And since, despite the world's admitted tendency towards situations best left in the more dramatic varieties of literature, it wasn't literally a stereotypical gothic novel, Kanimir didn't expect anything in particular to happen. If nothing else, there were far more storms that happened to happen at night than there were potentially literature-worthy shenanigans. So it's completely reasonable for him to be curled up in his grand library, enjoying a book on magical theory.
Using her selfspace still looks pretty much like using her selfspace. Same old, same old.
But she also has several new additions. Like for example her entire body being sort of a cheap knockoff unicorn's horn. That's new. As is the infinite lifespan she copied from the unicorn tender. And the fire resistance she got from the bird.
"...You just immortalized yourself," he says slowly. "I very much wish I had been able to observe that."
"I could try detaching it and putting it back, but I've never done that before. Maybe I'll try it with the shiny hair..."
She tries it with the shiny hair. The shiny hair escapes. She sighs.
He purses his lips and nods at the crystals. "Can you copy it straight from the unicorns again?"
"Yes."
Shiny hair, shiny hair, where are you keeping your shiny hair...? It's good that there are so many unicorns. There, now she's got it.
From an external perspective, it's very sudden: she's accessing her inscrutable inner world as inscrutably as ever, and then between one moment and the next, she gains more magic.
Even if he can't examine the method, the abrupt difference between lack-of-thing and thing is very, very good for isolating the properties of thing from its surroundings.
That's convenient.
She goes back to examining unicorns, which just looks like inscrutably accessing her selfspace some more.
Kanimir's patient, and at the moment it seems more convenient to keep scrutinizing her for a while than to ask her to warn him when she was about to do anything interesting.
Unicorns, unicorns...
"I wonder if I could put the unicorn touching-healing thing together with the immortal thing," she muses. "But I can't copy that person's immortal thing again, I already took it out of their reflection and they haven't gone away and come back."
"Teleporting is very odd," she observes. "But it did work."
She sits down on the ground so she won't have to think about standing while she pokes the unicorn. Combining pieces of different things is much harder than combining different pieces of one thing. But she thinks she can probably do it. Maybe.
After ten minutes of hard work totally indecipherable to external observers, she says, "I messed up the reflection."
"I was trying to put the reflection of how the unicorn horn does things when it touches things together with the reflection of how the person is going to live forever, but I didn't put them together right and now I have a mess instead of magic that works."
Sit.
Magic magic magic.
Her unicorn-like healing power disappears. A few seconds later, she gains a similarly structured power to bestow infinite lifespan at a touch.
"It worked but now I need to make the other part separately," she says.