Her approach to possession was an interesting one. While Helena liked having things, which was evidenced by the objects in the china cabinet as well as artwork, all of the Romanticism art movement style, her house wasn't cluttered. There were enough things to make it feel like a home, not simply a house, but she kept an impeccable house. She also enjoyed fresh flowers, a vase of which contain an assortment of flowers from a nearby flower shop was sitting on the table.
Though perhaps the most notable of decorations was that one wall of the living room was a built-in bookcase. And it was completely filled with books. There was not a single space for one more book in it. If Peter were to look, most of the novels were science fiction, though there were also some non-fiction books pertaining to her profession as a forensic archaeologist, as well as other novels such as mysteries.
"Sometimes it takes time to fill a house. Though what makes a house is the memories made within it, not the possessions." At the end of the day, material things were simply that; material items. They could always be replaced regardless of anything else. But memories of people and events, those could never be placed. Time could steal them as could illness and injury, but barring that, memories were what counted. The other side of that was, of course, not all memories were good ones. There were distinct reasons she'd never return to Paris if she could help it. Or at the very least not go near where she'd lived while there. "True enough. And what I have left to unpack are things for rooms that will not see use in the near future."
Everything seemed to converge at once. The fire, her dreams, and it was starting to set off a perpetual state of anxiety within her that she was trying her best to ignore. Anxiety over dreams was never something that could really be dealt with, but her dreams were rooting themselves within the fabric of her being. How could they not? They were striking at her worst fear; losing her daughter. She could see how her dream self was unravelling because of the potent grief that she chose to bury and ignore in favor of a fleeting hope of saving Christina. And with how her dreams were going, Helena was anticipating things would not work out.
At his question, she brushed a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath before she finally sat down. Part of her wanted to stand and pace, but that was simply the anxiety welling up within her. For the time being, she'd try to at least sit still and talk about this. Even though she wasn't that good at talking about things that upset her.
"Both. In my nightmares, that me is becoming obsessed with time travel. After other means failed, she's taken to building a time machine of her own." Helena looked at Peter, a mix of emotions running through her, though fear and anxiety were the most prominent. "I fear she will not succeed and I do not wish to see how she will react to that failure."