You shrug off the juvenile feeling, passing over the drape with strides that are for some reason quickened. The length of cloth suddenly twists, jerking and convulsing on the floor of it's own accord. Before your very eyes the silken material deals itself solid, scale sprout from woven threads until a long curved serpent rests there, sluggishly flicking a pink tongue your way.

ICK. Well, aren't you glad you didn't give in? Don't really want to think about how sharp those fangs are.

Grimacing at the writhing thing, you move to the far side of the ballroom (careful not to disturb the OTHER draperies) Curiously, on one side of the room there are several seemingly abandoned chairs. They appear to be in good condition, albeit a little old perhaps. A charming bunch of antiques that would be right at home in some boutique in downtown London, England.

You look at them appreciatively as you stroll past, walking towards a far wall. One of the crimson seat pads lifts, as a sound like a miffed snort resounds within the sphere.

"What a wang. Yeah, keep walkin'..."

Well you don't take that kinda talk from NO ONE! Furniture or otherwise! "Watch it stuffy, or I'll varnish you with egg salad." You mutter and press your hands to the smooth cool surface of the concave wall experimentally. It feels exactly like a mirror, perhaps a little colder somehow. As if to scold you, a sharp knock resounds from the otherside of the opaque glass-like surface. One of the chairs mutters a cryptic comment as you lift an eyebrow curiously, knocking in response.

You gaze at your reflection a long while, watching the faint distortions the shape of the wall creates. Suddenly, you blink. Things look odd...clouded...misty... then you realize. You ARE the reflection.

WOW! Twilight Zone stuff!

You spin around to survey what is actually IN the mirror-like wall. It's odd... but it appears to be a gallery of pictures... Each section has its own label.