PROSE: The Shining Man [Ch. 21, 23, 31]

She opened her eyes, a simple enough act that turned out to be the biggest mistake of all.
It was like being hit in the face with a baseball bat. A baseball bat made of pure light.
Her eyes burned, like they were roasting in their own sockets. She clawed at them, screaming in agony.

[...]

The bark on the tree trunks was deep dark red. Too deep. Too dark. Each knot in the wood was like a whirlpool, spiralling and yet still at the same time. Fungus crawled all over the trees, literally crawled, moving across the ridiculously red bark like giant ridged caterpillars.
And the flowers. They clustered around the roots of the trees, every colour of the rainbow, and a few she had never seen before. Vivid, stunning colours that made her eyes ache. But that was nothing compared to the smell. She could never understand why people insisted on sniffing flowers. They'd always made her sneeze, full of sweet, saccharine perfume. Here it was worse. It stuck to the back of her throat, thick and cloying. She was going to be sick. She turned over, trying to push herself up on her knees. Her head went into a spin, the sounds of the forest coming from all angles. She could hear everything at once: bugs crawling in the pungent earth beneath her fingers, birds flying through the air, each beat of their wings like thunder, a heart beating like a drum.
No, not one heart. Two. Beating together.
'Here,' said a commanding voice. 'Put these on.' Something slipped over her eyes. Plastic, cool against her skin. She opened her eyes again, but this time they didn't burn. The sounds of the forest retreated, becoming muted, easier to stand.
'Better?'
Schofield looked up to set the Doctor standing over her, his hand reaching down. She took it, and rose unsteadily to her feet. Her ears popped and she went to pun off the sunglasses he'd slipped onto her nose.
'No, don't take them off,' he said quickly. 'or we'll be treated to more of the retching and the screaming.'
She'd been screaming?
'They're mine, but you can borrow them. You're very lucky. Not everyone gets to wear the sonic sunglasses They're special, just like me.'
'Special how?'
'They're adjusting your vision,' he told her, 'dimming things down so the world isn't so glary.
And while they're at it, they're also projecting a sonic cone around you, filtering out the noise. You can thank me later.'

[...]

'So what about you?' she asked, runing on the Doctor?
'What about me?'
She tapped the glasses. 'How come you don't need these?'
'The forest only affects humans that way.'
'Meaning?'
'I think you know what I mean.'
'You're a troll.
 He looked appalled. 'I'm a Time Lord.'

[---]

She tumbled forwards, the sonic sunglasses flying from her face.
The world smothered her, all the light and sound the Doctor's gadget had been keeping at bay rushing in. She was drowning in her senses, her eardrums fit to burst.

[...]

The sunglasses.
Fumbling with the arms, she pushed them back on her nose. The glare of the Invisible retreated, but there was no time to in relief.

[---]

Charlotte groaned, her eyes flickering. She began to convulse, going into a seizure. It had to be the heightened colours and sounds of the Invisible. On the way back to the van, the Doctor had explained that the Fae would have used their warped science to keep Charlotte alive while she danced for so many years. Now she was free of the music, she was no longer protected. Her senses were under attack and, in her weakened condition, she was going into shock.
There was only one thing to do. Schofield pulled the sonic sunglasses from her eyes, gasping as she experienced the Invisible without the benefit of their defences.
She pushed the glasses onto Charlotte's face. The effect was instantaneous. Her body stopped shaking, her arms and legs going limp, even as Schofield felt like she was on fire.
'Stop,' she heard a voice shouting nearby. The Doctor. She turned, fighting the urge to throw up, her vision hazy, like looking through a prism.

[...]

Schofield's heart was racing to fast. her chest felt like it was caught in a vice, the pressure increasing with each passing second.

[...]

Schofield felt like her brain was trying to crawl out of her skull. She remembered what Marter had said when he had reappeared.
'The colours. The colours.'
How many years had he survived like this, every cell of his body on fire? She wanted to pull the glasses back from Charlotte. She was an old woman now. She'd lived her life, albeit one trapped in a nightmare. Schofield was still young. She had a family, a child. Perhaps, if she took the glasses back, she would survive this. She would see them again.
But she had taken an oath.
I do solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that I will well and truly serve the Queen in the office of constable ...
'What's it to be?' the Doctor asked the assembled throng.
... with fairness, integrity, diligence and impartiality, upholding fundamental human rights ...
'Do we have a deal?'
... and according equal respect to all people ...
'Why won't you answer?'
... I will, to the best of my power, cause the peace to be kept and preserve and prevent ... preserve and prevent ...
She couldn't remember any more. The words just wouldn't come. She barely knew her name, or why she was holding a dying woman in her arms. And as for the voice shouting at the monsters ... She knew she recognised it, but she didn't know who it was, couldn't make out what it was saying.

[...]

And then she heard no more.