Clara Oswald first noticed the gravestone with her name on it on a cloudy summer afternoon. She was taking her normal shortcut home when it caught her eye. She froze on the spot. The gravestone was aged, the words faded, but there was her name carved into stone. Almost her name.
Clara left quickly that day. She hadn't wanted to think about it. She couldn't think about it; not about her echoes living and dying all over time and space. She could sometimes remember flashes of those lives, and worse, those deaths. She stopped taking shortcuts through the graveyard after that.
―
Today, however, was a brilliantly sunny day. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt the need to visit Clara Oswin Oswald's grave, but here she was walking slowing through the graveyard, still unsure if it was a good idea. Clara wrapped her arms tighter around herself; the warm sun not making up for the frigid December air.
Clara's pace slowed to a stop as the gravestone in question grew closer. She closed her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath and then took the last final steps to the grave. She knelt down, the thin layer of frost crunching slightly under her legs. She couldn't take her eyes off the sight in front of her.
Clara Oswin Oswald
Remember me
for we shall meet again
Born
November 23 1866
Died
December 24 1892
Clara took a shaky breath. Today was Christmas Eve. Today was the day that Clara Oswin Oswald died.
The nightmares had been plaguing Clara all week. She woke up every morning screaming, covered in cold sweat. She felt haunted in a way she would never be able to explain. She had to remind herself over and over again that the girl who died wasn't her.
Clara reached out a shaking hand and gently caressed the gravestone in front of her.
"I'm so sorry."