Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum

Thumb Pudding

Borusa watches with disdain as her hand, the one she’s holding the Wand with, sticks in what feels like thick pie dough, and raises her up until her feet dangle over the now-filling drain in the floor.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Doctor!” she bellows with her little lungs, wishing for no small instant that she’d regenerated into a giant catshark instead of a tiny child. The water rushing beneath her reminds her drearily in vibrant echoes that slam against the walls as they fly up from the drain formerly blocked by the Heart Wand. She looks up at her stuck hand and mutters aloud, “I refuse to accept that my fate is to be stuck in the Land of Fiction, hanging from the top layer of a poorly mixed pastry crust!”

So she snaps the fingers of her free hand in the air and an open window forms, drawing itself in charcoals and soft greys on front of her. With that free hand, she undoes the latch and sticks her head in. At least she’ll be able to spy on Rassilon, leave a useful note for the stupid boy if she doesn’t make it out of this ridiculous reality.

There is a peek to be had from the window, as her eyes now glimpse a stunning and terrible figure through the dimensional gate she just summoned with skills honed fine over centuries of teaching drooling pupils.

“Rassilon!” she breathes, staring as Rassilon glances over at a skeleton in a strangely familiar throne. Looking down, she can see a tub filled with Flesh. Does she dare?

Suddenly the water feels closer, kissing her ankles.

She lets go of the Heart Wand, and tumbles into the window, sinking quickly into the Flesh. What better vantage point for a spy than inside the infernal machine?

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