-
The Queen: Snow White. Is there a fire?
Snow White: I'm sorry?
The Queen: Is your bedroom on fire? Because I'm searching for an explanation as to why you would be out of your bedroom and in here, and my first guess was fire.
Snow White: I thought maybe I could come to the gala. You know, because today is my eighteenth birthday.
The Queen: Is it now? Oh, my. Oh, my! Snow White, maybe it is time I eased up on you, hmm? After all, you've done nothing to me. Caused no problems. And yet... there is something about you that's so incredibly... irritating. I don't know what it is. The slumped shoulders, the hair, that voice. Mmm. I know what it is! I think it is the hair. I hate your hair. I don't care if it's your one-hundredth birthday. Don't ever sneak into a party like this again.
-
Brighton: Snow White is dead. One of God's great mysteries is his plan for each and every one of us...
The Queen: Speed it up.
Brighton: Snow White lived, she died, God rest her soul, Amen. There will be a buffet lunch served at two.
Mélodie Simard
Extended Reading
