For a second, it looked like Miriam was going to draw a set of Wills out, to primp and preen and properly prepare her for the ball.
But, like most of Miriam's life choices, she had made a mistake here. The hands around her gripped tightly, and instead tugged Miriam
in, the surface of the mirror rippling wildly before calming down. Sam's Willified-reflection in the mirror now had a touch of goth to it -- just a hint, a streak of black in the hair, a little pallor to her complexion, but a definite change.
As for Miriam, the experience was...overwhelming. The muffled and hum of Will's normal resting state in the mirror, like a babbling brook of indeterminate thoughts, became the rushing blaring of a busy downtown as she was pulled inside; dozens, nay, hundreds, nay, thousands of voices, all thinking their own things and with their own ideas of how things should be done. Reflection after reflection after reflection of Will, all those competing thoughts and ideas and impulses all having their own proper place in the mirror. There were the same pressure and warmth from the
last time she had been inside of Will, but the intrusive thoughts weren't nearly so bad. They were still floating through her own mind, and differentiating between them and her own thoughts took conscious effort, but the added space, order and structure of the mirror had given Will's intrusive thoughts their own places and niches to exist in. The harmony, the overtone of the various thoughts, feelings and desires were more in sync now -- proof, perhaps, that what she and Sam had done in the Point had worked on a deep level.
So, that was the good news.
As Miriam looked back, she could see the rippling surface of the mirror; could see Sam looking on in mild surprise and bemusement as she was pulled in. And she could
feel herself standing there, watching her get pulled in. And she could feel the sensations of being the carpet underneath Sam's feat; trod upon and supportive. And the cup of coffee Sam was holding, warm, but cooling off. And the front door. The television. The couch. Simultaneously experiencing all the feelings and sensations of the outside world -- she was reflecting them all as part of the mirror. They were a part of her -- no, a part of Will. Will was doing that. She had to remember that...
That was probably overwhelming, though it calmed down as she turned around and looked deeper
into the....whatever this was. She could see, down below, the faint outlines of Will's mindscape that she had become familiar with. But branching out from that, stretching out into the void as far as she could see, there was just...more. The village growing into a massive city; the factory being just the end distribution point of smokestacks and conveyors and farms and roads as far as the eye could see; the jungle stretching out and wilding as it bordered an ocean, a desert, a mountain range... there was just
more Will here. You could get lost if you went down there.
But she didn't have to go down there; at least, not right now. She was soon surrounded by a number of Wills, in various elaborate fashions, all arguing and disagreeing on just the right way to make Miriam 'presentable'. They mostly ignored her attempts to butt in, instead forcibly removing her bathrobe and trying to dress her in...well, everything. An elegent, gothic lolita petticoat. Groovy '70s pinstriped bell bottoms. A 1950s swinging poodle skirt. An '80s houndstooth jacket. Scarves, glasses, earrings, about three different styles of makeup, as they pushed and pulled and tugged.
Apparently 'all' of Will's fashion sense was just as chaotic as the rest of him. Too many cooks (or too many kooks)...