The Doctor is haunted by memories of Rose.

There was really no call for this… but I am slave to the muse. #dontfightthemuse

Written for a prompt from Timepetalsprompts, over on Tumblr: shadows.


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The TARDIS corridors chime with ephemeral echoes of golden laughter and tart remarks. Pink, tongue-touched smiles and flashes of yellow hair taunt from the fringes of his vision, darkening into shadows when he turns to follow.

He's tormented by the fruity fragrance of shampoo on pillows, her lingering scent wafting from abandoned clothing, and the sultry musk of sex clinging to the sheets.

He runs, the wraith of a warm hand in his growing colder with every stride.

He burns up a sun to say goodbye, but the words dissolve on his tongue as her forlorn image fades into oblivion.