Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 1056
Author's Summary: a melody of cyclic harmonies and undulating words and an aeolian voice that whispered of the North-
(Not quite what she thought the writing on the sticky notes would sound like, but it's good enough for Rose.)
Recced because: I have trouble describing this fic, other than to say it's absolutely beautiful. The author does an incredible job describing what spoken Gallifreyan might sound like, using language that is vivid yet precise, including quite a few references to advanced mathematical and musical theory. Instead of becoming bogged down in terminology, though, it's sad, and evocative, and poignant. Plus, the English translation of the poem the Doctor is reciting is just gorgeous; simple and moving.
"His next words weren’t words at all, not by Rose’s reckoning, though she admitted to herself that her reckoning wasn’t much to go by. If a muted bell could speak, if a regal church bell still wrapped in foam kernels recited fifth degree polynomials, that would be what Rose heard. Or thought she heard. Although the Doctor’s lips moved, the resonating clicks and sighs that resulted were elusive to the ear and rather disconcerting. He repeated the sequence, softer and slower but no less strange.
I wish to speak of my universe"