House Of Mirrors Haunting Adeline Novels & Stories

She consumed everything. After she finished her dinner, Adeline explored the room some more. The room was fool-proof. There was nothing in it with which she could hurt herself, even if she wanted to. The window and mirror were unbreakable. The bathtub had no stopper. The lamps were screwed onto their surfaces. Nothing could be used as a weapon in case Natasha tried to hurt herself. Adeline couldn't help but admire Damien a little. He had thought of everything.

∆Margot's p.o.v∆ Where was she? It had been quite awhile since Adalyn excused herself to go somewhere. Obviously I was most probably over reacting but then again I had a horrible feeling about it. I could feel it in the deepest crevices of my gut. I sighed out of frustration and decided to go check, just in case. I pushed open the doors which apparently they have some sort of tendency to make abnormally heavy and all I could manage to do was stay speechless for a split second before reality gave me a good slap. The tap was open thus emerging the bottom of the sink and slowly forming a pool of water on the floor. Adalyn. She was, well, unconscious. Her body laid on the floor and the water was

I sliced my palm (the same one that had bled over the broken doll, the same one that had held the black scale). I pressed my bleeding hand to the circle. The wood drank. The mark flared (once, like a heartbeat). And the house answered. It began with the mirrors. Every mirror in Wynnehold cracked at once. Not shattered; cracked in perfect spiderwebs that radiated from the center like frost on glass. Then the chandeliers in the great hall swayed though there was no wind. Then the portraits began to weep. Not metaphorically. Actual crimson tears rolled down the painted cheeks of my ancestors. The oil paint bubbled and ran. The eyes followed anyone who passed.

As she turned the sink’s faucet on, stuck her hands under the water (dammit if he couldn’t hear the water trickling over her hands, against the porcelain), she froze, gazing into the mirror over the sink, entranced by something only she could see. The voices in Andrew’s head kept screaming and the water from the faucet kept trickling into the sink, though the video feed made no sound . . . *** For a moment Deyquan forgot they were watching recorded footage, tempted to yell at Lizzy Tillman: Get the fuck out! Run! Freaky-ass kid’s getting closer! Get your ass out of there, now..! The video flickered. Rippling with static. The mirror’s glass melted and formed liquid hands—the best Deyquan coul

My mother, Aileen Stuart, leaves me a bronze mirror upon her death. One day, I suddenly hear its thoughts. It says exasperatedly, "My naive child, Zara hid her brooch and blamed you for stealing it. And your stepmother? Her tricks are so banal. She rubbed pollen on your clothes, hoping you'd have an allergic reaction and become disfigured. They really are the perfect pair in household scheming. "Dead mother, philandering father, vicious stepmother, wicked idiot of a sister… What an unfortunate deck of cards you have been dealt with." With the mirror's guidance, I manage to carve out a place for myself in this household. One midnight, it wakes me from my sleep. "Jemima, your chance to

“It’s open. Trusting. The kind of face that’s never learned to lie.” Each detail matched what I’d seen in my visions, confirming I wasn’t entirely lost to delusion. I could see her now—this Adeline—floating through the halls above me in a dress that caught the light, her golden hair bouncing as she laughed at something Carlisle said. I could see her standing where I once stood, in the grand entryway with its vaulted ceiling and portraits of Brocandale ancestors watching with those same cold, judging eyes. “And her voice?” I pressed, unable to stop myself. “What does she sound like?”

Crash! Adeline flinched as the sound of shattering glass echoed from the other wing of the house. The sudden commotion pulled her from her seat; a storm was brewing, and she could already guess the source. In the hallway, a scene of domestic tyranny unfolded. Eleanor stood over one of the maids, her face contorted with a rage that aged her beyond her years. At her feet lay a mangled designer dress and a shattered glass, the floor a hazardous mosaic of liquid and shards.

AS THE SUN started its setting in the west direction from the Baron’s chateau, Adalene got up from the bed and took the beautiful hand mirror she found in the elegant vanity in the bedchamber she was using, because she decided she wanted to see what she was doing. She made sure the door was firmly closed with the wooden bar in place, and then she went back to the bed, lay down on her back, and raised the hem of her sleeping garment to discover what’s within.

But now, as I recalled the unnatural red flush on her cheeks after walking from the bookshelves, numerous tear tracks on her face, and the incessant panting and gasping, even the bit of slick on Ivan's lips I noticed. I suddenly realized that they had been doing such indecent things in my private study under my nose. By right, I should have been outraged after hearing that they did it in my study that day, but funnily enough, I didn't feel worked up or nauseated as Ivan continued whispering about the naughty things they did while I was now trapped in this haunted house. Instead, I felt an indescribable hollowness. My body was reacting shamelessly and begging to be filled with something.

I steeled myself and opened the door. The hallway was awash in red. Smears and spatters of bright and dark blood covered the walls, the floor, and my door. My head reeled. What the hell happened? Why was there so much blood outside my door? Hadn't the guy in 603 seen it through his peephole? I couldn't help looking toward apartment 603. To my surprise, the door stood half-open, and it was dead quiet inside. I picked my way past the bloodstains and made my way to apartment 603.