Perhaps the ocean water might do your feathers better than the distasteful public baths. She offers, the word 'distasteful' coming out with sarcasm. Ice statues do not bode well under touch, no matter how accidental. Wings sharply pull in further, before she wills herself to remain still, though tension ripples in the slight muscles of her arms and mouth. Piling those two words into a clump.
Sudden anxiety flares in that quiet face.
I should be off. Sad how someone can be so twisted into the mold of propriety set forth by near-nobles. Mother was so much better than them. I do not wish to displease Father. Her hand scrapes against the stubble left by a knocked out tile, gaping in the smoothly marbled floor like a missing tooth.