I still need the beauty of words sung and spoken, and I live with the fear my spirit will be broken
Gwen is standing alone on the pier, looking not out over the water but back, toward the city skyline. It's her birthday today. This time last year, she killed herself, a younger and scared and more innocent self. This time last year was before the archangels attacked, before Romana Fell, before Jack left and everything went to hell. A part of her can't believe it's been so long; a part of her can't believe it's only been a year, because it feels like she's been doing this for an eternity.
Then, that's the way things always are with Torchwood. Everything is forever, and no time at all.
She sighs, finally, pushes herself away from the railing of the pier and starts back toward the city, on the walk back home. It's a bit of a long walk from here, but that's fine by her - it seems like a good day to be out in the city for a while.
Then, that's the way things always are with Torchwood. Everything is forever, and no time at all.
She sighs, finally, pushes herself away from the railing of the pier and starts back toward the city, on the walk back home. It's a bit of a long walk from here, but that's fine by her - it seems like a good day to be out in the city for a while.