ran her fingers over her face, reveling in her newfound "beauty." "This is my true visage," she declared grandly, as though she were unveiling some great cosmic truth.
"Correction," the mirror quipped under its breath. "This is you, if you were made of melted wax and poor decisions."
Snow couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. The Queen, completely oblivious to the insult, turned to her attendants, eyes gleaming with pride. "From now on, this is how I appear in all royal portraits. Understood?"
The court painter, who had been standing by with a brush and canvas, immediately fainted.
The next morning, the entire kingdom descended into chaos.
A diplomatic delegation from a neighboring kingdom arrived in the throne room, and none of them recognized Queen Evilia. They stood in the hall, confused expressions plastered on their faces as they squinted at the woman sitting on the throne.
"Where is Her Majesty?" asked the befuddled ambassador, his voice filled with confusion. "We were told to expect Queen Evilia, not... this... inflated doll?"
The Queen's forced smile faltered for just a moment, her cheeks twitching as she tried to hold it. "This is Queen Evilia," she said through gritted teeth, the words almost painful to speak.
The ambassador leaned in cautiously, inspecting her face. "Ma'am, with all due respect, your face looks like someone stretched it over a soup tureen."
Behind a nearby pillar, Snow White clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. The mirror, hovering nearby, couldn't resist adding a sardonic commentary: [CURRENTLY WITNESSING A HUMAN TRAINWRECK].
The Queen's face turned from puce to a deeper shade of crimson. Her hands shot out in fury towards the mirror. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"
"You demanded 'flawless,'" the mirror said dryly. "You didn't specify 'recognizable.'"
Snow, unable to control herself, added with a mischievous grin, "Maybe try the 'Natural Beauty' filter next time?"
"Oh, we don't have that one," the mirror deadpanned. "Closest option is 'Slightly Less Cursed.'"
The Queen made a sound that could only be described as a teakettle about to explode, her temper pushing her past the breaking point. She stood up abruptly, hands clenched at her sides. "That's it," she hissed. "I will prove to everyone that I am beautiful!"
With a defiant snap of her fingers, she turned to the mirror and declared, "Broadcast my image to every reflective surface in the kingdom. No filters this time."
The mirror groaned loudly, as if it could sense the impending disaster. "This is a terrible idea."
"DO IT!" The Queen's voice brooked no argument.
The mirror sighed in resignation and, with a reluctant flash, activated KingdomVision™, projecting the Queen's face onto every reflective surface across the kingdom—windows, shields, polished spoons, and even the surface of the village well.
For the first few seconds, everything went smoothly. The Queen's image shone brightly, like the face of a goddess... if that goddess was made entirely out of wax and unrealistic beauty standards.
Then, the magic glitched.
The Queen's image flickered erratically, flashing through every filter at once—sepia tone, a distorted fish-eye lens, a "Gothic Horror" mode that made her look like something out of a dark fairytale, and, for reasons no one could fathom, a filter that gave her a ridiculous handlebar mustache.
In the town square, peasants screamed in terror. Children burst into tears, and a particularly drunk blacksmith, who had been squinting up at the sky, suddenly shouted, "I KNEW SHE WAS PART GOBLIN!"
Back in the throne room, Snow was on the floor, wheezing with laughter, clutching her stomach as tears streamed down her face. The mirror, clearly experiencing its own existential crisis, now displayed [BUFFERING... PLEASE STAND BY] as it tried desperately to correct the situation.
"I regret every spell that led me to this moment," the mirror muttered, its voice filled with a strange mixture of guilt and reluctant amusement.
Queen Evilia, now sporting three sets of eyes due to a layering error, collapsed onto her throne, her regal composure shattered. "I just wanted to look pretty..." she moaned, her voice cracking.
"And yet," the mirror said wryly, "here we are."
With the kingdom now in utter chaos, Snow White, seeing an opportunity for pure comedic justice, did the unthinkable. She hacked the mirror.
"Alright, tin can," she said, prying open the mirror's enchanted control panel with a butter knife she had definitely stolen from the kitchen. "Time to show everyone the real Queen."
"You can't handle the real Queen," the mirror warned ominously. "Nobody can. That's why we use filters."
Snow yanked a wire with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from knowing you're about to break something entirely irreplaceable. The mirror screamed in a high-pitched whine, but it was too late.
Suddenly, every reflective surface in the kingdom switched to raw, unfiltered footage of the Queen—complete with disheveled bedhead, leftover face cream streaked across her cheeks, and a very unflattering morning sneeze that sent droplets flying in all directions.
The entire kingdom fell silent, staring at the distorted, yet truly human version of their queen.
Then, from a nearby village, a single voice rang out, clear and triumphant:
"...She does have pores!"
The dam broke.
Peasants cheered. The royal portraitist, who had been on the brink of madness, wept in relief. Even the castle guards, who had long since given up on anything even remotely resembling decorum, high-fived each other.
Queen Evilia, now huddled under her robes like a disgraced bat, whimpered. "I'm hideous."
Snow patted her shoulder with an uncharacteristic moment of sympathy. "Nah. You're just human. And honestly? It's an improvement."
The mirror, now free of its beauty-editing duties, displayed a single, final message:
"[THANK GOD. NOW CAN WE TALK ABOUT YOUR POSTURE?]"