The hardest learned lessons

"So far from home," a purr would sound from within the shrouding mist. Scylla hadn't been submerged in one of the pools but had been resting on a flat piece of rock between the steaming pockets of water. The slate and cream fae had come to this place not only because she enjoyed a good soak, but because the area was particularly misty in the winter. Blankets of steam, the scent of sulfur to make one nose-blind... It provided ample coverage for someone that didn't wish to be found. 

Sliding down from her perch, Scylla cut through the mist and made her way towards Alastor. There was no mistaking the giant, furry brute for anyone else. She knew him intimately, after all. The small woman stood before the hulking man, one brow lifting in question.  "What are you doing here, Alastor? This surely isn't a coincidence." She wasn't going back. There was nothing for her in Elysium. Not a damn thing.

"Scylla"