The strangest room in the house

It smelled strange, like rotting apples turned sickeningly sweet, though there was nothing of the sort to speak of. It was fairly large and ill lit, with just 2 small rectangles for light to pass through. The shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom, landing on 2 portraits, appropriately placed to be the brightest objects in the room. In one, a woman in a long dress held an umbrella in one hand and with the other she was pointing to the left. In the other portrait, a mirror image of another lady holding a poetry book in her left and pointing with her index finger to her right. They both had bemused smiles on their faces and as I approached I could almost hear their giggle. They were both pointing at something in the middle, a large mirror, the only other piece of furniture in the whole room. I stood in front of the dusty mirror and saw myself, my eyes wide,  my skin a terrible shade of pale. I realised I was scared, a chill ran down my spine as I raised my hand to wipe off the sweat off my forehead. I almost fainted when my mirror image did not. I stopped breathing as my reflection smiled at me in that mischievous way the women in the paintings were. Giggles rang in my ear and this time I was sure I was not imagining it. Then my mirror self pointed upwards, her movements smooth. My body shook as I slowly raised my head. I looked up, and gasped.