Hello

It was fitting that a library was her tomb. Also fitting, she thought, that she would give her life for his, since she has already given him her regenerations. She doesn't mind.

He does not understand her sacrifice, that day, but she knows that he will—when she is gone, when he's traded his spectacles for a bowtie. Perhaps gone is an insufficient word. All of her regenerations live in him, and he lives on.

He told her, once, about a little maid on a flying ship who became stardust. River doesn't want to be stardust. She just wants to be a song—the one he sings when he greets the universe each morning. That's enough for her.

A/N: I've had a wonderful time writing these drabbles. Thanks so much for reading.