Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum


On the opposite shore, Jennifer takes a handful of sand into her palm, to feel the tiny grains bumping in her hand.

“I have to help them…” the words surprise her mouth with their force, and she tumbles back onto the sand.

Her fingers dig into the white grains, grabbing desperately as she stretches one hand out toward the building great wave… and exerts her own control over the escalating Flesh.

Her fingers cling to empty air, clutching as though trying to draw blood from a stone, or whey from a cheese, squeezing so tightly that the space between them sucks itself in.

Slowly slowly, the great wave begins to bend toward her, taking the form of an acrobatic leaf, grandly arcing in the immediate distance.

There is nothing but her, the horizon line, and the towering beast of white Flesh that she once wielded freely.

Jennifer laughs, her hair blowing back and across her and everywhere as she rises to her feet again and walks closer to the water.

“He helped me die!” she cries happily, shoving her outstretched arm toward the SHARDIS, pulling the wave back toward the un-TARDIS with the force of the sea itself.

But then the SHARDIS reaches back her great arm, and the Flesh towers over Jennifer so quickly.

The world dissolves in white, like that day at the shore, in a shower of red boots. And she smiles.

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