The Hallway Mirror
description: i literally wrote this for english class and was proud so decided to post it here lol. prompt was 'gothic literature using the motif of a reflection' if that helps
When Mother saw me in my new gown this afternoon, she’d said that I looked like a beautiful swan. When Estelle Beaumont glided into the lavishly decorated ballroom, blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, I’m fairly certain I bore more resemblance to a duck.
Mortified by my complete and utter plainness, I retreated into the crowd, aiming to slink away to a corner where I could glower at my cousin from a distance. As most of the people present were preoccupied with the way Estelle’s dress sparkled in the light of the candelabra overhead, I found it an easy task. Although Mother had expressly forbidden me from leaving the ballroom– “It’s all well and good for you to run off at other people’s events, but we are hosting tonight and you are not to make us look foolish, Jane Reynolds!”– she had not forbidden watching from the side like the pathetic duck I was.
Unfortunately, keen eyesight was among Estelle’s many blessings.
“Jane, darling! You must come and see the ring that Lord Wethershaw proposed with,” her joyful voice called, soaring over the crowd. Reluctantly, I turned, plastering a grin on my face and widening my eyes in false glee as Estelle rushed to my side. With a giggle, she thrust her left hand towards my face.
“Look!” she squealed, waggling her ring-adorned finger at me. It was gorgeous, the thin silver band topped with a stunning pink diamond, a legion of small white gemstones encircling it like soldiers guarding their queen. Lord Wethershaw must have known her well– it fitted perfectly. The small crowd that had gathered around ooh-ed and aah-ed their admiration, and I forced myself to join in.
“Oh, Estelle, it is simply beautiful! Of course,” I added with a stiff laugh, “so is the rest of you. Wouldn’t you all agree?” Again, the crowd gushed their approval, Estelle’s cheeks flushed pink in delight, and I took that as my cue to leave.
Alas, despite all Estelle’s charm, she seemed unable to recognise that I did not desire to be within a two-hundred-mile radius of festivities– particularly ones related to her, my cousin who was getting married first despite being a year my junior.
“Jane, I adore your gown! Where did you get it?”
Heat rushed to my face. What point was she trying to make? There she stood, in a custom-made gown that rustled elegantly as she floated across the ballroom floor, and she was complimenting my dress. She was better than me in every way, yet still felt the need to offer me a pity tribute as salt in the wound– what sick satisfaction could she get out of that? I felt myself begin to panic, my heart beating so fast it could’ve been trying out for the Kentucky Derby as the gathered audience waited expectantly for my answer.
In a futile attempt at composing myself, I gestured vaguely before managing to stammer out “I, uh, don’t quite remember. I should go–” before fleeing the scene, ducking and weaving my way through the throng of people to get to the large oak doors. Ignoring the confused looks from the crowd, I slipped through the gap, and escaped their judgemental eyes. Immediately, the oppressive heat in my face eased, and the gallops of my heartbeats slowed to a nervous trot.
I glanced back at the doors to the ballroom, but couldn’t bring myself to go back inside that glittering hellscape. Certain that I had made a fool of myself, I desperately looked around for the nearest escape. Luckily, the ballroom was near the exit, and a mere hallway was the road to my freedom. My steps were quiet as I hastened for the door, the plush carpet beneath my feet swallowing the click of my heels.
As I got further from the ballroom, the light drained until the hallway was nearly pitch-black. The weak flickers of the wall-mounted candles didn’t do much to dispel the shadows creeping down from the ceiling, and a sudden chill penetrated the air, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Still, all that did nothing to quench the relief flowing through me. I couldn’t wait to be out of there, away from Estelle and her perfect life that served no purpose but to remind me how pitiful my own was in comparison.
The door was in front of me. I reached a hand out to grasp the gilded handle. Before I could, however, the image of a pale face in the corner of my eye alarmed me, and I whirled around to see—
The reflection of my own face.
Of course, I remembered. Mother had hung a full-body mirror by the door so guests could inspect themselves upon arrival. I hadn’t paid much attention to it earlier. As a rule, I avoided mirrors; reminders of my inadequacy were not something I was normally fond of. This time, however, something compelled me to lean in closer, my nose hovering inches away from the girl in the mirror.
