Take my soul
Put it away
Wait for the stars
To fall someday
Take that soul
Hide it fast
Run run run
Right into the casket
troll (n.) a person who sows discord on the Internet by starting arguments or upsetting people, by posting inflammatory, extraneous, or off-topic messages in an online community (such as a newsgroup, forum, chat room, or blog) with the deliberate intent of provoking readers into an emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal on-topic discussion
flamer (n.) pre-evolved form of a modern day troll typically with a more focused attack
Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy and Rory.
You stumble back from the TARDIS controls. You are alone in the dark, and now you’re shaking. Your eyes bulge and you collapse with a scream.
He felt ashamed. He always did when something happened to his companions, but it hadn’t hurt this bad since…since…
You had seen and felt every emotion of the companions when you touched the control dais. It had overwhelmed your senses so much that your brain shut down.
Your head now lays in his lap, hair splayed across the floor. He pushes his fingers into your hair as his palm cups your face.
He whispers, “I’m so sorry, my little larkling.”
“You’re immortal…but you’re going to die?” Your brow raises skeptically.
The Doctor frowns, realizing he couldn’t explain a Time Lord’s lifespan very well. “Not dying, really…This body goes but I’m still me!”
“So you’re reborn?” Suddenly you gasp, your hands covering your mouth as you began to bounce slightly with excitement. “Are you a Phoenix!?”
The TARDIS roars to life when the Doctor’s forehead collides with the monitor. It may have been your imagination, but you thought it sounded agitated.
By this point you had met the Ood and the Slitheen, seen humanoids that could shoot fireballs, and humans with special powers.
You frown at yourself in the mirror of your little vanity. It was decorated with Polaroids of you and The Doctor: Eating sushi on the peak of Mount Fuji, attending a chariot race in Ancient Greece. All these amazing things you had done, but you were only human. You had no special ability, you couldn’t shoot fire from your palms.
With a sigh you stand and cross to your bed, where your mandolin case sits open. You pick up the instrument, and slide your fingers along the neck as you admire her mahogany finish.
Even if you couldn’t shoot fire, you could still make her sing.