The Valeshard squints as the Doctor’s shadow suddenly swirls up and over him, crawling around across his personal space as though the man has suddenly been consumed by a cloud of roiling pitch.
The Valeyard leans forward, nearly knocking over the statue of Rose in his haste to catch a glimpse of the madness happening inside the cocoon of Nerada.
Then the statue lingers on the brink.
Then it falls.
The carved Rose’s face cracks along the bridge of her slightly flared nose.
Her lips erupt in little fractures.
Her fingers break from their hands and go walkabout, skidding across the floor like fallen skaters.
Her toes crack, shattering her legs at the knee and raining her body in bits down on the remnants of the yellow rose on the ground; the remaining petals are smashed into pale yellow sludge.
The Valeshard stares down impassively at the rose, transfixed for a moment as a bit of green eye finds its way out of the black cloud.
He fits his fingers to a chunk of icy thigh and picks it up, tossing it up and down idly.
“Oi!” he calls out to the Doctor, in a flash of thick and wobbling lips, “Loon Power Makeup! Are you coming out or am I coming in? Please, please tell me you’re not undressing.”