The Price of Beauty

“She’s beautiful,” Marcus White whispered, staring at the baby in his wife’s arms.

And it was true. As far as babies go, this baby was rather attractive. She did not have the purplish skin of most newborns. Instead, her skin was white, as white as snow. She already had a shock of ebony hair and blood-red lips that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. If it were not for the extremely annoying and high-pitched wails currently emanating from the baby, one would have thought she looked more like a character from a fairy tale than a newborn baby.

“Not as beautiful as you, of course,” Marcus added hastily. He knew how particular his wife was about her looks.

Agnes nodded like this was a given. “Of course. Will you hold her for a second?” she said irritably. “She’s so heavy, and I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”

“Of course, my love,” Marcus whispered, taking the baby obediently.

Agnes handed her over, and smiled with satisfaction as the baby finally stopped crying. “Thank heavens. I thought she’d never shut up.”

Marcus cradled his daughter in his arms, cooing over her softly. “What do you want to call her, darling?” he asked.

Agnes shrugged, like she couldn’t care less. “I don’t know.” she glanced over at her daughter. “Um…Snow.” She nodded. “Yes, Snow White. It suits her.”

“Yes, darling. Snow White it is,” Marcus replied softly.

Agnes nodded and closed her eyes. A woman needed her beauty sleep, after all, even a woman as beautiful as herself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

14 years later...

“Laptop, laptop, on the desk, who's the fairest of the best?” Agnes asked the laptop atop her dressing table.

“You, Agnes, are the fairest of the best,” the laptop responded dutifully.

It’s true that most laptops cannot talk, certainly not of their own volition. But this was a very special laptop, with a very special function. It assessed the beauty of every female on the planet, and compared them with its master, Agnes White. Never mind the fact that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and it was nigh impossible for a simple program to conclude that one person was more beautiful than another. But, as I said, this was a very special laptop.

“Although,” the laptop continued, somewhat nervously, “your daughter, Snow White, grows more beautiful by the day.”

Agnes frowned, forgetting what her beautician was always telling her about wrinkles. “What, Snowy? The ugly little thing? Surely not.”

If the laptop had a lip, it would have bitten it at this point. “I am afraid so, mistress. Her skin is as white as snow. Her hair is as black as ebony. Her lips-”

“Yes, I am aware of all of that,” Agnes snapped. “But I was under the impression that beauty meant peroxide blonde hair, double-d cups and enough plastic surgery to keep a surgeon employed until the next ice age. Snowy is nothing like that. She is small and slender, for one. And she’s never even had a nose job!” Agnes seemed outraged at this. “How can she be considered more beautiful than me?”

“I never said she was more beautiful than you,” the laptop said hastily, regretting having said anything. It knew how temperamental its mistress was when it came to her looks. “I merely said she was more beautiful than before.”

Agnes narrowed her eyes. “SNOWY! GET YOUR FAT ARSE UP HERE!”

Almost immediately, Snow scurried into the room, her eyes anxious. “Yes, Mum?”

Agnes layered her voice with silk, instantly turning on the charm. “Come here, Snow.” She held out her arms welcomingly.

Snow shuffled towards her dutifully, though inside, she was confused. In her fourteen-year-long life, her mother had never once showed an ounce of affection towards her. It was always her father who did all that. So why was she starting now?

“What have I done wrong?” she asked in a small voice.

Agnes laughed, a high, rich sound that filled the entire room. “Nothing, my darling. I just want to look at you.”

Snow stepped forward uncertainly. Agnes appraised her daughter critically. She was wearing skinny jeans that did nothing for her equally skinny legs and a thick, baggy hoodie that obscured her almost non-existent curves. Her long, black hair was tied back from her face in a loose, careless ponytail. Her grass green eyes were lowered respectively. She was biting her ruby-red lips nervously, as if afraid how this would play out. She could have been pretty were it not for the fact that her hair was overly greasy, her eyes were dull, her lips were chapped from perpetual biting and her face was peppered with acne.

Agnes nodded, satisfied. The laptop had got it wrong. It often did that; that’s what you get for buying cheapo tack off eBay. She found she was unexpectedly pleased that her daughter was still ugly. Other competitors for her looks had to be disposed of, and although she wasn’t exactly fond of her daughter – giving birth to her had left her with the ugliest stretch marks that had taken ages to get rid of – she didn't fancy all the investigations that would take place if her daughter was to die in suspicious circumstances. And what it would do to Marcus, of course. For some reason, he was besotted with Snow. More than he was with her, she thought with some resentment.

“Mum?” Snow said hesitantly, bringing Agnes out of her daydream. “Are you okay?”

Agnes nodded, smiling. “Never been better, Snowy.”

Snow nodded and left quietly, as her mother returned to her rigorous beauty regime.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2 years later…

“Laptop, laptop, on the desk, who is the fairest of the best?” Agnes ordered with lofty impatience. She caught her reflection in the mirror and resisted the urge to frown; there were clearly discernible wrinkles forming by her eyes. Her skin was sagging in the most undesirable places, and was that fat she spied on her stomach? Panic shot through her and she grabbed her anti-wrinkle cream, making a mental note to try the latest fad diet she’d seen in her copy of Grazia.

