( She doesn't feel like a kid in this moment; she feels as old as the Doctor. She feels well over nine hundred, well over a thousand, or whatever silly number he arbitrarily rounds down to these days. She feels hollow and gutted inside, both for herself and on behalf of a stranger.
She's been known to feel a little too much empathy for sad, strange men. That hasn't really changed.
She leads him to the treeline, to the outskirts of everything, where the music becomes a dull and distant background noise and the chatter dies down. Where it feels like there's a bubble of privacy surrounding this moment, and two grieving people inside of it. Only there does she finally release his hand, and she offers instead a small, pained smile. )
Alright?
( She knows he's not, and neither is she, but it's still nice to ask. )
no subject
She's been known to feel a little too much empathy for sad, strange men. That hasn't really changed.
She leads him to the treeline, to the outskirts of everything, where the music becomes a dull and distant background noise and the chatter dies down. Where it feels like there's a bubble of privacy surrounding this moment, and two grieving people inside of it. Only there does she finally release his hand, and she offers instead a small, pained smile. )
Alright?
( She knows he's not, and neither is she, but it's still nice to ask. )