*So this prompt is Shadow Theatre and it's for xandrota. My first thoughts on this all went into the same direction and I ran with it. I really hope you guys enjoy this prompt and please keep sending them in because I love your ideas and I love writing them. TPD*

"Almost every species in the Universe has an irrational fear of the dark. But they're wrong. Because it's not irrational. It's Vashta Nerada." The Tenth Doctor – Silence in the Library

Shadow theatre. An underappreciated art form, according to the Doctor. Clara was somewhat sceptical, but when they were sat in the giant theatre, and all of the lights went down, except for one giant spotlight, which focused on the main stage, Clara had to admit that it was pretty cool. The troupe that were doing the actions below them were spectacular and they formed images that completely blew Clara's mind. She gasped and awed and grabbed the Doctor excitedly as he gave her his best know-it-all smirk. It was just before the interval when things went wrong. Horrifically wrong. The scream was so bloodcurdling that it filled the entire theatre and people were screaming alongside it. The Doctor was on his feet and Clara was right behind him. The lights weren't coming on and people were clamouring in their panic to get out. They were streaming the other way to the crowd, desperate to get to the front of the theatre.

When they reached the cast, the curtain had risen and Clara bit back the urge to scream as well. One of them was a skeleton, the flesh had been stripped from his bones. The Doctor went pale as the troupe surrounded him. They were kneeling by him and the Doctor soniced him, cursing loudly and everyone stared at him, including Clara who was wishing that she'd packed her own sonic but hadn't been able to find a pocket in her dress.

"Who are you?" whispered one of the troupe. "What happened to him?"

"He's been eaten, all the flesh stripped from his bones," the Doctor replied breathless.

"Thanks for that Captain Obvious," Clara rolled her eyes. "But what did it? Is it still around?"

"Vashta Nerada," the Doctor breathed. Everyone raised an eyebrow at him. "They live in the dark, well they are the dark. Impersonate the dark, infiltrate the shadows. They lurk in the shadows, they could be any shadow and then they feast. They're normally in small clusters, they must not have been able to resist the irony of a shadow theatre."

"Irony?" Clara quizzed. "Shadows have a concept of irony? So what do we do?"

"I don't know," the Doctor snapped back. "Apparently they do. Turn on the lights. All of them."

"We can't," one of the troupe said, who had been backstage, running back now. "None of them are working properly. What do we do?"

"Doctor, what do we do?" Clara added. He'd been deep in thought and now he was walking around the troupe, examining their shadows with his sonic.

"Look for someone with two shadows," he replied. "They're the next one infected."

Clara looked frantically at the troupe's shadows. When she looked up, they were all staring at Clara except the Doctor, who was still focusing on the shadows. Clara felt her stomach drop and she glanced downwards at her own shadow. There were two of them now. She let out a strangled cry. The Doctor picked up on it and glanced up at her. All the blood drained from his face. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He rushed over to her, kissing her forehead quickly before scanning the shadows and then standing back for a moment. He was deep in thought and then he yelled. It was a horrible, pained sound and Clara didn't know what to do. He screamed and Clara wanted to cry. She was going to die.

"Now you listen here," the Doctor yelled and Clara realised that he was yelling at the shadows. "You can hear me I know you can. I have fought your kind before. I know how you operate. So I'm going to give you a chance. A chance to run. One chance. Because if you so much as touch one hair on my wife's head, I swear on my lives that I will burn you. Burn you so much that you'll be screaming for darkness. And I won't give it to you. Clara Oswald will not be harmed. Now scuttle off back to the shadows."

Nothing happened. Clara was sobbing now, as the Doctor let out an inhuman roar and punched the studio floor. How did you stop darkness? With light. But the lights weren't working. Unless…

"Doctor," Clara breathed. "The lights. They're broken."

"I'm aware of that," he snapped.

"So fix them," Clara breathed. The Doctor hit himself in the forehead. "You can be so stupid when you're angry," Clara laughed and the Doctor grinned. "I mean really, how long was it going to take you to figure it out. I didn't have all day."

The Doctor raised his screwdriver into the air.

"Last chance!" he roared. The shadows didn't move and he soniced.

Clara was blinded. She staggered backwards as every light in the theatre was shone in her face and she fell to the floor, letting out a cry of anguish. She sat up and tried to open her eyes. The Doctor was there, surrounded by white light, almost angelic. He scooped her up into his arms, kissing her forehead as he did so.

"Clara," he whispered. "My Clara. You're alright."

And she always would be. As long as she had him.