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They were seperate, together, tearing apart and coming back in new ways and patterns, destroying and creating and renewing; endlessly, eternaly.

Horrifically.

Beautifully.

The TARDIS sang. Of planets, of people, of lives and deaths and endings and beginnings, some long gone and some still in the making. She sang hauntingly about the darkness and cruelty of the Universe; sang happily of all the kindness and joy.

The Wolf conducted. Faster, slower; to the highs of the Major and the lows of the Minor; where to go, how to go. She knew what was to happen, what had to happen, how the music must sound.

The Rose's role was odd. She was at once both audiance - watching and hearing them work - and the intrument - the music was channeled through her. The song of the TARDIS flowed through her mind, her soul, as the Wolf directed her actions, like using a mirror to catch the light and aim it elsewhere. She saw the deaths of a million worlds, and the births of a million more; people appeared, shone brightly, then faded away into ashes; she saw all the hate and the love and the indifference and the helplessness and the hope and countless emotions besides that filled the Universe to the brim.

They worked as one; rending apart and mending back again, and again, and again, until the Universe was just right...

"My head..."

Until the Rose began to wilt.

"...it's killin' me..."