(Untitled)

[white_flowers]

She spends more time outside than in, lately, drifting along the lakeshore or through the trees, a living ghost among so many others here at the ends of worlds. At night, the dark, dry-blood red of her gown seems nearly black, and the grey gauze veil over her hair and her lower face gleams coldly in the light of moon and stars. In the day, of

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[thedoctorwho]

There's another figure having a walk through the woods as well this evening. The past year has taken its toll on him, but nothing so much as having found another Time Lord only to lose them again. He just couldn't be alone in that enormous empty TARDIS right now. So he chooses to be alone on his terms -- because he wants to be, not because he has to be.

[white_flowers]

Perhaps it is the movement that draws her attention, or perhaps the sound of footsteps -- no matter.

Blodwen glances toward the other wanderer, and goes still.

"Why, and if it isn't the Doctor," she marvels. "So very long it has been, too!"

[thedoctorwho]

The Doctor leans back against his tree, hands in pockets, as he turns to the familiar voice.

"Blodwen Rowlands. As I live and breathe."

[white_flowers]

She drops a slight curtsey, even as her smile goes sharp behind her veil.

"Even as you see," she tells him.

A pause.

"And however have you been, cariad?"