It was a little over a week before the Doctor began to feel the effects of his starvation. He wasn't human, so he knew it wasn't as bad for him, but he had to admit that every day, the food on that table was becoming more and more tempting.

It was replaced daily, often with something that was more to the Doctor's taste. The day they had a banana split sundae covered with hot fudge sauce, he nearly caved in. But he knew better than that. If this were anything like the Earth myths, the moment he ate the food, he'd never be able to leave. And he certainly wanted freedom more than any banana split sundae.

He escaped only a few times more, always unsuccessfully. His most successful plan to date was when he managed to override every lock in the castle, and set off every alarm all at once. He actually made it outside, that time, and felt the cool chill of the night air brushing across his face.

Then he saw the statues.

In the throne room, the statues had all been ice. Here, they were made of stone. He could see the countenance of every petrified animal and creature, their terrified and determined expressions stark shadows against the white snow. He could feel the pain and suffering in the air, woven so thick that he could scarcely breathe. He put a hand on the head of a petrified fox, and tried to find some sign that it was still alive—that any of these creatures were still alive. But there was nothing. No brain activity, no lingering consciousness. It was simply stone. The Doctor shuddered. Everyone here was dead. It was a graveyard.

"They are beautiful, don't you think?"

The Doctor tensed at the sound of her voice. He tried to run, but his feet would not move. He looked down, and discovered the reason why. His feet had been frozen to the ground. He sighed, and hung his head in defeat.

"Jadis," he said.

Jadis came over to him, her gown still trailing along the stone pathway. She gazed, lovingly, at all the petrified creatures surrounding them. "They are my creations, Doctor. My art. Don't you like them?"

"Art?" exclaimed the Doctor. "They're dead, Jadis. They're all dead." He felt his fists clench by his sides. "You killed them."

Jadis paused, as if to consider his words. "No, you're right," she said. "Not art. Trophies. A sign of my accomplishment. A reminder to my people of what will happen if they betray me."

The Doctor took a shaky breath, and glared at her. "How many more are there, Jadis?" he demanded. "How many more gardens of statues? How many more graveyards have you filled to satisfy this twisted fantasy of yours?"

Jadis leaned in, ruffling his hair. "Nowhere near your own tally, Time Lord," she whispered.

The White Witch seized him by the arms and began to haul him away, back to his prison. The Doctor looked up into her eyes, at her cold, calculating expression, and just like that, he knew. This was her warning to him, her threat. Jadis had let him escape, let him get outside, just so she could show him what would happen if he did not cooperate. And he could not cooperate. He understood, now. This was his fate. Some day, he would be the centerpiece in her sculpture garden. The ultimate trophy.

He remembered seeing the statue of Rose in the British Museum, remembered that feeling of desperation and hopelessness as he thought he'd never get her back. What would she think, finding him here? Would it be the same for her as it was for him, realizing that there was nothing left but a cold, empty shell where once there had been a person? He wondered if she'd ever be able to forgive him for getting her into this mess.

Then he remembered Rose was gone.

As the White Witch led him back inside—as he saw the last speck of sky disappear behind the closing wooden doors — the Doctor was gripped with the realization that now that he had seen those statues, she would never let him leave the castle. While he was still alive, he'd never again see the night sky, never again feel the rotation of another planet, never again hear the Tardis in his mind…

Never again feel Rose's hand in his. Never again hear her laughter. Never again look into her hazel eyes and see that love there, that excitement and compassion, that beautiful spark that was Rose.

He felt himself fracturing like broken glass.

The days he was locked in the room drew together into a sort of monotony, and every day, he thought he fractured a little more. The Doctor spoke to no one except Jadis during this time, and his contact with her was never pleasant.

Sometimes, he spotted Jadis through the transparent wall, leading terrified-looking creatures past his window. She pointed at him, explaining him as if he were an animal on display in a zoo. She listed his many crimes as if she were a teacher lecturing her students.

And then there were the times when Jadis felt lonely, and her loneliness turned to lust. The Doctor was getting good at dodging her, but she was getting better at pinning him down. And after she left, he would apply himself more vigorously to finding a way out, because he wasn't sure how he'd be able to stand another day locked away with that madwoman.

Not that she'd ever let him out again. She was far too clever for that.

