The contours of the octagonal console were black, the walls, too; everything in here was obsidian black.
"She responds to my emotional state," he began. "In the days following Amy's departure, I traveled to the largest graveyard in all the universes. I wandered among the graves with the mist encircling me like the spiral arms themselves, and in that dark sky, a beautiful, mournful sight—a blue-shifted galaxy being siphoned off into oblivion by a super-massive black hole.
"I couldn't cry. I just wandered among the graves, for days, for weeks, maybe months. I can't remember. I needed to be alone. I was alone—without River, without anyone, because I missed them so much. I missed my friends, my friend Amy, that first face that this face had ever seen. Secretly, I wondered if the shrouded stone figures that I encountered were Angels. And I thought, at that moment, at that time, I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't mind at all. Wandering in that maze of death, I wouldn't have minded at all…"
He drifted off, and when he came around he said, "You don't know exactly what it did to me. Maybe I'm talking to you because…I don't know. I don't know anymore."
He paused. I thought of the Doctor's cry as she vanished and all that was left was that chilling stone smirk. I imagined the casual, contemplative pause that Rory made to see his own death inscribed on that stone. I glimpsed in them my own loss. I heard my own lamentation in the Doctor's cry.
He opened the monitor onto a blue star-field spiraling into oblivion. So, after Amy vanished, the TARDIS was orbiting a black hole and, through the monitor, I contemplated whether even the TARDIS could survive that.
Why had he brought me here? Did I retain some connection to her, some residue of the original? But then why not bring the real Amy back? It was impossible by some virtue of the laws of Angels and space-time.
"At the heart of that graveyard," he said, turning to me, "there is a reflecting pool. I stared into my own reflection, and behind me, the reflection of the star—or rather the absence of any reflection in that black pool. The surface was so calm, the whole image gently perturbed by the slightest ripple."
Hands rising to cover eyes (like the Angels themselves?).
In the slight perturbation of his forehead I registered the black Void, read between the lines of that resigned stare after finishing her Afterward, through her glasses. Then it had been abyssal. I shuddered to think of the Lonely God in such a state.
Had the Doctor finally come up against a force of Nature—a race—that he could not control, glimpsed in that stone cold smile? Perhaps the Angels were the Timelords, ever evolved, and this was their revenge? I looked again at the darkness on the screen and felt a shiver run down my spine.
I looked to the Doctor, but he was preoccupied by the Void.