Brighter than suns. "You've turned out to be the first doctor ever actually to make a difference to my life." He asks Amy to marry him, and she just grins. Not really the marrying kind, she says. She never was.
They leave him to his death. And to his life. Amy pulls her Doctor by the hand, promising they've saved him. They must have, he said they did. The invisible monster was slain. He smiled, and wept, and kissed them goodbye. Hundreds of new paintings, she says, dragging the Doctor past Perseus once again. "Oh, the long life of Vincent Van Gogh!"
There are no new paintings. The church, the man, the haystacks. A bit brighter now that they've met him. Held his hands in a field, under the brightest starry night. Watched him weep, brought him back to life. Fought beside him in a war that never ended.
"Every life is a pile of good things and bad things. Hey. The good things don't always soften the bad things. But, vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things, or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things."
Her heart is breaking, but he holds tight to her. He's talking to Amy; he's talking to Amelia. The church windows are empty, shining in the sun. Nothing evil, nothing torn behind the glass. Off, across the way, a vase of sunflowers calls to her; the warm light touches her face before she gets any closer: "For Amy, From Vincent." A pile of good things.
If they'd married, their children would be the ultimate ginger. Brighter than sunflowers. But she's not the marrying kind.
Want to immediately access TWoP content no matter where you are online? Download the free TWoP toolbar for your web browser. Already have a customized toolbar? Then just add our free toolbar app to get updated on our content as soon it's published.