Chapter Twenty-Two, Part Three: Thirty White HorsesMature

“Are we ready, then?” the Doctor asks, looking up and gazing into empty space as he licks his lips, “...there’s only one more party member, and then we’re off to face the Final Boss!” He jumps up and down, flapping his fingers like a fangirl. 

A white statue of Fortuna whispers into view, from which a golden voice echoes flatly, “...looking for this?” 

Her hand bears up a wiggling Master, still in Flesh form, his hoodie now more a pink rabbit suit. 

She drops him to the floor- his Flesh body spills then flattens, bouncing back into shape like a rubber chew toy. 

His dark eyes meet the Doctor’s, and they smile in unison. 

“Look Kos, you’re a pervert! Your girlfriend’s only six years old now. Isn’t that lovely?” the Doctor squeals, smacking his clapping hands together like a candy-crazed child. 

“I can always make another one.” the Flesh Master murmurs, ignoring Borusa’s blue stare. “Needless to say, your impressions of me are improving.” 

“Aren’t they though?” the Doctor quirks, reaching for Rosette’s... for Rose’s hand. “Thank you for bringing him, my love,” he says, elbowing her in the ribs as he buries himself in her hair. “Mirrors!” 

Well, I’ll be seein ya at our usual place,” she murmurs, taking the White Pyramid out from the middle of her abdomen and turning it over; a gush of water spills out, chilling the air around her feet and bringing frost up on the priceless Klimt rug on the Library floor. “...you know! That silly old hill. Whenever you’re...” 

With drooping shoulders she shakes out the Pyramid, replacing it into the receptacle of her trunk, then disappears in a gasp of brittle wind, smelling of dried roses.

The End

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