Disclaimer: Doctor Who owns my soul, I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Written in five minutes during drabble night with Ladychi/a. Non-specified incarnation of the Doctor.
Flames dance high, higher; grasping, reaching for sky and star.
Smoke billows out, slithering like a snake, between buildings and trees and beyond, across the whole of the planet, choking it, killing it.
Heat licks at his skin, his arms, his face, making the air nearly unbreathable, even for him.
He stands at the edge of fire, watches as it consumes, leaving nothing behind, not even a trace of life, and he knows that it's right, even as he battles the demons that tell him that it's wrong.
He is the spark that started the flame.
He is the Doctor.