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Even in that dreary dungeon, they treated me with the respect I deserve. They didn’t make me do these awful fit-for-a-servant chores. And maybe the food wasn’t so great, but at least I got room service. If I don’t escape this joint, I’m going to demand a transfer back there.
     
    ***
     
     “Lunch is one of our best meals!” says Elzmerelda. Holding a plate full of assorted cheeses, salads and breads, she takes a seat at the last table I’m setting.
    I fling the rest of the silverware on the table and head over to the lunch line. Ravenous, I pile up my plate. Miss Scary-Skinny is in front of me. She hesitantly puts a few greens on her plate. Miss Fat-and-Freckled, who’s behind me, eats for two, loading way more on her plate than me. She slyly sneaks an extra piece of bread into her pocket. Fanta catches her in the act and immediately confiscates it.
    “Remember, Winifred, you are what you eat,” she chides.
    Scary-Skinny directs a couple of pig-like snorts at the overweight woman.
    “And the same goes for you, Sasperilla,” snaps the plump fairy. “You’re not leaving this room until you eat this piece of bread. And I’ll be watching every bite.”
     “See, I told you they were spies!” sneers Sasperilla. 
    I’m beginning to believe her.
     
    ***
     
    I take a seat at Elzmerelda’s table, between Sasperilla and Winifred. The troll, the last in line, teeter-totters over to another table and eats alone.
     “So, what are you here for?” I ask Winifred after a bite of a surprisingly tasty cheese.
    The fat woman gulps down a mouthful of buttered bread. “I had what they call a psychotic breakdown.” She gazes down at her plate, shamefully. “I tried to kill my own children.” 
    Cripes! And they thought I was evil. I merely tried to kill my stepdaughter. We weren’t even related by blood.
     “Ha! I bet she tried to eat them!” snickers Sasperilla as she expertly sneaks her bread under the table.  
    Winifred chokes. Elzmerelda pats her on her back and shakes her head in dismay at her sister.
    “And what about Gimpy over there?” I ask, pointing to the troll, who reminds me of those loathsome dwarfs. He keeps staring at me and is getting on my nerves.
    “Oh, it’s very sad,” says Elzmerelda, squinting in his direction. “The Good Fairies told us he’s a notorious criminal. An extortionist!
     That’s not sad. It’s just a little evil.
    “But then some queen outsmarted him. He was so mad he stomped his foot into the ground. Waist deep! Then he tried to tear off his other leg.
    That explains his limp. “How did he end up here?”
    “The queen made her husband pull him out, then had him committed.”
    She’s the evil one!
    “He couldn’t remember a thing. Not even his name.”
     “He has a classic case of dissociative amnesia according to Dr. Grimm,” interjects Winifred.
    “Who’s Dr. Grimm?” I ask.
     “An ogre with big ears who’s out to get us,” butts in Sasperilla.
     “Don’t listen to her. He leads our group therapy sessions. You’ll meet him right after lunch,” says Winifred.
    Maybe, they call it group therapy because we give each other massages? Fat chance.
    “We have to call that little guy ‘What’s-His-Name’ until he can remember his real name,” says Elzmerelda. “Dr. Grimm says that’ll be his first step toward recovery.” 
    “Puh-lease!” Sasperilla rolls her eyes. “He’s a vertically challenged moron. I can’t believe I have to associate with people like him.” 
    Personally, I can’t believe I have to associate with any of these freaks. I don’t need a magic mirror to tell me where I stand among this sorry bunch of losers.
     “So, why are you here, Miss Needs-to-Know-Everybody’s-Business?” asks Sasperilla.
     “I thought I was here for a makeover.” There’s no way I’m sharing my life with these nut-jobs.
    “You are here for a makeover. Only not the kind you were expecting,” says Winifred. 
    “What do you