Maeve sat, cross-legged, in the centre of the testing room, biting her lip. She took the yellow pill from the tray presented to her, and chose to swallow it dry. In her head, she was running through a dark forest, thick with wildlife and foliage. From behind the bushes beside her sprang a sprightly and unusually confident fawn. It ran alongside her for a few hundred meters. During this time, the fawn appeared to age a startling amount: initially, its features were delicate, undeveloped a full of youth; however, after what seemed like only a few minutes, its legs doubled in length, and the early signs of antlers began to appear on its forehead. But Maeve kept running; she barely noticed that the fawn beside her was becoming a stag.
She reached a fork in the path. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, Maeve paused. She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked around. The deer at her side had disappeared, and she was left to choose a path alone. In the distance, along the left fork, the sky was a deep lobelia blue: down the right fork lay only darkness.
So rich was the air above her with branches and leaves that the sight of the sky caused Maeve quite a shock. Like a red flag to a bull, it flared inside of her a hot, white anger that spurred her on. She yearned for that sky, not in a romantic, frolicking-through-a-wildflower-meadow kind of yearning; rather Maeve longed to smack every inch of the vivid royal blue from the sky like dust from a carpet. She grabbed whatever was to hand (a thick, gnarly tree branch from the forest floor) and began walking, quickly and with purpose. She had almost reached a peaceful clearing, fraught with many woodland creatures, flowers and a fine spring, when she was stopped in her tracks for a second time. Before her, tied by the hooves to the two tallest trees she had seen so far, was the deer she had travelled with earlier. Its eyes were glazed and unfocused, and no longer was it breathing, nor was it galloping freely through the undergrowth. Its antlers were not fully grown, and the innocence of a life only partially lived, lingered in the air around him. It tainted the sky in the distance. No longer did it draw Maeve in; it repulsed her...she knew what was to blame.
Maeve dropped the stick. She roared in anger to the heavens, and her heart began to pound. Her breathing became erratic and the darkness took her over...
Mr Portas laid a hand on her shoulder. Rather than providing comfort, it was rough and cold like the hide of a rhino. Maeve, although repulsed by his greasy touch, found herself drawn to him, although he was her only ally.
In a monotone voice he asked her if she had gotten the message.
"Yes," she answered, gazing deeply at her own reflection in the window. "I have to kill the Doctor."