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She didn't know where to start.
The beginning seemed the most obvious place, of course, but there was something about this adventure that made her want to do it…well, a little differently.
Rose was curled up on the sofa, a glass of wine next to her on the floor. She wasn't much of a wine person, but she figured a glass of wine and a good book would make her more refined, somehow. It was like playing dress-ups in 1950s London or 1860s Cardiff. It just sort of…suited.
She ran her hand over the cover again, taking in the feel of the book. It felt just a little silly, but she had seen The Doctor do it several times, over several different books, and, like the wine and the feeling of being in the library, it made her feel just a little smarter.
And a little closer to him, but she wasn't about to admit that, even to herself.
She ran her fingers down the spine, next, tracing over the embossed title and feeling it bob under her fingers. She turned the book over and ran her hands down its inside, over the closed pages. She smiled as she noticed a set of shinier, whiter pages near the middle of the book. Photos or illustrations, perhaps.
She opened the book to the shiny white section, just like Mickey always did when he read an autobiography. She had always ignored the rest of the writing and just looked at the photos, taking in the pictures and giving plot points of the author's life away before Mickey had a chance to read them.
The first picture was a very old photograph of a school. The type of photograph that was coloured by hand and cost months-worth of wages to purchase. The caption read "Farringham School For Boys, 1912."
She turned the page to find a hand-drawn picture of eight men looking up at her. They varied in age and appearance; one had a clearly visible tie, a few looked to be wearing jackets and the one in the middle had longish hair. Rose brought the book close to her nose and tried to read the untidy scrawl that covered the pictures, but could only make out a few words. "Change" and "Different" appeared a number of times. The left side of the page had the tail ends of words and Rose wondered what had been on the page next to them before they had been scanned into the novel. The caption to this page read "Eight of Ten Impossible Men – by John Smith, 1913."
Rose smiled and furrowed her eyebrows at the name.
She turned the page again.
"Ah!"
Without even noticing she had exclaimed, Rose gasped and released the book, not hearing the soft thud as it landed on the floor under her feet.
No way.
She shook her head and blinked a few times, shooting an accusatory glance at her glass of wine. She picked up the book again and took a deep breath.
It was her.
It wasn't a photo, of course, so she couldn't be completely sure, but there was a hand-drawn picture of her, staring right at her. She held the book at arm's length and squinted at it. It still looked like her. She brought it closer, back up to her nose and looked again. It was her…maybe.
She looked at the page closely, trying to make out the writing.
In my dreams I keep asking a girl where to find one
and she is dressed in the most immodest and extraordinary way.
She will not answer me and she keeps walking away.
Rose frowned at the words. They made her feel vaguely sad. She traced over the face, so like her own and looked down at the caption. "Rose – by John Smith."
She gasped again.
Rose.
It was her.
She skimmed the pages, hurriedly. How on earth was she in this book? She flicked to a random page and read, too curious and honestly, a little scared, to start from the beginning. She read bits and pieces, flicking through furiously and not pausing to make sense of each piece she read.
"There was a fob-watch on the mantel that lay unnoticed by all; all except Martha, the maid."
"It was their first afternoon alone in each other's company and Joan was beginning to let her guard down. This John Smith was something else."
"She had never feared a little girl before, but this girl made her very bones shake with fear. The girl with the red balloon."
Her fingers found the sleek white picture pages again and she rifled through them, searching for something that made sense.
She saw a maid and wondered vaguely whether it was the girl Martha. She saw a picture of the Empire State Building and frowned. Surely it hadn't been built by 1913…
She saw a ferris wheel and her frown deepened. It looked like the London Eye. It couldn't be…she wasn't quite so sure about the Empire State Building, but she knew that the Eye didn't exist in 1913.
She turned the page again and her frown disappeared, to be replaced by a wide look of wonder. Wonder and fear.
It was a dalek.
"Doctor…" she called timidly, flicking the page again only to see a Slitheen looking back at her. "Doctor!"
Rose Tyler tore out of the library.