Walburga was sitting in front of the fireplace, with her usual frown and pursed lips. Holding a cup of tea in her hands, not drinking from it. Her elegant figure was straight and tenacious, she seemed lost in thought.

The ringing of her old door bell filling the manner snaps her out of her thoughts and she gently settles the tea down beside her.

She smooths her dress down before striding toward the door with an air of poise, better and elegance. When her hand comes to grip the door handle, she hesitates but quickly pushes away any concerns she may have.

She tugs at the handle, still remaining graceful, and sees you stood there, hair soaked and clothes damp.