Every way she turned there was something reflecting her. She’d catch glimpses of her face, her legs or the whole of herself. Often it gave her a fright she didn’t connect to the person in the mirror. It wasn’t that she wasn’t self-aware it was the person reflected in the mirror was not who she was. It was like seeing herself in a costume she had forgotten she had put on. She tried not to look in mirrors for the most part but here she couldn’t avoid them. She was trapped in a house full of mirrors.
The pattern on the floor tiles made me dizzy. The floor looked as if it was made of dips and mounds instead of being perfectly flat. I tried not to look at it, since every time I did it made me stumble. It was difficult not to look when everything was reflected in the mirrored walls. I looked around for the door but it was reflected everywhere. Finally I spotted it and made a dash for it and tripped on a real dip in the floor. I cursed the illusionist architect who created the room and their infuriating sense of humour.