Once upon a time, your planet had been a paradise. A utopia and frequent vacation spot, the ideal planet. Though of course, nothing lasts forever. One day, you were at work, and the next you were running for your life, trying to escape the war that had seemingly developed overnight. That wasn't the case, obviously, but it sure felt like that. Millions died within the first hours, historians would say. Billions of deaths followed in the next four days of hell and seemingly endless gunfire. There was no way to stop the sudden threat, and you'd barely escaped with your life on a tourist star cruiser. Soon after, you came to the realization that you were the only native that made it off of the planet alive.

Alone in the universe, you felt as if you had no purpose. Your home was gone, nowhere could ever be home again. So you traveled. You traveled far and wide, to the corners of the universe and then to the center. But nothing could make that hole in your heart fill. Nothing, no matter how much you looked, could ever make you feel full again.

Until you met the Doctor. The man and his blue box, holding the power to travel through all of time and space. Maybe that would make you feel whole.

And it did, for a while. The Doctor was like you, in many ways. His home had also been destroyed, he the last of his kind. He was always reluctant about opening up about the war that had devastated his planet, and you understood. You didn't like talking about losing your home either.

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The two of you stepped out of the TARDIS, surveying the terrain around you. A moon in the Antennae galaxy, he declared. He looked up at the crystal clear stars above you. You were speechless, quite frankly. You'd seen stars, but never like this. The colors spiraling out.

"Lovely, isn't it?" He asked and inhaled sharply before continuing. "Seeing all of these stars puts the universe into perspective. For me, at least. It's endless, really." He looked back over to you. "Whatcha think? You're being oddly quiet today."