Erika is grateful for Christine giving her space following the aftermath of Valmont's party. As promised she'd returned to Christine and they had lost themselves in the sweet and urgent passion of reconciliation. She respected Christine's need for privacy, that being the sole reason for the third floor remaining unvisited by them the previous night.
Now, with Christine gone for a walk, she can slump into the despair and myriad other emotions that she'd kept hidden so well. Princes are strong, weakness, a crack can be utilised. Thank God, she thinks, that she can hide her feelings so well. Besides, she dare not heap her fears onto Christine, dear protective Christine.
She pours a drink for herself, the remainder of a bottle from last night's revelry, sipping at it thoughtfully before she reaches for the locket yet again. The locket that she'd thrown into the river.
How in hell had he found that in his grasp. Who knew?
That doesn't matter. What matters is his message. That he knows where to find her. That he is coming for her. She shudders.
Politics, she'd been told. He excels in such. So that's why juggling so many angry cats comes so naturally to her. She'd never meant to become involved in politics. She'd never meant to make herself so bloody visible. But this was - she was what this city needed. And Erika is one who has to do what must be done.
She curses herself for making herself so obvious to him. She curses him for not letting this go, for not...why couldn't he have just bloody well died?
.
She's tried to wipe the memories, and to a certain extent she's succeeded. Last night's message was a shock. She reaches for her glass, realises her hands are shaking. That she is shaking. And that she wants Christine to be here, holding her, comforting her, but at the same time she cannot let her see her like this. Shaken to the soul. Terrified, yet a part of her hopeful that he won't break her world completely a second time. Terrified that she's hoping he is pleased with what she has become...