Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances

- Вы в курсе, что идем на восток? - осторожно поинтересовался один из них.

• Да, - сказала королева.
• А, ну тогда все в порядке, - успокрился гном.

I sometimes imagine I would like my ashes to be scattered in a library. But then the librarians would just have to come in early the next morning to sweep them up again, before the people got there.

The Doctor had a remarkable memory. The problem was, there was so much of it. He had lived eleven lives (or more: there was another life, was there not, that he tried his best never to think about) and he had a different way of remembering things in each life.
The worst part of being however old he was (and he had long since abandoned trying to keep track of it in any way that mattered to anybody but him) was that sometimes things didn’t arrive in his head quite when they were meant to.

‘Could be anyone. The Kin. I mean... it’s like calling yourselves the People. It’s what pretty much every race-name means. Except for Dalek. That means Metal-Cased Hatey Death Machines in Skaronian.’

It’s strange, bringing someone home. It makes you see the place you live as if you’ve not been there before.

people think they are buying the art, but really, they’re buying the story.

Гномы уже поджидали королеву -в последнем трактире в предгорьях.