The Girl From His Memories ☾ Doctor Who Fanfiction [ ON HOLD ]

Chapter 4~ The Last of the Time Lords

Every book has a sad, (pardon my French) shitty chapter. And I'm sorry if this is one of them. But, the last of the time lords, is an episode I never particularly liked. Maybe because the Master dies. The crying Doctor isn't my favorite thing either. And, the moment Martha left, just made my dislike for her become permanent. So, this is a short, shitty and sad chapter. So sorry because of this but I can't just skip this episode.

I love you all, and thank you so much for the comments you left on the last chapter! I love you really really much.

~

One year later...

After a year spent living in a room, the four walls surrounding her being her only friends, Lizzie knew lots of things.

She knew exactly how many footsteps there were from the door of her room, the one that always remained closed, and the widows, which curtains she always kept shut, to not see the outside and what Earth've became.

Thirty eight steps in largeness and forty five in longness, her room was.

She knew exactly how big was her bed, though didn't know its softness, or even surface. The bed that stood there, the bed that she never used, the one she refused to lay even a finger on, remained untouched for all those days, weeks and months.

She knew that the bath tub in her bathroom was big, but she've refused to ever step in it.

She knew all of the sonnets of Shakespeare by heart, as she had lots of time to remember them and other things from her past during the year.

She knew that the corner she slept in, was not as comfortable as it looked, but didn't care as her back got used to it by now. 

She knew there were a lot of clothes in her wardrobe, articles he brought for her, which she though refused to wear.

She knew that she missed the Doctor. And Martha. And she hoped the Time Lord, the darkly tanned girl, Jack and the Jones family were still alive. 

But she couldn't be sure about that since, the only people she saw in this three hundred sixty four days, were a maid that brought her food and the Master. 

The door of her room slid open, causing her to snap out from her faze and look up, as she sat on the floor, leaning on the wall behind her, her knees brought up to her chest.

A head popped in her enormous room. «Hello, my dear.» the Masted sang, as he entered in the room, a trail of food in his hands, closing the door behind himself. «I hope you had a good night.»

At this point of year, Koshei knew a lot of things about the girl too.

He knew she never slept in her bed, although all the times he tried to convince her to.

He knew that her glare was more painful than a million daggers.

He knew she hardly ate and that, during the times he was absent, she recalled the Shakespeare sonnets, which he knew were the ones she read to Theta all those years ago. 

And, as difficult and painful it was for him to admit it, he knew that he still was, after all these years, madly in love with her.