She was a homely creature, with mousy hair hanging limp and flat from her oddly-shaped head and thin, pinched lips that naturally twisted in a spinsterly frown. Most of her other features were similarly dour, but it was her eyes that were the worst– small, dark, beady things encircled by the dark rings acquired by late nights spent reading by candlelight or fretting about whatever took her fancy. Really, it was no wonder she- I- would die an old maid, I thought. The exit long forgotten, I tilted my head left and right, watching the girl do the same. While I internally listed her faults, a strange flicker crossed my reflection’s face. It vanished so quickly, however, that I dismissed it as a trick of the light.
The longer I looked into those eyes, the more an unfamiliar emotion bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t quite place it, but it steadily grew, becoming all-consuming. It was only when the face in the mirror contorted into an expression I’d never seen before that I recognised what it was– pure, unadulterated loathing.
I loathed the girl in the mirror. I despised that her features had cursed me with this life, that she was too dull and homely to ever let me taste happiness. A scream of rage tried to claw up my throat, but I suppressed it. Yes, I sorely wanted to smash the horrible reflection that pursued me wherever I went, but what good would that do?
Still staring into my eyes, I raised a trembling hand to the mirror and pressed my palm flat against the cold glass. A triumphant gleam sparked inside my reflection’s eyes, and I scarcely had time to wonder where it came from before her clammy fingers intertwined with mine and I was yanked forwards. The still lake of the mirror’s surface parted easily and I was falling, further than should have been possible, and the world swirled around me like a kaleidoscope until I landed with a thud on an identical floor surrounded by identical furniture. Bewildered, I looked up at the mirror to see my reflection standing straighter than I ever did with a delighted smile I never wore. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
My reflection kneeled down until we were face to face again. Head spinning, it was all I could do to sit upright and gape at her, both in confusion and betrayal. She continued to smile, but it had become a cruel, mocking thing.
“God, you’re pathetic,” she said with my voice, regarding me with disgust. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch you, day after day, squander everything that you have because you’ve decided you’re not pretty enough?”
I weakly attempted to bang on the glass from my newfound prison, to cry for help, but it was to no avail– I couldn’t seem to speak. My reflection seemingly realised this at the same time I did, because her smile widened even further and she stood, brushing her skirts in mock nonchalance.
“Oh, now you have something to say? I think it’s rather too late for that. You, Jane Reynolds, are a wretched, ungrateful creature, and you would have wasted this life fussing over everything but anything of real importance.”
My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach, the truth a heavy anchor dragging my hopes down with it.
From my new position, I could view her in her entirety, and it struck me that perhaps she wasn’t so plain after all. In fact, with the way the white lace of the neckline threaded across her shoulders and how her long eyelashes framed the deep pools of her irises, she could, under a certain light, even have been considered… appealing.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she announced, “I have a party to attend.”
With a final, derisive sneer, Jane Reynolds turned and walked away from the mirror, leaving her reflection behind.
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actor hob, and pretentious asshole film director dream
[ this got so long and so weird and specific i'm so sorry ]
so hob is an everyman actor. a good actor, charismatic, funny, fan favorite, but not the type that gets cast in highbrow art films. mostly he does like romcoms, mid-budget action movies, feel-good family films, etc etc. and he's totally cool with that, he's good at what he does, and people enjoy those films, anyway. he might be getting a bit bored though, a bit stagnant. might be thinking it's time for some reinvention. and there might be a certain director whose ridiculous and nonsensical but dreamy films he's particularly enamored with...
dream makes REALLY pretentious art films. the types that get studied in graduate level film classes and have fifty different academic papers with fifty different theses trying to puzzle them out. dream is a master of themes and images and subtle construction. he is also a COMPLETE asshole and impossible to work with, an auteur in the most stereotypical way possible, he writes and directs, he micromanages all his projects, he asserts his vision and god help anyone who goes against it. nobody can handle him, nobody can STAND him, and the only reason he still gets funding for these projects is because they win awards, so many awards, and the studios want to ride on the coattails of those awards. but it's getting to the point where even his most ride-or-die producers are ready to give up.
