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.