Title: Memorial
Pairing/Characters: Vague mention of the Doctor, implied Amy
Warnings: No spoilers, but makes more sense if you've scene Vincent and the Doctor. Can be read without it, though.
Summary: Deep in the TARDIS there is a memorial.
A/N: Wrote this ages ago. Concrit please.

There is a Dalek in the TARDIS. It is only a shell, now, cracked. One tentacle of the no-longer living being which sits inside it has pushed through this crack, and dangles by its side. The creature is old and burned, and there is a knife stuck in it, as though put there by someone in whose nightmares it has woken up. The Dalek is covered in vines and flowers. There are circles carved in the rocks at its base and in the metal of its shell. The circles are names.

There is not enough rock.

The circles have spread to the walls and to the floor. They are crammed into corners and written small as thumbnails. They make the circles inside other circles.

It is not enough.

It is never enough.

The room is full of whispers. Names fill your head the moment you enter it, tears and sighs and broken promises. There are questions and prayers to nameless unknowns and sweet, terrible songs.

The circles on the Dalek's top are worn, as if fingers have traced them a thousand times. There is a ring there, left behind like a marker, in remembrance. There are flowers there, also. They are dry, and crumble when you touch them.

Today, a man enters the room. He has entered it before, he knows it well. The eyes he carries now have not seen much, yet, but they have seen the room. Beside him is a girl. He holds her hand tight in his. A tear runs down her cheek, and he pulls her close and rests his forehead against hers. Time passes. They leave.

There are sunflowers, now.