"Isn't that an amazing piece of artwork?" a woman asked her companion as they walked around the museum. "I can't believe it survived that long in the sand and the elements."
"I guess its beautiful if you like that sort of thing," her companion replied, bored as they moved to another part of the museum.
I smiled to myself as I walked around, taking in each piece of art, remembering it as it were a thousand years ago.
I made to go over to a display case containing a mannequin in ancient Gallifreyan royal dress when something caught my eye. It was a section of an ancient burial chamber, a tomb used only for nobility and royalty.
I approached it carefully and walked around it. I knew this burial chamber only too well. It was a symbol of a sin I would have to live with for the rest of my life. I looked up to see a young man with unruly brown hair staring at it as well. He circled it before realizing what it was.
Every story, tale or memoir
Every saga or romance
Whether true or fabricated
Whether planned or happenstance
Whether sweeping through the ages
Casting centuries aside
Or a hurried brief recital
Just a thirty minute ride
Whether bright or melancholy
Rough and ready, finely spun
Whether with a thousand players
Or a lonely cast of one
Every story, new or ancient
Bagatelle or work of art
All are tales of human failing
All are tales of love at heart
We both stared at the ancient chamber for quite some time, neither of us meeting the other's gaze.
I looked up and stared at the young man, and he stared at me. That's when everything changed.
Our eyes locked as the museum visitors froze in their places and the mannequin in ancient dress came alive and stepped from her display case.
This is a story
Of a love that flourished
In a time of hate
Of lovers no tyranny could separate
Love set into motion on the river's shore
Destiny ignited by an act of war
Gallifrey saw the mighty river as its very heart and soul
Source of life for all her people
That only Gallifrey could control
Destruction of her southern neighbor justified
Pyrovillia exploited, left with little more than pride
In a dream-like motion, the museum dissolved and I am back on the barges of Gallifrey. Taken from my home, never to return again…