storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2013-03-23 12:39 pm
storypaint) wrote2013-03-23 12:39 pm
Entry tags:
[Doctor Who] I never saw a goddess go (Martha gen)
Title: I never saw a goddess go
Fandom: Doctor Who
Length: 141 words
Prompt: three sentence ficathon: Doctor Who (2005), Ten and Martha, "my mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun"
Pairing: Martha gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: When Martha is walking the world, centuries and miles away from her home and everything she holds dear, she holds tight to those memories from that first trip that she took with the Doctor.
When Martha is walking the world, centuries and miles away from her home and everything she holds dear, she holds tight to those memories from that first trip that she took with the Doctor - to the flirting of Shakespeare and the simple defeat of the Carrionites - now that she thinks about it, now, she feels like that had been a vacation, practically: the thank-you he'd promised.
Now he has no promises for her, just a hair-brained scheme that she has to offer her everything to - her pain, her fear, her loss, her worry. Before she goes to sleep, before her prayers, she reads her sonnet, if she can dare a light, from the one small page she carries with her always - "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" and sometimes, it helps her feel less cold.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Length: 141 words
Prompt: three sentence ficathon: Doctor Who (2005), Ten and Martha, "my mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun"
Pairing: Martha gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: When Martha is walking the world, centuries and miles away from her home and everything she holds dear, she holds tight to those memories from that first trip that she took with the Doctor.
When Martha is walking the world, centuries and miles away from her home and everything she holds dear, she holds tight to those memories from that first trip that she took with the Doctor - to the flirting of Shakespeare and the simple defeat of the Carrionites - now that she thinks about it, now, she feels like that had been a vacation, practically: the thank-you he'd promised.
Now he has no promises for her, just a hair-brained scheme that she has to offer her everything to - her pain, her fear, her loss, her worry. Before she goes to sleep, before her prayers, she reads her sonnet, if she can dare a light, from the one small page she carries with her always - "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" and sometimes, it helps her feel less cold.