A Girl Named Willow *The Adventures of the Tenth Doctor/COMPLETE*

Chapter Eighteen

The Doctor ran the whole way back to the TARDIS, trying to shorten the time he would be separated from Willow. After claiming he was a renowned publisher with the help of his psychic paper, he had just finished bickering with the author about a certain rule that should be in the finalized version in A Guide to Rotarian Marriage, and What is in Store for You, had a quick flirt with the architect of the incomplete garden, and was now on his way back to Willow. He pushed the key into the lock, and the door immediately opened. 

“‘Ello, old girl,” the Doctor said, patting the walls. The TARDIS hummed a warm hello as the Doctor went to work typing in coordinates and the date when the Rotarian book was to be published. After pulling down the large lever, the TARDIS let out a massive groan before throwing the Doctor to the ground from the liftoff. 

As soon as he felt a thud, the Doctor sprinted out of the TARDIS and made the long trek back to the castle. 

As the silhouette of the old kingdom came into view, the doctor frowned. It was old, yes, but something seemed...off. It was too dark, even for Rotarian standards. Underneath the scorching heat, the castle created a looming shadow that surrounded the Doctor, giving him a wave chills on his skin. 

“Allons-y,” the Doctor whispered before urging on.

The Doctor entered the rickety gate to the castle, scratching his head at the fact that there was no guard to yell at him upon his arrival. 

He raced around the corner of a hallway as his heart beat began to quicken. Everything felt wrong. Something bad happened here while he was gone. Something really, really wrong. 

The Doctor's nerves got the best of him, so he began to desperately call out. "Willow!" 

He ran through a giant set of doors into another large hallway. "Willow?!"

The Doctor paced in a circle with his head hanging back to look at the ceiling and his hands tangled in his hair. His breath was overtaking him as he sprinted to another hallway, but he forced himself to throw open another door and continue his search. 

"Willow, please!" He cried out, angry at his voice for being so weak. He would continue, room after room, door after door. He would find her.

The Doctor rounded the next corner and immediately screeched to a stop. Before him was a body. Not dead, but close to it. They were seated upon something large and grand and their breathing was labored.

As the Doctor neared the feminine figure, his eyes widened. 

"No," he whispered. 

A deathly thin Willow sitting on a throne of pure gold that faced the west of the castle. Her eyes were sunken and dull, her lips dry and cracked. All of her life seemed to have been sucked out of her soul, leaving a shell of nothing. Absolutely nothing. The bright fabrics that were tailored specifically for her and the hide of something fierce that decorated her shoulders were an obvious attempt at livening her up, but all it did was accentuate her sickly face. 

The Doctors breath caught in his chest at the sight of her cold eyes. “W-Willow?” He choked.

Slowly, her head turned and landed upon the Doctor’s shaking body. There were familiar, but now fading Rotarian marks on her face. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. A long and painful pause filled the room.

“I waited,” she mustered up in a hoarse voice. She raised a frail hand to her matted hair, but gave up in the process. Her blackened fingers fell back down to her sides in defeat, making the Doctor fall apart even more. “I waited and I waited.” 

Her face crumpled as a single tear fell from her eye. "I waited and I waited and I waited and I waited," she began to hit her head on the backing of the chair with anger, her voice beginning to raise with each word. "I waited and I waited and I-"