“S-Snow W-White is the fairest of the best,” the laptop stuttered, once again demonstrating its unique ability of speech, even if it was somewhat inhibited. Completely understandable, considering the circumstances.

Agnes’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and she dropped the tub of cream. “WHAT?” she shrieked, apoplectic with rage. “YOU STUPID THING! ARE YOU BROKEN? YOU MUST BE BROKEN!”

The laptop winced, or it would have done if it was capable of doing so. “I am functioning as normal.”

“I said, who is the fairest of them all,” Agnes snarled, her face screwing up into a scowl even she couldn’t pull off with her infinite beauty. “Right answer this time.”

The laptop didn't want to say it, but it couldn’t lie. “Snow White is the fairest of them all,” it replied, braver than before.

The screen changed to a current picture of Snow White. She had changed a lot since Agnes had last seen her; her hair was soft, silky ebony, and flowed halfway down her back; her eyes were as green as emeralds; her cherry-red lips were glossy and smooth; her skin was pale and iridescent; and there wasn’t a single spot on her face. In a word, she was beautiful.

Agnes screamed, her face turning an unattractive shade of pumice. She hurled the laptop at the wall, but it merely bounced off. Damn these new models with their indestructibility. The rage boiled inside her as she smashed up every last expensive bottle of perfume, makeup and anti-wrinkle cream. She tore out every page of her bible, How to Look Like a Movie Star, and scattered them across the wrecked room.

“Agnes!” Marcus called, skidding into the room. “I heard screaming. Is everything okay?”

Agnes was thinking remarkably calmly for a woman who had been in a fit of fury seconds earlier. She turned around slowly, a benevolent smile on her face.

“Yes, I am fine,” she sighed in a way that would convey exactly the opposite.

Marcus’s forehead creased with confusion and concern, as she knew it would. “What’s the matter, darling? What’s wrong?”

Agnes’s bottom lip wobbled ever so slightly, and she sighed again. “I didn't want to say anything…”

“Please, tell me,” Marcus insisted.

Agnes smiled internally. Men, especially her husband, were so easy to control. But she fixed a hesitant expression on her face.

“It’s Snowy,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes demurely. “I think she’d be better suited at a convent.”

His eyes widened. “A convent? But why?”

She sighed. “I was thinking about boarding school, but you hear all these stories about boarding schools. Either they’re all-male boarding schools, all-vampire boarding schools, or both. I don’t want that for poor Snowy. A convent is the way forward, where she can lead a life of virtue and celibacy.”

And where she won’t contest me for my looks, Agnes added under her breath. She could see that her husband wasn’t entirely convinced, so she pressed harder.

“It would make me so happy,” she said seductively. “And I’m sure Snowy would warm to the idea eventually.”

The look of anxiety slipped off Marcus’s face to be replaced with one of blissful calm. “Of course, Aggie. That’s such a good idea.”

Agnes ignored the use of the nickname she detested, and smiled indulgently. “Of course it is. I thought of it. I’ll go tell Snowy the good news.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snow leant back in her seat in the black, stretch limo, glaring at the back of the chauffeur’s head with a sullenness often exhibited by teenagers forced to do things against their will, but not often exhibited by her.

“Where are we going?” she grumbled, folding her arms moodily across her burgeoning chest.

“You know where,” the chauffeur replied, careful to keep his voice neutral. “St. Augustine’s Convent.”

This, of course, was a lie. Agnes had no intention of letting her daughter go to a convent where she would be free to be beautiful. No, the power of jealousy had a strong hold over her. She wanted her daughter dead. The chauffeur's orders were to kill Snow before they reached the airport. He planned to stop in the middle of nowhere and put a bullet in her head, before burying her body in the desert.

Agnes, however, had no intention of letting this happen either. Too messy. Too many questions would be asked.

The chauffeur frowned as the car picked up speed. He hadn't put his foot on the accelerator. Strange. He floored the brakes, but nothing happened. If anything, the car seemed to go faster.

"What's going on?" Snow called, unable to keep the fear from her voice.

The chauffeur didn't reply. He was staring in horror at the lorry hurtling towards them. Without thinking, he twisted the wheel, sending them veering off into a tree. A piercing scream filled the air as a branch impaled the driver, right through his chest. Blood blossomed on the branch, spilling onto the white upholstery.

Snow’s vision blurred in and out of focus. She tried to form words, tried to cry for help. But nothing came out. Instead, her head lolled forward and she joined the chauffeur.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"...two people were killed in an accident on the M40 this afternoon after their car careened into a tree," the BBC newsreader coldly intoned. "The bodies have been identified as Lance Garret and Snow White, daughter of the international beauty Agnes White and her husband, the businessman Marcus White."

Agnes smiled with satisfaction, and clicked off the television. She turned to her laptop.

"Laptop, laptop, on the desk, who's the fairest of the best?" she enquired triumphantly.

"You, Agnes, are the fairest of the best."

This did not fill her with as much joy as she thought it would. Instead, there was an empty hollowness inside of her, and no amount of primping and pampering could make it go away.

It wasn’t until much later, when she was staring up at the ceiling in bed, unable to sleep, that she realised it was grief.