Katrithetarelundar wakes up.
It is only upon doing so that she actually realises she had passed out, and as she blows a few strands of unreasonably bright red curls out of her face and sits up, she suddenly remembers why.
Curious, she begins checking herself. Legs? Yes, two, same size. Feet? Average size, match. Knees? Not too knobbly. Hips? Just about. Hands? Long fingers, horologists' fingers. Shoulders? Small, round. Nose? Of the button variety. Lips? Small, round. Cheekbones? Phwoar! Excellent! Eyebrows? Oh, well. Better luck next time. Ears? Phew.
She can feel people outside, so despite her fatigue, she determinedly half trudges, half stumbles out the partially formed doors, her long, cumbersome Timelord robes falling down onto the floor in a heap as she goes.