When old lives die

by LouiseWolff

She's skin stretched over steel. Even her eyes, once so eager and alive, are now cold and hard. She's all metal. Nicked, scratched, bent and broken steel, mechanic. She's alive till the sun sets, dead when the moon rises. (Sam's musings post-Yamatai.)

13. Ghosts

My nights are turning into quite interesting adventures. Lara is like a ghost, roaming the halls and rooms of the Croft manor day and night, sometimes she's even awake.

Winston and I try to catch her before she does something stupid, like jump into the pool and forgetting how to swim, but usually she finds one of those portraits and she just... stares.

Sometimes it's her father, sometimes it's her mother. Sometimes it's her.

I don't know what thoughts are swirling around in that pretty sleep-depraved head of hers, and it makes me shiver to imagine. I wonder if she's haunted by ghosts of the past, but I don't know what part of her past. Perhaps she feels like a ghost herself.

I know I do, walking among those ancient artifacts, stirring dust that carries memories of those long-dead.

Winston's tea and my presence make her seem less tense, and usually I can coax her back into bed after a while.

The walls muffle her screams, but not the hope they give me.

Maybe I need to see a therapist too.