As much as she tried not to give her dreams any thought as to actually being real, it was difficult to do that. After all, she'd gotten a "gift" from them. It was nearly impossible to dismiss them as being only dreams when they left physical objects in their wake. As well rather real emotional turmoil. It was torture to watch her dream self descend slowly into madness, driven there by the intensity of her grief that was doing everything to suppress. Which, well, wasn't surprising given that's what Victorian society taught people to do, to keep such grievances to themselves. And she could see it destroying her dream self, and it in turn seemed to be sinking its claws into her.
Like Peter, Helena had become hyperaware of all of Christina's needs. When she did sleep, it tended to be light enough to wake at every noise in the event it was Christina needing something. She was on overdrive, wishing nothing more than to protect her daughter and do what she could to help Christina get over what had happened. Christina had nightmares about it, and Helena did all she could to soothe them, to soothe her daughter's fears. And in the wake of everything, Helena hadn't even realized that she'd been a hero on the day of the fire. She'd broken a window that allowed people to get out instead of potentially dying in the fire. She'd saved lives, but all she was concerned about was her daughter. She hadn't even really given herself much of a second thought.
The wound would no doubt leave a scar behind, and it was one Helena wasn't yet one that Helena hid when she was in her own home. She had a tendency to wear long sleeves if she was going outside of her house. The less others asked about it, the better. She didn't want or need perfect strangers to go poking around a sensitive subject.
Closing the door once he stepped in, she did smile gently. "Thank you, I have at least gotten most of the boxes unpacked and things put where they belong." She joked. The only rooms that still had moving boxes that needed to be gone through were the spare bedroom and the family room.
At his pointed question, she faltered momentarily, knowing she must look like a wreck. Even with light make-up on, the lack of sleep was still evident. Clearly she would be heading for a good night's sleep soon, and she would hope another dream, or nightmare really, would not come.
"Not well," she responded honestly. She then gestured to the living room. "Please, come make yourself comfortable." Walking into the living room, despite the modern style to it, it felt like it could've been part of a Victorian upper middle class home. There were some family pictures around, some of her with her three siblings (two brothers and one sister), her siblings and parents, and, of course, ones of Christina at various ages. There were two couches facing each other and there were two matching arm chairs for seating.
"May I get you anything to drink?" She made the offer before sitting down to talk. Though she wasn't certain how much talking she would do. Also her manners wouldn't let her do anything else without offering a drink.