Most often, she would come in to "tame" him, as if he were some kind of wild beast. She would provoke him to say something flippant, and then she would punish him with physical violence if he took the bait. And being the Doctor, he always took the bait. And then retaliated, not with violence, but with words. He'd always been good with words. But Jadis knew his weak spot. Gallifrey. It was only a matter of time before she started in on the topic. About the War, about how many innocents he had killed, about how she could destroy the whole of Narnia and the whole of Charn and still not come close to his death count. It always stung, because every time she said it, he knew more and more that she was right.

And yet, while these carefully calculated torments were certainly uncomfortable and definitely unpleasant, they were not what was breaking him apart. Every day, he knew it more and more. Jadis was not the one destroying him. He was doing that to himself.

It was those long, endless stretches, when he was alone. When he was swallowed by memories, by sorrow, by pain, by everything he had been running away from for far too long. He needed… oh, how many things he needed, and how impossible it was to get any of them! A good cup of tea. His sonic screwdriver. Rose. The Tardis. Freedom. Or perhaps it was only that he needed something to be his again.

More than that, he needed someone. A hand to hold, a friendly smile, a voice in the dark. Someone to pull him out of the shadows of his mind, someone to scare away the phantoms that Jadis' visits always dredged up. But the more he was pulled down inside himself, the more he knew that he would never find that someone. He would never escape this castle, because he could never escape himself.

The Doctor's only solace was when he sent himself into a trance and could hear that Song again—but it was so much fainter outside of the ice. He didn't want Jadis to freeze him; he never knew whether or not she'd leave him that way for good. But it was difficult, being alone without the Song to comfort him. In his trances, he could not talk to the Song, could not let it completely soothe his mind or eliminate his fears. But he could listen to it, and remember. And he could think.

He did a lot of thinking, when he wasn't tearing himself to pieces. Thinking about this new universe, about this new world, about the eternal winter and his fellow prisoners and all those beings still alive out there, starving. He thought about the gateway. Based on what he knew about the prophecy, and the structure of Narnia, it didn't seem likely that it was always open. After all, he hadn't come through the gateway, and whatever or whoever had brought him here would hardly have expended all that energy if the Doctor could have walked to Narnia himself.

Perhaps it was when the gateway opened that the prophecy would take place. Perhaps there was some temporal shift that aligned the two worlds at certain points. He wished he could remember what the universal pathway detector had shown him, before Jadis had taken it away.

He thought about Jadis, too. How alone she was. Those times when she let her guard down. He wondered what had happened to her world. Why she had destroyed Charn, and how she ended up in Narnia. She had dropped more hints in their conversations—hints of a war that made the rivers of her world run with blood. Had her choice been like his? Had she destroyed Charn for the right reasons? Her words from earlier reverberated through his mind: as if there is any right reason for destroying a planet.

The Doctor shivered. He remembered the anger and pain in Jadis' voice when she spoke of her childhood. So much like his own. Had he destroyed Gallifrey for the right reasons? He thought he had. But every time he saw Jadis, he wondered more and more. Did a part of him revel in the revenge? When he was preparing to use the Moment, was a bit of him pushing for it, pushing him to punish the Time Lords who kept making a mess of his lives?

The way that Jadis ordered the Doctor about, using that calm, demanding tone of voice—it was so much like Lord Rassilon, his cold, soft and yet powerful voice pouring across the console in the Doctor's Tardis. He could almost hear it again, now, in his memory—those carefully sculpted words, the smooth, taunting phrases. He had felt that same irritation, that same anger, in those seconds before he used the Moment to destroy Gallifrey. He'd been so sure that it was the right thing to do. But what if he'd been wrong? What if he had overlooked some other option, blinded by revenge and childhood irritations? What if Jadis was right about him?

The Doctor shuddered. He knew that Jadis scared him—more than Rassilon, more than the Daleks, more than even the Master—because he recognized what he saw in her. It was the same thing he saw in himself, during his darker moments.

He wondered how long it would take before the darker moments consumed him.

I can't fix this, he confessed to the Song. He didn't think that the song could hear him, but he went on, anyways. I couldn't fix Skaro. I couldn't fix Gallifrey. And I can't fix Narnia. I'm falling apart, bit by bit, and this time, there's no Rose to pull me back. But I made you a promise, and I'm going to keep it. If I do nothing else, I'm going to make sure that someone gets out of this alive.

The Song hesitated a moment, as if straining to hear him, and the Doctor projected as much hope and faith and good-will out towards the Song as he could. The Song began singing again, lulling the Doctor to sleep.