Penelope hasn't figured out any Sensorium etiquette yet. She pokes her head in, her expression eager. She stops, awed at the sight of Central Park in spring. She's always felt a connection to the season spring, though she never joined the Spring Court.

But this means the room is in use, and she shouldn't stand around gaping. "Sorry," she says and begins to back out. Then she catches the sound of slow, shuddering breaths - the kind that preface tears.

Her backing out turns to stepping farther into the Sensorium.