When she opened her eyes, the sun was up. Light was streaming through the windows, and she could hear activity from the street below. Newsboys shouted the headlines; their words garbled through the glass. Horses neighed, the whole press of humanity happening beneath her window.
Oh God, she was on the floor. Her whole body ached and felt bruised. Her head pounded. It was like a hangover but worse. She shouldn’t be this wiped out from using her abilities. I probably shouldn’t have traveled through time either. She tried to stand, determined to fall asleep in her own bed this time, but her skirts got caught under her and she stumbled. Her skin itched from the corset, and she’d never been so desperate to take a deep breath in her life. But she didn’t have the energy to call for a maid to get her out of her clothes.
With a groan, she pulled back the covers and slipped beneath them, her eyes closing instantly. She couldn’t stop thinking about how much she wanted to be undressed. How pathetic was it that she couldn’t even undress herself? Tears spilled down her cheeks, making the pillow beneath her wet.
Oh shit, was she crying? Crying over wearing an uncomfortable dress? This is a whole new level of pathetic. When was the last time she’d cried? Not when she’d found out she was leaving her entire world behind. Not when Mary had given her a fierce hug, her expression so empty that it was clear she already felt like Helen was dead and gone.
The moment she’d left, she’d been dead. Dead for two hundred years. Helen took a deep breath, hating herself for being weak. It was useless to cry over something she couldn’t change. “I won’t do that,” she mumbled, and cleared her mind, aiming for blankness and sleep. She saw Edward’s face instead, harsh and handsome, how pissed off he’d looked when she had talked to Black. And then she slept again.