Donna Noble was eighty three years old. Her once red hair was now shock white, eyes sunken into their sockets and the akin on her once full cheeks clung to her bones. She was malcontent. A portion of her life was missing; some months of her adult life had vanished. Her then fiancé had vanished without a trace, her parents said he'd vanished off to Majorca, with some blonde tart from Essex.

Donna wiled away her days in the home her parents left to her. She had dreams of a blue police box that continued to haunt her. She didn't know what it all meant, but it was something that continually eluded her.

She was tired, extremely tired. She never had any children, and no spouse to speak of, it was just her, on her own. She knew her time was coming. She sank into a sleep as her life slipped away.

And then she was awake again. She looked at her hands, they were no longer coarse and wrinkled. Getting to her feet, she stumbled over to the mirror and looked at her face. She looked about twenty years old, and she had jet black hair. Her nose was pointed with a hook at the end, her face thin, but not gaunt.

"Who am I?" she asked herself.