Some people think you can escape your life.

You can't.

You just can't.

It might very well have always been my destiny to end up here and now, with Gallifrey burning all around me, lying in the rubble of what used to be the Panopticon Archives. Perhaps this is where Time has been leading me, every choice a thread already woven in to this final picture.

What does it matter? Death is imminent, and there is no escape through regeneration. I will die in this incarnation, body pinned beneath a fallen pillar, clothes streaked with the dust of broken buildings and skin bruised.

Gallifrey has fallen and there is only one option, one last plan that will ensure the safety of the Universe with the sacrifice of the devastated remains of our planet.

It's not how I imagined this all ending. As a student, as an adventurer and as President of this sorry world, there were so many things I wanted to do. So many things I wanted to change. Oh, I was naive, because now it's come down to mutual destruction and there's no other way out.

The horizon is burning, the sky is burning, I can feel the flickering of Time around me as it is destroyed and recreated instantaneously and all I can think is that we had the chance to become something so much more.

As President of Gallifrey, it's my fault.

I can't escape that, any more than I could escape the summons of this world when I was travelling with the Doctor.

Something touches my mind, the briefest of caresses. So it's about to end. That's the only reason he'd be reaching out to me, to say goodbye.

A huge, monstrous eddy races through the timelines, rewriting and destroying, and it hurts. Oh, it hurts so much.

But I'm glad it's over.