There's that girl again, appearing all over her rooms, running around like a chicken with its head cut off rather than letting the TARDIS protect her. Except, no, that's not who this human is, she likes this one. Nyssa maybe, or Victoria or LeelaorDonnaorAmeliaorLuciestop. With a jolt and a high-pitched keening up in the vaulted ceiling she halts her reeling thought processes, realigns her priorities and decides that whoever it is, she doesn't want her hurt.
That, however, is easier thought than done. A corner of the library is in flames, the hearth exploded and set fire to the bench in front of it, and from there it spread to the unique and flammable collection, eating away at the pillars that support the upper levels. And then the doors open and a terrified, scrawny boy runs in, pauses to catch his breath, and is attacked by a grotesquely burnt figure. As they struggle, the image suddenly flickers out of existence, then repeats itself. It's a temporal mirage, a past or future echo that doesn't even belong to this particular library, but time and space are as unstable as the ship herself, bending all wrong like broken bones.
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That, however, is easier thought than done. A corner of the library is in flames, the hearth exploded and set fire to the bench in front of it, and from there it spread to the unique and flammable collection, eating away at the pillars that support the upper levels. And then the doors open and a terrified, scrawny boy runs in, pauses to catch his breath, and is attacked by a grotesquely burnt figure. As they struggle, the image suddenly flickers out of existence, then repeats itself. It's a temporal mirage, a past or future echo that doesn't even belong to this particular library, but time and space are as unstable as the ship herself, bending all wrong like broken bones.