River Song
Two flavor words dress the same premise: you win by knowing the order of things and by punishing an opponent who tries to. The first ability quietly inverts one of the game's most fundamental assumptions, pulling from the bottom of your library instead of drawing normally, which turns any bottom-of-deck tutor or scry-to-the-bottom effect into a setup tool rather than a discard. Card selection reframes entirely: whatever you push under is what you are about to draw, so the machinery you normally use to bury a dead card becomes the machinery that queues up your next one. The second ability is the aggressive half, and it reads like a metaphor made mechanical. The Time Lord who spends the whole series refusing to reveal what happens next punishes opponents for peeking at their own future: every scry, surveil, or fetch is a growth trigger and a burn spell at once, escalating because the counter stays put and the power that sets the damage keeps climbing. The design's tension is that both halves reward one very specific table: your deck built to exploit knowing its own bottom, and an opponent whose deck cannot stop shuffling and sculpting. Against an aggressor who never touches their library it sits inert; against a manipulation-heavy shell it snowballs into a clock the opponent assembled themselves, one scry at a time.
