I frown at him, squinting slightly at his forever-apologetic face.
"Because, Michelle, you are the girl that should not exist,"
And that. That shatters me more than anything I have ever experienced.
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Michelle Solace is a girl. Just an ordinary...
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I stare up at the ceiling for the first hour, contemplating on how much I actually know now, how much I believe. And I find myself loosing touch with all that I believed to be true. First, I forgot everything, but atleast I knew my captures must be evil. Pure, true, evil. Unless, of course, they were my adoptive parent. Then my whole world flipped, as memories of my childhood resurfaced. Weeks, I was locked up, and I now know why. My mother thought I wasn't good enough.
I turn on my side, head flopping onto the pillow. And, for the icing on the cake, a TV show I was so sure I watched when I was younger is actually true, and I'm in his TARDIS!
I gasp, my body jolting up in the bed. I'm in his TARDIS. I'm in a TARDIS where I can do anything and everything because I'm free, because maybe, just maybe, I've found something that can be my escape.
I furrow my eyebrows. Another thought nags at me through the joy. Yes, I remember, but something still feels odd. She said she found me on her doorstep, in a casket. Who even put me there?
I rake a hand through knotted hair, and groan all over again. This time, I can't put it off. I need to wash my hair. Reluctantly, I push myself up from the mess I made overnight; the covers sagging over the bed frame, and trudge towards the bathroom.
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I stare at my reflection, looking over my outfit as I brush my teeth. A white long sleeved top, and over it a black and white tweed blazer. Black translucent tights cover my legs under a pleated black miniskirt.
I spit out the toothpaste and rinse the toothbrush, moving my straightened hair to the side. In its natural state, my hair is curly. Dark brown and curly, down to my shoulders and below. Today, like most days, I straightened it from the roots down, curling the bottom only slightly, though I left a layer underneath natural.
Silently, I walk out of my bathroom and slip on a pair of jet-black mary janes, bending down only to buckle them. Perfect fit - though I probably shouldn't be surprised by now.
I stifle a yawn as I close the entryway to my room behind me, looking around for any indication of where to go.
I hear the metallic thrum of the TARDIS, and the corridor lights up, sending a wave of light down it.
