[A looping video is uploaded. Rose is in front of a mirror. GrimDark and all. Until she begins to unravel. Inky saturation drains from her like tidewater receding from a poisoned shore, leaving something untouched underneath. That is to say, not something necessarily healed or restored, just clearer. Where there had been void-black there is now a clinical white. Uniform, immaculate, perfect. She is like porcelain that has never known warmth. Her skin is almost reflective of light. A subtle inversion to what she was moments before. She is curated. Her hair follows suit. Going from a matte white to something more reflective. Each fiber on her head is splayed about in precision. She has no frizz, no disobedience, absolutely perfect. It is a grotesque echo of the sphere she had just cracked, her bob rounded out near identically against her skull. Her eyes take a moment. Lavender dimness and a light cataract seem to dissipate. Like a soul returning to life. The color is stately, saturated, and aristocratic. She looks focused in her gaze, it tracks the viewer with intent. Her uniform, an exaggerated almost parody-level "nurse" silhouette appears to unfurl. A fitted bodice, structured to draw the eye to the waste before flaring just enough to suggest mobility rather than modesty. A short skirt, only, slightly scandalous. Lengthened to provocation, as if calibrated for indulgence. The neckline coming over the flat of her bust. She is a titillating signal. A beacon, perhaps. White dominates the outfit. A sterile type of white. Absent of marks. Precise lines guide the eye about her body. It screams as though it were designed by the Doctor himself. Save for a small lavender belt she still wears about her waist. Elbow length white gloves, tight, almost like a second skin. Her chest has a single pin upon it. An abstract shape, somehow, suggesting a vaguely medicinal adjacent, whilst also showing off her role in snuffing timelines by having lines dissipate in directions. The overall effect is unmistakeable. She is a reflection of him. Not a copy. Where he is the Pristine Host and orchestrator, she is the curatrix. She preserves, organizes, and trims excess from the system. She does not serve, she implements. The difference is whose restraint she follows. His perfection was indulgent, hers was surgical. Standing there, no longer in the abyss she has been drowned in. She does not look free. Merely resigned. Then the video simply reverses. It would end with her reverting back into her GrimDark state.]
I wish I co+uld understand the specifics o+f everything yo+u're invo+lved in. Yo+u do+n't lo+o+k happy.
And yo+u seemed mo+re than do+ne with it all then, but it seems yo+u're back into+ it?
Regretfully, yes. I am working on it. I did try to kill him.
I may have misundersto+o+d this turn o+f events, then. Kno+w I'm in yo+ur co+rner and ro+o+ting fo+r his eventual demise.