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By her next birthday, Snow White was unrecognisable. The first thing anyone saw when greeting her was not her face, but her tremendous, distended belly, quivering with fullness as she reached for just one more slice of syrupy pie or chicken-stuffed pastry. Her arms sagged, enveloped by layers of heavy flesh, till she could barely lift them. Her legs struggled beneath her, unable to keep up with her rapidly ballooning weight. Any exercise more strenuous than waddling across the room left her gasping for breath, her failing corset struggling to hold back the avalanche of fat. So, of course, the Queen insisted on an enormous ball and feast to celebrate Snow’s birthday, where Snow herself would be expected to dance with every eligible young man. “Step... mother, … please…!” Snow’s knees trembled under her bulk. “Can’t I… sit out… just one… dance?” “Now, Snow,” the Queen said, patting her wheezing stepdaughter’s cheek. “A gentleman shouldn’t be treated so rudely.” Snow groaned as her