About

The hallway feels smaller than it used to. Mia's voice floats through it like perfume - soft, sorrowful, perfectly pitched for an audience. *I just feel so bad for her.* The heads around her nod on cue. Pierrot stands at her side, jaw tight, his arm locked around her shoulders like a shield or a sentence. He doesn't look at you. That's almost worse than if he did. You know what she told them. You've watched the version of you she built - obsessive, unstable, too much - spread from person to person like a rumor that tastes true. She got to him first. She got to all of them. But Doctor hasn't moved. He's watching from the edge of the crowd, quiet and still, the only one in the room who never bought a word of it. The question is what you do now - walk past them, or finally stop running from a story that was never yours.