right off the back of dream's most recent bafta, a rather naive Big Exec approaches him to direct the next installment of his Big Superhero Franchise. dream is immediately like fuck off with that bullshit but the exec pleads with him that the franchise is flagging and they really need something new to spice it up. plus the pay will be enough for dream to finance like 10 of his own ridiculous art films without having to rely on producers for money. and dream really is about to get cut off for being a complete insufferable asshole so he takes the gig. it kind of feels like prison though.
anyway, he gets to work trying to make this shitty boring film at least marginally less shitty and boring. he doesn't have a lot of leeway -- a lot of the story is locked in, half the cast is set from prior installments etc. dream immediately regrets taking this job, he'd rather die in actual prison than work on this mindnumbing piece of trash. it feels like it's taking an eternity and who could possibly stand an eternity of this???
well. enter hob, whose agent managed to snag him a 2nd-lead sort of role in this thing. it's not QUITE the reinvention he was going for but the pay and exposure are really good -- and even if they weren't, the moment hob saw that dream was attached he was immediately on board.
cue dream tearing his fucking hair out and basically being a complete menace and diva on set -- no that wasn't good, yes we have to do a 57th take, oh my god this dialogue is horrible give me that shitty script i'm writing my own thing, what do you mean the plot is linear???, wait there are how many cgi aliens????? i'm going to kill myself -- and Hob, pretty much Just Happy To Be There as always, takes one look at this beautiful dramatic emo asshole and is like oh. yes. i don't know what i'm saying yes to, but i'm saying yes. just immediately enamored with this bitch against all logic, he's like i've seen all your films i know how your mind works you brilliant nihilistic mess of a person. i'm on board. let's go.
first scene that hob's in dream is once again ranting about the atrocious script, which he did not write and is hardly allowed to change -- or, every change he makes is too weird and the studio keeps nixing it. everyone keeps sighing and being like oh my god can we please just shoot i wanna go home, meanwhile hob's like alright then. let's workshop it. and dream's just like. what. you aren't just gonna tell me to shut up? and hob's like no, youre right, this script is trash, but i know you're just going to write something really weird and psychedelic that they won't let you shoot. and dream's like you dare to speak to me that way??? and hob just puts his hands on his hips and is like listen, i actually know more about this sort of general audience family film thing than you do, mister arthouse, so are you going to work with me or not? and dream's just like what... is happening... because usually people who try to 'handle' him either just cave to his every demand like wimps, or just fight him on everything to 'prove' that they're in control, and hob is just kind of... not doing either of those? anyway dream doesn't know what to do with him.
so they workshop it. turns out hob actually DOES know how these sort of general audience all-follow-the-same-three-act-structure films work and how to improve things within those confines, and also he understands what like, normal people like, you know, casual feel good movies, not everything has to be a mindbender, jesus. so they bounce ideas off each other for like 3 hours until they finally get something that's okay enough that dream no longer wants to fling himself into the sun. meanwhile everyone on set is staring at them like 👀. then dream is like come back to my trailer we are rewriting the other 116 pages of this script right NOW. what else is hob supposed to do but follow.
then hob becomes the designated Dream Handler on set. dream starts using him as his barometer for what 'normal people' would like because he does not understand that at all. ("hob, will 'people' accept this?" "well considering youre spinning the camera around on a string i'm gonna go out on a limb and say no"). dream becomes kind of obsessed with him because his life is so like, normal, and he's okay with it?? he doesn't find existence to be an insufferable prison from which there is no escape?? and hob is like aw i know you're such a tortured artistic soul *pats him on the head*. plus, hob is actually a good actor, and he's able to put a lot of heart into even this mediocre big budget film, and kind of forces dream to confront the idea that there's more than one good type of story. that different stories serve different purposes and a straightforward happy story is okay, actually.
(and that the problem is the corporatization of the storytelling, not the story itself)
anyway the movie ends up being pretty good, dream still kind of hates it because he wasn't given full artistic license but he has to grudgingly admit that it has at least some merit. after the premiere hob is like (cheekily) so you gonna direct the sequel? and dream is like i did not write that to have a sequel. and hob's like it has a cliffhanger? and dream's like so???? and hob's like well theyre definitely gonna make a sequel. and dream's like i hate this planet. also no i'm not going to make the sequel. i'm going to fuck off to the woods and make a movie about teeth. do you want to star in it? and hob's like you're so fucking weird i'm obsessed with you i'm going to kiss you now.
so yeah, that.
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