The disclaimer: The recent TR game was developed by Crystal Dynamics and published by SquareEnix, who hold the copyright to the game and the character of Lara Croft. The quoted Lyrics are from the albums Ghost Reveries and Blackwater Park published a.) by Roadrunner Records and b.) Sony BMG, written by Opeth. Go buy all 3, they are worth it for very different reasons. I do not own anything except the idea to this story.

Descending down into the dark was the last thing she wanted but for this one evening she made an exception. Neonlight isn't at all like the shine of torches or burning kerosine and something about those stairs had attracted her. She could have walked down these steps blindfolded, free as they were from from the debris and filth of centuries past. Even so a hand hovered over the handrail. She no longer trusted stairs. Her mind envisioned worse spectacles at the bottom of every single one. This one didn't lead to another display of human depravity but to a smoke filled barroom full of small tables facing a stage. A collection of haggard figures sat there nursing drinks or just clutching glasses. Some had their eyes fixed on the stage where a huge man was playing guitar. His curly hair almost touched his elbows on occasion interfering with his playing. She still hadn't moved so much as one step away from the stairs but was watching him fascinated. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be in a far away place. Even his unfashionable mustache couldn't disturb the picture of perfect melancholy.

Only when she reached the bar did her brain actually process what kind of music it was. A band was hiding somewhere behind the giant, drums, bass and electronica. His guitar playing on top of all that. Sometimes it was a deafening storm of distortion, sometimes it was all soft and gentle. With eyes wide and a glass clutched she sat in front of the stage and stared.

He sang occasionally. Though singing really didn't do it justice. He screamed, whispered, hit notes clear as a bell and sunk to a deep, dying rasp. She took a sip and let her eyes wander across the room. Something strange, something wonderful was happening. Did everyone feel like she did? People drank, talked quietly in small groups or sat alone staring at nothing. What she would give to see behind all these eyes. it couldn't be just her, could it?

This poetry our blasphemy know the sounds of infamy

She knew those well. Between the candles and the leftovers of generations past HE had preached every single blasphemy. Was it the madness of the priest that had pushed everyone on that island over the edge until nothing remained of men but a machine?

I hide the scars from my past

All that could be hidden anyway. Some would forever remain visible. The barman sure had noticed when he had served her drink. She wondered if he he'd seen her on TV. If he had he hadn't shown it.

Sick liaisons made this monumental mark, the sun sets forever…

While in hospital she had learned how much the sea had left of the obscene monument on the island. The maddened crowd of reporters, archaeologists and policemen were even now facing a puzzle whose pieces were broken beyond recognition. The two sole survivors did precious little to help solve it. All responsible were dead. The victims forgotten. But to forget was something the survivors would never be able to. Maybe in time she'd doubt how much had actually happened, now that it all lay under water or volcanic ash.

She tried to sort all these thoughts while listening to the strange musician. More and more she felt the music digging deeper into her heart. In the past she had thought about music as much as about going out or jewelry. At boarding school there had only been sneaking away to clubs where there was little except pounding beats and left her cold like ads for lipstick had. After graduation there had only been work, travelling and going from ruin to excavation to monument... but this, this was pure emotion. An aural embrace, enlightenment through the ears.. something that defied silly metaphors.

When the music became really loud she recognized herself in it, cursing the the mad friar as his cronies dragged her away from her friends. When it was fast, it reminded her equally of the hunt and of being chased, of taking a life in order to live. Sometimes the music went calm. It told her that she had made it in the end.

And then it was over. There was scattered applause but the singer's smile said he didn't care anyway. as long as someone had listened.

She sat there stunned. A single decision tonight had felt more rewarding than a dozen sessions with the shrink. Could she do that? Did she posses any musical talent?

Be brave, Lara, she thought. She drained her glass and stood up, facing him.

„Hey.." she came out twisted, both hesitant and bubbly.

You had to be brave time and time again.