She's TARDIS blue, shining with the stories of a thousand worlds. You'll never take her, dead or alive, with her yellow eyes shining bright. She outlives us all, even you, dear one. She sees all, but she is alone. Only one other feels her agony, only he who has seen what she has seen.
He sees the stars at night, moving, alive as they really are.
Bad Wolf midnight in a museum, stolen from the Queen. For him, she says. The world is ending again, and it always is. Never safe. I wouldn't have it any other way. Nebulae twinkling in the madness, chaotic calm, and never as they seem to be. Things will always be as they are: changing, ever and always. When the sun explodes around the vortex, romantic endings avoided, it would be. The Doctor and his River, psychopathic killers living for tomorrow, left only for today.