Erika sweeps into the theatre, the emotion in her overriding the pain in her leg, her limp almost forgotten. The waves of anger break over her repeatedly, white horses of fury. No. Not fury. Something more than fury. Something darker.
She wants vengeance. She wants to see pain. Drawn out, blood-seeping, silently screaming anguish, as the focus of her ire is ripped slowly, limb from limb. Nothing but final death will satisfy her desire any longer.
She nods to Matthew as she passes him. It is apparent that he has business with her, but one look at her demeanour tells him that now is not a good time. There may not be a good time for quite a while yet. He wisely decides that discretion is best, and simply nods back as she rushes onwards.
Finally she reaches their quarters, bursting in through the door, no thoughts, other than the fury, and her beloved ward. Stopping for only a few seconds to survey the girl in front of her, her expression, her dishevelment, the flames of anger are fanned further still. She knows too that if she isn't careful, Christine will be lost to her.
She sweeps Christine into her arms, holding her tightly, stroking her hair, silently letting her know that she is there for her ward, that she is the rock which will never fail her.
"Oh my sweet, my sweet. I'm here. I'm here for you. It's alright. I know."