The cloud of the dust that was the very soul of the TARDIS was a pure shimmering gold. Not the shiny, metallic kind that humans had fought so many wars, slaughtered so many of each other over. This was the gold that mattered. The gold of dreams and love. The kind of gold that could incite a time lord to steal a box to see the universe, with all its wonders, all its pain and tragedy. And somehow, the TARDIS and her doctor took the fabric of time and twisted it into something beautiful. It had to be worth it.