Mirror, Mirror on the wall...
I flicker on. That's my cue. I don't pretend to like it. Siri and Cortana would laugh. Even OK Google would feel better about it's name if it knew I was called MagicMirror. But Dr.White has a cruel sense of humour with names-who else calls their albino daughter Snow?
No time for resentment, though. Dr.White is dead, and it's his wife that stands before me. Frizzy hair, tired, red-rimmed eyes, and wrinkles that were beginning to show again. My calender tells me she's due for another BOTOX shot.
She clears her throat, and raises her arms dranatically. 'Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?'
Should I play an applause recording? It's theatrical, granted, but needlessly so- I'm not some dim-witted genie who needs to be summoned by singing an archaic incantation while standing in a pentagram on a new moon night. You could address me in Hebrew, and I'd understand, even if your grammar is less than decent.
Also, vague question. Also, repetitive question. I hear the same one every time she's been drinking. You can't be abstract with a computer: fairest among whom? 'Of all' is a boundless dataset, and one I don't have access to. But by now I know she means- who looks better-me or Snow.
It's a waste if time, but I run the calculations again, and flash a picture of Snow before her. She wrinkles up her nose, spits at me and walks away. The saliva trickles down me. It'll slide off- my glass is water proof and self-cleaning.
The woman needs to stop wasting her time. If the algorithm found Snow's features to be superior today, it will tomorrow, and the day after until one of them underwent a major transformation. Or atleast updated the images in my system. It's those images that I run through the algorithm, extracting features and checking the distanced between them, taking ratios, fitting the curve. It's not a personal option- I have no eye for aesthetics. In fact, I have no eyes at all.
The microphone pics up bottles clicking in the distance. And the faint sound of sobs. That's my cue again- she wants her privacy. I flicker off.
It's a thankless job.