‘Age isn’t just a number!’
Snow White frowned, then tried to blank her
expression. Of all the dark objects her stepmother had left behind, the
carriage clock hadn’t been her first concern. Mirrors and apples were strictly
prohibited in the castle, and the wicked queen’s wand had been bricked into the
cellar, but the clock popped up every time Snow was feeling good about herself,
ticking out twisted aphorisms. It never ran down, it was impervious to spells,
and even on its tiny legs it was as agile as a cat.
‘A stitch in time saves nine!’ The clock
grinned with the bottom half of its numerals.
‘Thirty is the new twenty! I’m not getting
surgery!’ Snow threw a gilt-backed hairbrush at the mantelpiece, but the clock
had fled.
‘Time flies when you’re having fun!’ a
muffled voice said from beneath the bed.
Tucking her skirt into her royal bloomers,
the princess dived under the four-poster, but came up with nothing but a
mouthful of dust.
‘Time waits for no one,’ the clock
sniggered from the dressing table. Snow aimed a roundhouse kick at the table’s
legs, sending it crashing to the floor. In the haze of face powder she felt for
springs, splinters, glass, anything that showed she’d at least nicked time.
‘Better late than never!’ The clock stuck
out a tongue made of cogs and ran up the side of the wardrobe.
Snow picked up a fish ornament behind her
back. ‘Oh I’m having a whale of a time!’ she yelled as the porcelain sailed
through the clock’s glass, taking out its works.
Silence.
‘What are you up to?’ Her husband stood in
the doorway, staring at the devastation. ‘We’re late for your birthday ball.’
Snow wiped her hands on her dress. ‘Sorry,
I was just killing time.’
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