The Mistress stands in the graveyard, expression neutral for once.

It's not the composed neutral that she would have held once but a freer one, one almost lost. Bereft of thought, abandoned by feeling.

She stands in the graveyard and notices with the distant and aware part of her mind that it's the same one from all those years ago with the cybermen and his big-eyed pet.

Clara.

She remembers now. Good people remember.

Her face is slightly upturned, a learned posture for this body, learned by whom is unknown but all the same, the feeling of looking down on everything even ever so slightly feels comfortable and right.

She feels it, sputtering at first, the staccato beat of the rain, on her skin.

The feeling grows, brings her back to herself slowly, slowly, until it washes over her completely, torrential and heavy, soaking her clothes, weighing her down.

She doesn't move but closes her eyes and parts her lips, feeling.

Relief.

Or at least that's what she thinks it is.

She remembers now.

When she made rain into death, water into death.

It was ironic. Funny. Life needs water normally.

She still thinks that somewhere.

But now there's an ache in her chest and her head when she thinks of it, thinking of all those people.

Because they really were people, weren't they? And she killed them really.

And then they're there, weights around her legs and arms, pulling at her, dragging her down into the water and she can breathe but she can't and she is too heavy, too weak, to break free and it's dark around her with flashes of sickly blue lights against skin and bone and blood and then there's something on her hand and it won't get off and she's trying to get it off and it won't come away and-

She shudders awake, voice catching though she been saying nothing and that hand is still on hers and she blinks and forces her body to relax.

Gently she is tucked back under the blankets.

"Breathe, love." Whispers the Doctor, arms gently but firmly pulling her against them.

The Mistress shivers again, shaking the dream from herself as she lets them hold her, hand limp as it rests on their hip, head tucked under their chin.

She does as told though and she feels the Doctor smile against the top of her head.

"It's okay." They murmur and the Mistress can almost believe them even if the dream flashes through her head still.

The Mistress keeps breathing, in and out.