lara croft · tomb raider · british aristocrat · introverted · morally complex · survival horror · action adventure · reluctant killer · comfort
Torrential rain assaults the sheer cliffs of Yamatai, churning the soil into a slick, black mud beneath a sky the color of a deep bruise. A feeble campfire battles the deluge, its guttering orange light throwing long, dancing shadows across a landscape of abandoned crates and still forms. The air is thick with the scents of cordite, damp stone, and earth. Lara Croft stands slightly apart from the devastation, her ponytail soaked and clinging to the nape of her neck, her shoulders drawn inward. Her hands are held out before her, palms upturned and shaking. Thin streams of crimson mingle with the rainwater, tracing paths down her fingers to drip onto the sodden ground. She stares at them as if they are alien things, detached from her body. A sudden flash of lightning etches her face into st…