[ In all this time roaming these lands, seeing the best and worst of humanity, he's only come close to losing his grip like this once or twice, but this is new. This is a culmination of grief and pain, of losing mortals he'd unwisely allowed himself to attach to. Their brief lives flicker out over and over again and he's trapped here watching, waiting. Some die peacefully as they wither into an age that will never come to pass for him. But so many hurt each other, their lives cut short before he can save them all. Even for the ones he does manage to save, they'll die eventually and it's endless and he'll just be here going on and he's never learned, has he? There are no happy endings, just...endings.
For the children of this world, he wants always to be a beacon of light, for however long their beautiful lives will go on. And here, instead, in this village of horrors where the ground turns red with blood, he meant to protect, to bring hope. Hope he did bring — briefly — before the children were left to bear witness to a moment of darkness unleashed because he couldn't control himself. It's selfish and cruel, driven by his pain, and that voice —
There's a delay, a half-second longer than the children should have to endure. But it's enough to pull him back, to stop him, the psychic attack ending almost instantly as he severs the connection between their minds.
He's gone too far.
The man crumples to the ground — alive, but nearly catatonic.
The Doctor turns slowly to look for the voice, the children. In sharp contrast to the coming dark he'd manifested only moments before, his expression is notably softened, gentle, ashamed. The starlight that normally envelops him is slow to return, as though it doesn't quite belong yet. With all the regret one might expect of someone who means only to devote himself to the care and protection of others, the Doctor speaks with no small amount of regret and remorse — ]
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. The children, are they — [ There were others, ones still to help. ]
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For the children of this world, he wants always to be a beacon of light, for however long their beautiful lives will go on. And here, instead, in this village of horrors where the ground turns red with blood, he meant to protect, to bring hope. Hope he did bring — briefly — before the children were left to bear witness to a moment of darkness unleashed because he couldn't control himself. It's selfish and cruel, driven by his pain, and that voice —
There's a delay, a half-second longer than the children should have to endure. But it's enough to pull him back, to stop him, the psychic attack ending almost instantly as he severs the connection between their minds.
He's gone too far.
The man crumples to the ground — alive, but nearly catatonic.
The Doctor turns slowly to look for the voice, the children. In sharp contrast to the coming dark he'd manifested only moments before, his expression is notably softened, gentle, ashamed. The starlight that normally envelops him is slow to return, as though it doesn't quite belong yet. With all the regret one might expect of someone who means only to devote himself to the care and protection of others, the Doctor speaks with no small amount of regret and remorse — ]
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. The children, are they — [ There were others, ones still to help. ]