Sooo. Anyways Jels is here and I have another story! Yay! Another means of procrastination! This is a shorter story and won't be updated as much as my other stuff because it's kind of on the back burner until I finish Saving Grace. It's a first draft, pls excuse typos.

I'm only gonna say this once- I am not affiliated with and do not own anything related to Doctor Who. It is property of the BBC and not mine. I only own Aspen.

The snow swirls in light happy eddies around my feet as I forge through the cold, pulling the collar of my sweatshirt over my neary numb face. The cold burns the inside of my nose as I draw in a long deep breath.

The crunching of my feet against icy gravel draws my attention back to reality as I stop, kneeling down in front of the wind-worn gravestone. My fingers trace the name carved into the side- Michelle Glass, 1976-2006, Adam Glass, 1972-2006. Rest in Peace. I sigh as I flop down Indian-style in front of it, leaning my ebows on my knees.

"It's another cold day," I speak into the empty air. "I made it, though. Well, obviously. It's almost Christmas," I pause, wiping the sadnes from my face, before continuing. "I really miss you guys. I love you."

I reach into my pocket and pull out the one thing I have to remember them by- a little carved wooden police call box, painted blue. It's no more than two inches tall. "It's been almost eleven years since you died," I say softly. The shadows stretch long, worrying me into soon departure. "Love you guys."

I kiss the top of the gravestone and haul myself off of the ground, the empty pit inside of me like a black hole, consuming all happiness in my life. Turning the little police box over in my hand, the pad of my finger traces the spacey carving, circles and lines, engraved on the bottom. It's the only thing I've got left of my parents- the rest burned That Day.

I stuff my hands back in my pockets and stomp off through the snow, back to the dumpy little house I call home. The door swings open with a long screech as I stomp the snow off of my boots, hanging up my coat.

I slap the little police box down on the counter. Kneeling down, I view it from all angles, turning it with the end of a pen. I remember when my mom gave it to me. I'd only been four. Aspen, she'd said, stroking my long pale curls, this is for you.

What is it, Momma? I'd asked.

It's a magic police box. There's a man who lives in it, who flies it around and fights monsters so little girls like you can sleep safe at night.

I'd set it on my dresser and stared at it, waiting for the man to come out. I fell asleep with it there, and it sat bleak and still, untouched for five years- not until The Day.

My hands grip the edges of the counter as a flashback hits me. Smoke floated in hazy curtains through the air, choking my throat as the shrill whine of the smoke alarm jolted me from my slumber. I knew that smoke alarm meant danger, so I grabbed my most precious possessions- a ratty stuffed tiger and the magic wooden police box- and bolted.

I opened the door to a bright orange glow. The carpet in the hall was licked with flames, racing hungrily towards my small feet. I screamed as they neared me, leapt along my rug and across my wall, greedily devouring the drawings I'd hung with care. The doorway was swathed in smoke- I couldn't see through it.

I backpedaled, my slight nine-year-old frame straining to open the window and push out the screen and straddle the edge. The flames were already eating away at the windowsill. A tongue of red leapt onto my arm and raced up my pajama sleeve, sending red-hot pains shooting through my body and causing me to fling myself over the edge of the second-story window.

My stomach jumped into my throat as I plummeted, crashing into the old sycamore outside my window. I held a death grip on both police box and tiger as my body bounced off of thicker branches and tore through thin ones as well as spiderwebs. I hit the ground with a solitary thud. Pain leeched through my senses. I screamed and thrashed until my throat was numb and a fiefighter yanked me away from the flaming house.

I sat swaddled tightly in a shock blanket as I numbly watched the roof cave into the flaming monstrosity that used to be my house, knowing but not being able to process that my parents had burned to death inside.

I crumple onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as I try to restrain the sobs that rack through my body. I yank up my left sleeve. Underneath is rough, puckered pink skin tracing up my arm. Another sob echoes in my throat as I bury my face in my knees.

So anyways here it is, reviews are lovely. This is a prologue and rather depressing at that, the rest of the story will have lighter spots I promise. I love all of you and thanks for reading this. :) Also cover image coming soon :D