Each of the Fates reacted to the entrance of the goddess in their own ways.
Clotho felt a prickle of static along her arms – a fleeting sense of a ribbon-bound distaff, heavy with potential – and she glanced up in open curiosity.
Lachesis, ever more measured, looked to the door with nothing more than the friendly attentiveness she offered any customer. But she felt the brush of that presence and, with it, something akin to recognition sparked in her eyes, a previously enigmatic twist in the Weave suddenly making itself apparent.
Atropos afforded the goddess a cursory gaze, noting a peculiar tangle of beginnings and middles and ever-afters that clung to her like raiments, before leaning to Lachesis and murmuring, sotto voce, "Well. She's early."
Lachesis gave her a searching look. It was hard, sometimes, with Atropos, to tell the foresight from the bullshit. A vaguely knowing pronouncement was one of her favourite ways of covering for being caught unawares. Lachesis doubted that the Crone had seen anything in the Weave that she hadn't, but Atropos only offered a guileless shrug, impossible as always. Lachesis rolled her eyes and returned to her knitting.
Clotho, though, left aside her task and approached the goddess with an open smile. "Hi! Do you need help finding anything?"