Bespelled

"New York Times Bespelling Author? What the heck does that mean?"

Ebony Blackthorn shrugged her plump shoulders indifferently. She didn't know and she didn't care. Instead she frowned at her reflexion in the mirror.

"My ass is getting bigger.  I can feel it bursting out of my pants."

"I can see it bursting out of your pants."

Came the ambiguous response from the mirror.

I sighed heavily. It was one thing to have fairy tales come true but who ever thought up a talking mirror had to have had the shortest foresight to the chaos it would create. The things became obsolete for a reason. I was staring into one of  the last few left of this archaic invention. A remnants from my great grandmother. Passed down from generations to generations of Osbolds. Now to me the last remaining in the line.

And I would die too.

Alone and with no offsprings. I was the end of my line for numerous reasons. That I had no soul was just one of them. That my income could never have supported a child, another. Yet still more reasons was the restrictions of class one placed on me. I was in no way permitted to procreate. The rules of society forbade it. The government's of the world restricted it.

In a time when the populations of the world was easily pushing towards the trillions  the options were scarce. Face a mateless future or face anhialation.