A dark Gothic nigtmare from the other side of the mirror...

when the face that look at you in the morror is a stranger and your blood is frozen in your veins...

I saw their starved lips in the gloom,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

-by John Keats