Look left and you'll see her. Look right, and you'll see her reflection. You're caught between her and her reflection at the moment, and you know that her reflection is the more dangerous of the two.
It can only get worse of course, and you knew that this morning as you woke up. The sunlight dappled the ceiling as it peeked through the branches of the orange tree outside your window, and the patterns that were made by light and shadow were an omen, a warning, a foreshadowing. You read the patterns, just as your mother taught you, and you saw that the day had no good ending to it, and still you went out, still you had to see if you could change what was to come. I've told you so many times now that the future is immutable, that what happens happens and no-one but no-one cares. You won't believe me. You keep trying to change what will be, and this is where you find yourself now. Scylla and Charybdis have nothing on this, you're truly caught between the rock and the hard place.
Her reflection smiles at you, and it's independent of her: she's not even looking in your direction. You can feel the space around you changing, contracting in a way that makes no sense, that squeezes your mind but not your body, that stretches you out like cheesecloth in a mangle, and you know that something bad is going to happen.
It's horrible isn't it? Being able to sense the future but not read it? Knowing that something is going to become, and because you don't know how it will happen, there's nothing you can do to stop it. You should have listened more to your mother while she was still there for you.
Her reflection smiles again, and seems to flex, stretch, and warp. As you watch it pulls itself free from the mirror and stands parallel to her, with only you in the way. You remember this from the tales you were told when you were little. Only one has a right to this world, only one can survive. And it's survival of the fittest.
Which do you want to survive? Her, or her reflection? Because when you move, you choose.