——- It’s too quiet.
Not quiet for a lack of residents or ambient noise. With every place she’s been to it’s always been a form of chaos, however big or small -- hearts swirling with emotion heard from a respectable distance, insecurities && joy && all forms of sorrow and yet -- there’s nothing. A ball of anxiety clogs her throat up, forcing through breaths more shallow and shaky than normal.
Where a car pulls up, its driver beckoning her in, this is the part where she demands an explanation. It’s the part where she balls up her fist and threatens, pleads or tries to charm her way out of this conundrum -- but Athena says nothing, instead, letting herself be chaperoned to what looks like her new home.
Cotes Ward. Isola. Names bringing a semblance of comfort that directly contradicts her apprehension of being so far from what she considers familiar -- she doesn’t recall that being on the US map.
Athena doesn’t enter the townhouse. Legs move her towards the streets, instead, slow and methodical as if in a trance. There will come the moment where she snaps out, becoming more proactive in her search of truth, but as for now --
-- She wanders, looking utterly lost.
