‘There was a... I don’t know. A place of execution. A city. Looked kind of old-fashioned. French, I think.’ He looked around, shaded his eyes against the black sun. ‘Where did allthat go?’
– It’s still here, somewhere, said the voice. But Marielle is looking at it differently now.‘ "Marielle"? What d’you mean, "Marielle"? You’re –’And then she turned to him, a slight smile on her face. Her face... it was Marielle’s face, but just like the voice, it was something else as well. It shifted. Altered. Changed its mind about how the features should be perceived. ‘You’re not her,’ said Chris, unnecessarily.– Perhaps I am. Perhaps I’m not. Marielle is acting as my...my interface, if you like. Just like your TARDIS, I’m really too difficult for one individual to understand. No offence, Christopher Cwej.