Once upon a time, in a rural American town lived, lived an average, ordinary, everyday 14 year old girl. Well, she was average for the most part. She loved going to parties with her friends, she fought with her parents, and she loved staying awake until the moon set and sleeping hours after the sun had risen; but that was the only side of her she showed the world. When she was alone, she became the person she really was; the person she kept deep down inside herself, locked away for fear of judgment.
When she was alone, she was a dreamer, always looking to the stars for answers and to books for adventures. And on very rare occasions, she went to the television for stories. But she saw how it ate peoples' lives up: the idiotic behavior displayed in news stories nightly, the ludicrous scenes on teen dramas weekly; so she made sure that when she watched, it was only for one thing: for the story of a sweet old mad-man who traveled everywhere in a box. She had been watching the program for so long that she had come to believe that she knew every adventure he ever had, every person he had ever known, and every fable he had ever told. She thought she knew his past, present, and future⦠she thought she knew everything there was to know about the Doctor. But anyone she talked to would just roll their eyes and scoff, telling her he was only a character fabricated for a ridiculous television show. But she didn't listen to them. She kept looking to the stars: dreaming, wondering, observing.
And although she knew was wrong pretty often, the first time positive about she was right was when she thought about the beauty of the universe and realized: the Doctor is, was, and always shall be, real.
