Galatea still feels out of place, in buildings meant for humans. She has not stepped foot in a library in a very long time. Years, or decades, she's long since stopped counting. She's a little uncomfortable, surrounded by the high shelves. Everything smells of age, of forgotten things. She wonders if this library was created for them, as everything else was, thrown together haphazardly and mismatched, or if the building is older. It seems to be the latter.

Her footsteps echo loudly against the floors. It's so empty here. Not just this building, but all the others. Something occurred in this place, long ago, she thinks. There appear to be no natives, save the Queen and her compatriots, and even they might be fabricated. She trusts nothing here.

If she is honest with herself, this place makes her nervous. The environment here is unlike that of the Organization's. She was needed there, and valued despite her growing discontent. She was aware of her place. Here, she feels observed. Trapped. She is used to luxury, to going where she pleases, to disobeying orders and commands when she sees fit to do so. Here, she is caged, held at the whim of someone, or something that seemed to want to do nothing other than to use everyone as playthings. It was insulting.

She notices the woman sitting at the table, recognizes her from the Vine and spends a few moments idly perusing the shelves before she speaks.

"Have you gotten used to it yet?" The question is phrased politely. For once, there is no hint of mockery.