Frivolity

Sometimes he gets images of her.

Just impressions, cloudy and dark and coated in void stuff, but it’s her and he thinks his hearts will never not jump at the trill of her laugh or the curl of her tongue against her smiling cherry lips or how she sighs when she makes love to his other self—those times, especially, he can’t quite turn that connection off, erase the ephemeral link between the man who was once him—it’s been so long since he’s had that presence in his head, no matter how fleeting. 

“Who do Time Lords pray to?”

He once would have said—without a second thought—her, I believe in her.

But to whom does one pray when one’s goddess falls away?

(via hammastix)