Refreshing though it may be to finally see Clara smiling again, I have some serious reservations about her new pet. It can’t be healthy, to traipse about with this… copy of the Doctor. Though I can immediately tell the difference in his overall demeanour, he still looks far too similar to the Time Lord. I worry that his presence will prove to be more harmful than helpful. And I worry about the nature of their interest in each other… Lust is perfectly fine, by all means, but misinterpreting it as something deeper is foolish. As I write this, they’re snogging desperately at the front door, overlooking the bland scene of Saturn beyond. He’s seen it all now; she can’t simply return him to Earth. And what of the trap street? She’ll have to return some day, to finally accept her death. Oh, Clara Oswald, do you realize the consequences of your actions?
She spent too much time with the Doctor. I think she means to be her own version of him. Maybe she’ll call herself the Teacher. She’s got her plaything now, a mirror image of the Doctor, whom she can show around to all the wonders of time and space. How therapeutic.
And once again, I am forgotten. But if my interminable life has taught me anything, it is patience. I am the most patient woman who ever lived, ever.
I will wait. And opportunity will come knocking, as it always does in the end.
Gods, I hate Saturn.