The Eight Flesh turns again, a flurry of green velvet and questioning gaze and droopy laugh lines ‘round the mouth. “Oh, it’s been here for a while, hasn’t it? Haven’t -we-? Well,” he mutters, fluttering his hands like a gamboling dandy out of someone else’s habit, “…we’ll just have to theorize a way out then. You’ll adopt us again, won’t you? Allow us inside after a long absence? All right, all right- I know. I was gone a good time and I worry you, but I’m here now. Let me see if they took anything. I keep telling them not to put me in traps, but do they listen, oh no, they never listen! Why, just the other day I was…”
He disappears inside her.
The Jade Pagoda disappears inside her as well.
And now, the dust takes notice, rising up to pool in the middle of the room, a fine greyish swirl of not-dust sprinkling itself over everything, but really, just… pooling in the middle of the floor.
In a not-anthill.
Then the TARDIS doors open again, and the Flesh of the Eighth Doctor stands there, staring down at the hill of not-dust.
“And I’ve been wondering where you had vanished to, as well…” he breathes, careful not to disturb them. “What is it they say? Oh yes,” he says gently, smoothing his velvet lapels with the care of a tailor, “The Doctor will see you now.”