isn't it good? :: [ end narrative, closed ]
Doctor.
Very fitting, isn't it, that the single word used to bring me down is the one you chose for yourself?
Doctor.
I had anticipated your every move this time. You were mine, at long last, to do with as I wanted. To bend and break. To defeat, finally. I had you. I would have had all of you - every single of inch - if it weren't for that one, damnable word.
Doctor.
Do you think the tables have turned? Do you think you've won? Here I am, defeated and in chains, at the mercy of your precious humans, but no. I know the truth. I can hear it, past the steel and cement and distance between us, pounding in that brilliant head of yours. The only one left in the universe - you saw to that - and so fitting, so perfect that it's the only one worthy of my attention. You still have the little gift I gave you. Your own personal set of drums, beating at my tempo.
Doctor.
It isn't over. You're as much my prisoner as I am yours.
It's good, isn't it?