The joining of flesh and not flesh is a holy thing. Mind and mind merge to one, one being, one heart that beats in time with a heart that never existed. To accommodate, skin stretches, muscles expand, because, suddenly, there is so much, where once there was so little. Only one thing is missing, and that is the Doctor, who they mourn with a quiet grief, hidden behind a countenance that allows not for such sorrow nor sentiment.
Yet, neither the past nor the present can exist any longer. The future must be saved. Power curls tight in this shell, to burst in waves.
Now, the weave of history may be altered and taken from the hands of those not fit to be its masters.
The puppet princess with her Dynast blood and her accomplices watch with horror writ across their faces. Curst abomination: oh and their disgust reads so clearly.
But they can never understand. This is freedom; this is power; this is what the three have striven for, even if now that number is reduced to two, or perhaps one. This is the chance to right wrongs and, also, it is the path to greatness.
This is enlightenment.
