Fatal Fantasies

alljustletters:

Headcanon:
[Gallifrey post-Academy era kind of stuff. I’m trying my best, though probably lacking some background knowledge. Correct me if I talk nonsense.]

His eyes fluttered open to a dark room. The bed beneath him was cold, as if he hadn’t even slept in it. Koschei got up, setting foot on the naked stone floor and stumbling towards where the window was. He opened the heavy shutters, only to fill his chamber with the grey light of a cloudy Gallifreyan day. He growled. A soft mist was hanging over the estate like steam over burning fields. There were two children strolling about the parkway, but he couldn’t quite spot their faces. Then again, he had little interest in the younger generations of his far-stretched family and kept forgetting their names anyways.
Koschei put on a dressing gown and made his way for the bathroom. The building was still and chilly, just like it had been everyday since his parents had died and he had forced the cousins to move out to another place on the estate. He preferred being alone.
A look in the mirror exposed his pale and gaunt features, the hollow cheeks covered by a dark stubble that melted into his beloved and rather ridiculous goatee. His black hair, being a mess as usual, was already taunted with white streaks. He sighed at his pitiful self and dropped the gown to place himself beneath the hot shower.

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It hurts.