Prologue
My hands shook after my momentous regeneration. Images of a war-torn Gallifrey conflicted with the bittersweet memories I had of it when I was a child.
Those beautiful mountains, and the arrogance of the High Council. Memories were all that were left of my home planet now, but I feared I would have to lock them away lest my infamous anger control me.
I ran my hands over the features that were entirely new to me, especially the ears. I vaguely remembered the moment before the exhilarating regenerative energy had washed over me. I think, I think I said something like:
"I hope the ears are a little less conspicuous this time,"
But how was that possible? How could I have known what I was going to regenerate into before it even happened? I thought it was entirely random?
Had I not fixed the burning of time by killing them all? I refused to think it was even a possibility.
Just to be certain, I won't go back to Earth for a while, until I'm certain all the anomalies in time, like the never-weres, the should-have-beens, no longer exist.
"My actions were justified," I try to convince myself, knowing the only person listening to my madness is my trusty Tardis. She's the only one who would ever put up with me for any extended period of time. Not even my companions like me that much.
I stroke the console of the Tardis, "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever known," I murmur softly. Sometimes I think it wasn't me that stole her, but her that stole me. Then I realise how silly I'm being and pull myself together.
"Right then, off we go," I say a little louder, in the off chance that someone is listening, which I doubt.
Then I run around the console, pushing buttons, which I'm notoriously good at, off adventuring again. This time without any meddling companions who always insist on wandering off, even though I tell them it's the most important rule of space-time travel. Silly little humans.
I am the Ninth Doctor, and this is my story.