I decide to ignore the lump on the couch and look around. Besides the couch and the TV there are nothing but shadows all around. There have to be walls, don't there? Walls with wainscoting, or wallpaper, or tasteful photography. I realize suddenly that I may be in an infinite void, and the thought is terrifying. You can't paint nothingness. It won't cover.

"If we're in a mirror, shouldn't it reflect whatever's around the mirror?"

Wishy-Washy picks his nose before answering. "It used to. Somebody broke the mirror."

I take a deep breath. "'Somebody?'"

"Well, it was distracting. I almost had the high score on 'ita's Death Match' one time when someone walked by the mirror. Real drag, you know?"

I think I'm going to panic. Yes. I'm definitely panicking. But first, to kill the Wishy-Washy one.

Before I can strangle him with the controller cord the Do-Gooder speaks up. "Let's look at this logically. If we can exist inside the mirror, there must be a mirror dimension, a space common to all mirrors."

"How is that logical?" I ask. "It could just as well be that each mirror contains its own dimension."

"Yeah, but then there wouldn't be a way out. We have to think positive."

No wonder I hate him.

(confidential. e to K. t. D.:

there must be a mirror dimension,

it's very cold.

Also-- look at those user IDs! He was planning this for a while!)

it's very cold

Thanks, Rebecca -- I was actually going to go back and look at the mirror dimension sequence at WX before continuing. Don't suppose anyone knows where it starts?

Somewhere around here, if my sieve serves me. Can't look better right now, sorry.

t /re-lurks

Nilly, you're a superhero.

e. says it is different on the other side. upside-down, you are staring at your own insides, a thing and itself and a reflection and sliding into one another. it is hard to say which moves first. it gets mixed up and moving and the i and the me get lost.

but we may be different creatures with different sorts of eyes for looking.

//Not here, mistress. And I need some more sleep.//

//Okay, Dagfari. Talk to you later.//

"Hector, have you seen a, err, a teddy bear anywhere around? I seem to have... *mislaid* mine."

"I don't think so. Here- could be behind the couch. Let's look."

Penny leaves, and Hector and I set to some serious hunting.

"What's so important about this bear?" Hector asks, as we look under the chairs. Aimee and Miracleman stop talking and look at me, frowning.

"It's an evil bear," I explain to them all. "I was looking after it for a friend, you know- the way you do. She tries to take over the universe from time to time. I have a theory that she was allowed to watch too much Voyager at some point- seems to fancy herself as Queen of the Borg. It's a bit..."

I catch the look on Miracleman's face. "We'll find her, don't worry. She can't have got far." A rapid dive behind the couch saves me from the first blast of angry magic.

Yes! I managed to climb out through the letter box, and now I'm free!

Wild and free in Sang Sacre. Few things in this life are more fun- or more dangerous.

The moon is shining as I toddle- I'd stride, but it's hard for a bear in a skirt- down the street, stopping to admire myself in the puddles as I go. It must have rained while we were inside, there's water everywhere.

I don't mind. My fur will dry out soon enough, and in the meantime there are all these wonderful mirrors.

In the middle of the street, there's an especially large and wonderful puddle. No cars are around, so I wander across to look in it: but it doesn't reflect as a normal mirror would. I lean closer- are there people in there?

There are. I'm about to shout to them, or at the very least try and see who they are, when an unexpected van comes rushing down the street and straight over me. Face-first, I fall into whatever is on the other side of the mirror.

We were continuing quite quickly along the sidewalk when she suddenly wrenched my arm back. I jerk around-- she's twisted out of the grasp of my arm altogether-- and am about to yell at her, when I see she's not trying to fight, or run. Her expression is quite sick, in fact. She's swaying a little, at the knees, like she's about to fall over, and her hands are clutched at her chest.

I put a hand out, to catch her weight, but when my skin touches hers I get a quick, light shock of electricity, and I have to snatch it back in pain. She drops to the pavement a little heavily. Her head drops forward, and her whole body shudders. I can hear her whispering-- snatches of words, phrases almost swallowed in her mouth. this is not my body this is your own body this is this is and I own it and the grasses I will not I will not leave this -- I look around, frantic, at the people passing along the sidewalk, neatly sidestepping our panicked little scene. Would anybody know how to perform first aid assistance on a possibly-not-human evil twin? What exactly is happening to her? And will anybody stop for us if I start to beg for help? The level of unusual activity Sacre residents are inured against can be unhelpful at the most crucial of times.

I look back at her, and she's gone suddenly silent. Her body's still. I hold my breath. Then her head jerks back up, and she looks straight at me. Her eyes aren't quite as distracted as it was before-- it's still almost weird in its placidity, but less fuzzy, now, more focused. Directer. She stands, and says, politely, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to interrupt you, but I had to deal with that. It was a matter of immediate urgency. I'm not interested in leaving you quite yet." The clothes I put on her are gone now, replaced by another white robe. Static electricity crackles through her hair.

Her voice isn't any different, though. Hmph.

I look at her a little apprehensively. "Are you sure you're not related to Mary Sue at all?"

"A few metatextual familial relationships. But nothing you should worry about." She regards me steadily. "That's not my name at all. I came out of you; or I was you before you touched the mirror. You already know my name."

He me I just stands there sneering at me I he, fingering his black goatee absently.

"Listen, Snidely," I say. "Do you want to stay here?"

My teeth are chattering. I shouldn't be able to be cold, what with the stone body and all, but I am. It's not cold like winter but cold like an open wound, cold like hope draining away.

"Of course I don't want to stay here," he says. "I don't know who lives here, but they've got a serious problem with negative space."

"So we need to look for a way out."

"Does this mean we're going to make one of those cheezy truces, like when BJ and the Bear save Sheriff Lobo from crazy hillbillies and after they're out of the woods he gives them a half-hour head start?"

"Who says I'm giving you a head start?"

"Who says you're Sheriff Lobo?"

"Dudes, do you really want to kill each other?"