AN: I'm emotionally wrecked from Face The Raven, and I needed to write something down, so here is my attempt at whatever this is.

She's going to die.

She's dying.

He watches as the raven swoops, penetrates through her abdomen as though it should come out the other side.

He can't help her.

She's silent for a moment, arms outstretched as though still waiting to offer herself.

There's a moment, just one moment, when he feels the smallest twinge of hope. Maybe she's immune to it, somehow. Maybe she'll be alright.

Then she screams.

It's inhuman. It's horrifying. It's his Clara.

She's dying.

His stomach contracts, and suddenly he's dizzy, lightheaded. He wants to run to her, to hold her in his arms, to promise her that he'd fix this, somehow.

He always fixes it.

But he can't. Not this time.

He's rooted to the spot, hearing her shriek echo through the rapidly-emptying alleyway.

And then he watches as the black pours from her mouth, watches as the raven forms and flies away, as normal as a bird can seem.

She crumples to the ground and lies there, completely and utterly still.

Clara.

Beautiful, strong minded, annoying, perfect Clara.

He's numb. He can feel his fingers and toes, yes, but they don't feel like his anymore. His whole body suddenly seems like an unfamiliar shell of a human that he desperately wants to shed.

Clara is dead.

Clara Oswald is dead.

There's a moment when he doesn't know what's stopping him from killing every single creature on the street.

Of course, it's her.

She knew him too well. She knew he'd be furious, knew what drastic measures he would take. She had made him promise not to avenge her, and that's what he will do.

He will walk back in the building.

He will not yell. He will not cry. He will be a stone.

He will be transported wherever he is to go.

He will harm no one.

He will do it all for her.

He will do it for Clara.