The Doctor tripped and fell face first into the window glass he was spying through when the witch girl spoke loudly:
“Quit staring at me like a madman! You can come in, you know, the house will let you in.”
The Doctor rubbed his face where it slammed into the glass and looked up to see the girl who talked to him.
Oh, but she was gorgeous.
Blonde hair, a little tangled, shining in the light of the rising sun; big, amber eyes, so wise for a woman so young; hands soft and deceivingly fragile.
She was a picture of paradoxical power: such a small, fragile human, caught in the body of a young woman, yet she possessed so much power in her soul, in her hands, in her being.
She caught his gaze and beckoned him with her finger. The Doctor didn’t fight the urge to follow her silent call.
The door to the witch’s little cottage opened itself before the Doctor. He tried not to stare at the magic unveiling in front of his eyes so as not to offend the owner of the cottage, but the blonde girl just smiled at him warmly, eyes lighting in mischief.
The Doctor cleared his throat in an attempt to muster some courage. The witch’s lips stretched into a playful smile.
“So, you’re the Doctor, then. I thought you were different,” the girl started nonchalantly, “older, probably. And not as pretty.”
The Time Lord perked up, alerted. “How do you know my name?”
The girl sighed as if he said something silly.
“Jack. I asked him to check who’s the strange fellow who’s been stalking me, and he didn’t disappoint. He’s very protective of me, you know,” the witch turned around to look him in the eyes, her eyebrows raised emphatically.
The Doctor spluttered: “I’m not a stalker!”
The blonde grinned. “Never said you were. I was just…,” she pursed her lips and looked away thoughtfully, “I was just wondering why you never talked to me. Like, you know, personally. Without spying on me. I thought I looked friendly enough,” she pouted with exaggerated sadness.
The Doctor only stared, dumbfounded, as the liquid in the pot on the stove turned golden with a gentle flick of the girl’s wrist.
“Uh…,” he replied, still unable to tear his eyes off the liquid. That wasn’t a chemical reaction! The water was clear, and then it turned golden instantly. No tricks. No powders. Nothing to change the colour! This truly was magic! The Doctor’s brain was working overtime, considering the true possibility of magic existing. It was a big, new concept to accept, even with hundreds of years of travelling through time and space like he did.
“Runs in our family, it is. All the girls in our bloodline are born with golden magic. There are other sorts of magic, of course,” stated the witch, turning the liquid clear again with an elaborate hand movement. Now, some crushed leaves and flowers were boiling in it.
The girl switched off the stove and wiped her palms off her pink apron. It suited her rather nicely, the Doctor admitted to himself.
The witch stretched one of her hands towards him.
“I’m Rose, by the way. Rose of the Tylers. And I gotta say, if you want me in that blue magical box of yours, you have to promise to bring me back in time for the next full moon - daylilies reach their full potential under the moonlight, ever the oxymoron loving flowers, and I need to collect them on a full moon precisely.”
The Doctor was at a loss for words. What a beautiful name! Rose...it suited her so well...the flower sorceress, the charmer of magical words.
His new companion, Rose of the Tylers.