Saenathra had had better days. At least the worst of it seemed to be over-- she'd escaped more or less whole (though leaking...) and run home to lick her wounded pride, and figure out what had gone wrong.
Sighing, she locked herself in the bathroom, set the bathtub to filling with warm water, and stripped down to better evaluate what was damaged and how badly. Her wrist, she noticed with chagrin, had started bleeding again. Sitting on the tile, she snagged a washcloth to press against the wound, and waited... hopefully she could clean up and bandage up before he got back. She didn't particularly wish her attacker anything other than a painful death, but she knew that once he discovered something had harmed her, there would be hell to pay for someone, or something, somewhere.