Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, but am grateful we are allowed to play within it's endless universe. A thank you to the BBC and all authors and actors therein.
This story is best read in 1/2 width.
There's a gigantic room with a pulsing, glowing heart at the center of it. Structural supports shaped like tendons placed seemingly wherever they felt like reached all about, various things tossed about over the struts, like a dark jacket or a musty hat.
A mysterious and, frankly, ridiculous number of knobs and buttons surround the center column, the soul of this creature (this machine, this woman - for the whole thing felt distinctly fuzzy and feminine, warm and possessive) peering out behind tubes stretching from the mass of technology and making him feel like running.
Everything is awash with an unearthly green. Lit up and vibrant, it's both terrifyingly unnatural and soothing as he passes within the glow.
He can feel it in his bones, a humming. Like nothing he'd ever heard, if you could call it hearing, it thrummed in his head, his skin, his bones. Like a mood, like a lullaby.
It was a feeling, more than anything. In feeling her he almost forgot his solitude.
Please review, constructive criticism is welcome.