And the Doctor is there, appearing in a shadowy corner as if by magic. Which is hilarious, considering his costume--cheap, magician, how can fabric even be so shiny? That doesn't warrant more than an eyeroll from him by now. It's not the nightgown, and that's what matters. Rubbish magician is a step up over some of his previous dream attire. And the cape is pretty much the height of fashion. Never turn down an opportunity to wear a cape. Is it possible he's just an MC or some other sort of entertainer? Nope, there's a dove in this pocket. Thankfully not alive. And also not dead, just fake. He re-pockets it, just in case.

The ballroom into which the Doctor has dream-apparated is grandiose, but the candlelight reveals details that are more shabby than elegant. There are huge windows, but the grounds outside them are too dark to inspect carefully, except in the occasional stark flash of lightning. Something is probably going to break through these windows any second, right? Maybe a wolf. Maybe a wolf that breathes fire. The Doctor grins. It's probably the scariest thing in this mansion. "Oh, hello, is this a murder mystery?" he addresses circumstances at large, without any concern for whether or not he has an audience.