It was like putting together a intricate dessert.
First the whole of History - laid out: fixed points, schisms and alternate timelines. All there to be pinched, molded, kneaded into just the right mix for setting it all right; setting it the way it should be.
The way the Order planned it.
DNA from the Pandorica.
Melody Pond (River Song) - simultaneous weapon and perfect spy.
(By the time they would find that bug, it would be too late.)
The Doctor's own research into the Flesh - so helpful, so innovative (and his own undoing.)
The God would learn there was no such thing as Mercy.
That their God trumped his petty influences and paltry attempts at 'saving the Universe'.
It was all in place.
All the parts in motion.
All the pieces set.
The Doctor would die - he would never reach Trenzalor.
He would never answer The Question and undo the work they had spent centuries - since before the death of Gallifrey (at the hands of that same Mad God), planning.
She would prove that Gods could die.
Through her spy on the beach, she did - and smiled the smile of zealous satisfaction.
The False God toppled. Death dealt by the closest companion, the dearest lover, the gentlest hand.
An irony – the blow coming from within: The Child of his own TARDIS.
His dear machine, his sweetest caretaker – his loving murderer by proxy.
A beautiful web.
So fragile, so strong – so very, very deadly.
So very fitting.
The last honor for a decaying Godhead.
After all - it was like baking a delicate cake.
And watching him die...the extra frosting.
Beautiful when it all came together, the sweetest taste ever imagined.
All it took was time, patience - and a pinch of hate.