A few stone benches provide 'places' where visitors may sit and converse, or simply absorb this rich tapestry of sight, smell, and sound. Atrium Baths Living Quarters Theatre Atalanta is sitting near the fountain, her wings drawn up around her, protectively. It's more like a pile of feathers, really. Fortunate Syne, to drift into the gardens in time to see it. In the overhang of shadows, the distortion forced by fog and gibbous moon, the young Empyrean girl escapes her keepers to go a-wandering, wings drawn tight around the thin impracticality of her robe.
Life can sometimes be such a bitch.
Life can be a bitch, and so too can Atalanta if given the chance. She moves aside a wing and fixates on the stranger with a cold blue eye. No, Domina, you are not. Her tone doesn't invite further questions, neither does the wing moving back in front of her face. Atalanta draws back a wing and eyes her newfound companion rather balefully.