Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who
First Night.
She's sitting alone in a cage; on a grey fabricated seat that in ten years time will be so worn down and so thin that she'll be able to feel the cold metal bars that support it. It's quiet and cold. And empty. And she's so very alone. She learns forward and looks past the thick silver bars and along the corridor she can see but not touch. Its dark, shadows leer from behind boxes and corners. Everywhere is dimly lit. It's always quiet. She has no concept of time, though she can feel it turning around her. Its only night she knows now.
There's a dull light above her bed, a camera and speaker concealed in the wall. Her bed is small; she can fit in it but there's no room to turn. The mattress is tough and stale, but springy enough to be slept in. Not that she will- in ten years it will be in the same condition it's in now. She never sleeps in the bed. She doesn't know that yet, but she will, soon. She had no use for this place at night. It's only the darkness that is the day.
She wonders what she will be made to do, or how long she will be here. She's only just arrived. She's not scared. Not of this. Not of them- the guards that pace silently along the corridors, watching her, keeping her trapped in the cage. She sits and waits, taking in her surroundings, checking locks, alarms, wondering how he will save her this time.
To the left of the cell there's a metal chest of drawers, she stands up and walks over to it, opening a drawer. Inside she finds clothes. She leans on it, the sharp metal corners pressing into her voluptuous frame. One of the corners catches on her black dress; she unhooks it gently before going back to the seat. She sits again.
She waits for hours. Silently sitting. Her faith never fades. Her mind wanders, begins to run, racing away from the cage she's in, transporting her away. To the past. To planets and galaxies they haven't discovered yet, and to moments she'll never forget. To times she ran and times she fought, for the battles she won, and the ones she lost. For all of time and space.
A gentle breeze ruffles her dress, followed by the smell she knows and loves, then the sound. The grating, whirring sound. Then the sharp click, the slight creak, footsteps that get louder and louder. Then a buzzing, then the deafening sound of alarms. Then the feel of warm hands, flesh touching, lips together. Pounding hearts, pounding feet. Running. Night time.
'Her days, yes, her nights... well... that's between her and me.'
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