[ Witness here, the Doctor, wandering close to the shore of one of the lakes. Though there's an abundance of sites to explore in Yancai—and he's already begun to explore much of it in earnest, as is his nature—he finds himself continuously drawn back to the supposed source of this present time mystery. In his experience, a group of people accused of meddling and being the source of trouble often tends to be the opposite, or a convenient excuse, or...the truth, but not the whole of it.

Either way, whatever the truth is, whatever is at the heart of all of this, the Doctor will suss it out like he always does. He's thrilled by the mystery, the adventure of it, while at the same time, unsettled and upset that some of those he cares for have had their memories altered. The strange thing is, not all of them have had their memories altered in the same fashion, either; Clara remembers some of her life before, while Vanessa remembers none of her life before.

The shore of the lake is a bit quieter near dusk, and he finds himself pacing as he thinks aloud, turning over details that he knows thus far, while posing yet more questions. He hardly cares who hears him and in fact, would invite further queries, protests, curiosities, or anyone compelled to look at him like he's gone mad.

Of course, he'd gone mad long ago. He's just perfecting it as he ages. ]

The witches of the lake cursed the village...why. Time isn't moving the same each day—slow and fast, then annoyingly slow again. Memories gone, holes poked through them, a patchwork quilt of unreality mixed in with shreds of truth.

[ As he talks, his hands are rubbing together and he paces slowly before he's distracted by the glistening silver coins at the bottom of the lake. So he stops, his voice slowing, quieting, deep in thought. ]

Time is my business. They have no authority to go messing about with it like this, or twisting truths in people's minds. I'll put a stop to it...