Standing Wall Mirror Novels & Stories

One wall is lined with massive backstage mirrors all brightly backlit, each makeup desk has a nameplate. Each desk has a surprisingly neat array of personal items, white silk dressing gowns hang on each fluffy soft dove grey chair. The back wall holds two rails one above the other, each one filled to the brim with a mismatch of sequins, leather, silk, and lace. I remember being introduced to the flamboyant man behind all these creations, he had the loudest whine-like laugh he had ever heard.

I gulped and went up the couple of steps before entering the trailer. My heart stopped beating as soon as I saw the interior. On my left was a large full-body length mirror with blue starfish along its edges. In front of the mirror was a big, fluffy chair with a white cushion sitting on top of it. Rows and rows of makeup lined the shelves around the mirror: I felt like I had just stepped into a movie star's dream.

My high heels make my feet tense and I have to slow down every step I take. The Hall of Mirrors is the most special part of the palace. It was an extremely large room, almost big enough to accommodate a small army. The Hall of Mirrors has a circular dome with a portrait of the Moon goddess. The walls are embossed with black columns, and countless irregular mirrors are set into the walls, ceiling, and floor with dark gold patterns. The crystal light on the roof is reflected by the lens, and the whole house is like a dream paradise.

So, I am not able to see the one standing behind the mirrors of the room, but they can see me and communicate with me. Four mirror-like walls are enclosing this room: the mirror of reality, the mirror of fear, the mirror of sins and guilt and the mirror of retribution and punishment. The first mirror is the mirror of reality. That one is displaying the true self of the one imprisoned. I looked at that one and… goddamn, do I look like shit, I look like long haired butterfaced ogre, all swollen, with broken bones jutting through my lacerated skin, which was plagued with cuts and bruises. My hair is knotted, sticky, and full of blood and dust. It is matted, dirty and all over the place. I look

she said, squeezing out a smile to show she didn’t give it a damn care. There were 20 girls in the line in total. Elena was in the middle of them. Soon, it was her turn. She went inside the room and found it was narrow and empty. There was another red door on the opposite wall as the exit. And a huge double-sided mirror was hanging on the front wall, suggesting that there were people behind it, watching and observing. When she stood against the wall and raised her head, a sonorous growl came from behind the mirror which made both the mirror and the ceiling shake and her shoulders jumped.

My eyes scanned the room discreetly, taking in every corner. Roses. Candles. Wine that I had no intention of touching and also the wine I brought. There was the mirror wall that threw me off balance. One mirror in a bedroom is reasonable; four feet of mirrors can work too. But an entire floor-to-ceiling panel taking the length of the room? That kind of design only belonged in interrogation rooms, places where someone needed to watch without being seen from the other end. I kept my thoughts to myself and let Risa push me back onto the bed.

Bare stone floors, shelves that held nothing but dust, and in the center of the far wall: A mirror. Seven feet tall. Ornate frame twisted with iron and blackened gold, shaped like thorns or vines. It didn’t shimmer. Didn’t reflect. The glass was dull, dark. Waiting. Theo stepped beside her, breath shallow. “That’s the one.” She nodded. “From the sketch.” They moved closer. Sloane stood directly in front of it. She should have seen herself. She should have seen both of them. But the glass was black.

"I don't know." "Months?" "Maybe." I study the installation in front of us—twisted metal that might be a person or might be a coat rack. "Work’s been intense." "That's not an answer." "It's the best you're getting." We reach the back of the gallery. A massive mirror installation spans the entire wall. The surface is fractured—hundreds of pieces fitted together at odd angles. The title placard reads: "What We Were Before We Broke." I stop.

A wardrobe stood on one side of the room, contrasting the dark hardwood floors that were covered by a thick, soft rug. On the other side sits a vanity, mirrors reflecting the soft glow of the room. Near the back is a door, most likely leading to a bathroom. As I shut the door, my gaze falls upon a gigantic mirror spanning the entire length of the wall, reflecting on the bed and the rest of the room. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and feel a twinge of unease at the thought of seeing myself sleeping on that bed.

The one filled with mirrors. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the lights hidden in the ceiling. Walls upon walls of mirrors surrounded them, tall panes that reached almost to the ceiling and reflected their every movement. The space was large, but with so many reflections, it felt smaller, more intimate, as though the mirrors themselves were pulling them inward. Every angle of their bodies, every expression, every tremor was captured and multiplied a hundred times over, filling the room with ghostlike doubles of them.