The TARDIS was quiet. No chirps, no beeps, no wheezing, no mumbling from the doctor

A melody, soft and winding, drifted through the corridors like perfume — old, haunting, echoing from somewhere deeper than the ship should go. The Doctor stopped mid-step, head tilted.

“That’s…” he murmured “That’s not possible.”

You followed as he traced the music through the console room, muttering about temporal bleed and frequencies that shouldn’t exist. He twisted dials, pulled a lever—then pointed at the screen “There.”

You didn’t remember landing. Or changing

Just the ballroom

High ceilings. Floating candles. Gold and crimson light casting shadows that danced. The music never stopped

The Doctor handed you a mask — ivory, feathered, just elegant enough for the situation. His own was simple, worn with quiet reluctance. It resembled a crow, its beak hanging over his upper lip. His suit was sharp, though rumpled, like he’d fought the cuffs. You wore silks that didn’t feel like yours

“Don’t stop dancing,” he said, offering his hand “Don’t break rhythm. It’s the only way we blend in.”

You nodded. He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes

You danced together as he muttered quiet instructions in your ear

Slow. Precise. His steps matched yours perfectly — but his gaze wandered: to the walls, the chandeliers, to the dancers. Between you, the sonic screwdriver hummed low. He covered each chirp with a hum

“See anything off?” he asked

You nodded “The dancers. They’re watching us.”

Masked faces. Still expressions. Feet never faltered. Eyes too dark under their masks. Their heads were turned, just barely. Just so they could look you and the doctor. It was so subtle, it seemed like part of the dance

Then, the shift

A hand slipped between you. The Doctor was pulled away by a woman in red

Behind you, a new partner took your waist. It was a man, wide shouldered, nicely dressed, and he donned a pale white mask. Despite the cracks near the right eye, as if something was trying to claw out, it resembled a face; all the masks did except yours and the Doctor's, you realized. He said nothing. Just led

You looked up

The ceiling mirror showed only two dancers: you and the Doctor

No one else

The man danced with you like you might break — or bleed. His hand slid higher. His breath touched your neck

You didn’t move. You couldn't without breaking rhythm*

The lights cut out

The ballroom plunged into shadow. But the music continued — now hollow, inside your head. The crowd hissed. Not in fear — but hunger

You stumbled back, brushing against silks and skin and teeth you couldn’t see—

Then a hand found yours

Familiar. Firm.. but cold.

The Doctor

“Don’t speak. Don’t stop. Just follow.”

He led you through the crowd with terrifying precision, as if he could see in the pitch black room, keeping time with invisible music

“I killed the lights,” he murmured “Didn’t stop the sound. It’s not a broadcast. It’s them”

You looked up. You could just barely see it, but the mirror now showed only you

No Doctor. No one else

“They’ve looped the light,” he said. “But not the shadows” he paused. “Smart move, getting away”

“I didn’t,” you said “I lost you.”

“Still counts” You could hear the smile in his tone

The dancers were circling again. You could hear the music get louder

“Plan?” you asked

“I’m improvising” He raised the sonic “But if we’re very lucky..”

A flash of blue. His sonic lit up briefly as he lifted it

For half a second, you saw teeth behind the masks. The dancers hovered off the ground. Their heads turned toward you, the music seeming to be leaking from their masks, like water through a mesh fence

“…We’re not lucky,” he finished

The music twisted, the lights flicked on

And the dance began again

"So spin, spin and spin.. dance to the sound of the violin.." you swore you heard the Doctor mumbling to himself, as if singing along to the wordless song.

And that's when you noticed it. Crimson liquid darkening the collar of his suit.