Her surroundings are a semicircular room with tiered seating going up the circular part. Next to her is a baffled-looking man who looks as though he had previously been addressing the people seated there.

He says something in an unfamiliar language and baffled tone of voice.

"I don't suppose," she says, "that any of you speak Quenya?"

No one appears to speak Quenya! One girl sitting near the front tries four other languages, all still unfamiliar.

Pretty suddenly appearing lady tries some too. No overlap.

She sighs.

"Illia Zavier," she says, gesturing to herself.

"Mirelótë Ambela."

She has a brief conversation in the first language with the man that ends with him writing something on a piece of paper in an unfamiliar alphabet much less pretty than the Tengwar. He gives her the paper and she says something in a tone of polite request and gestures for Mirelote to follow her.

She follows agreeably.

She leads her through a corridor that isn't quite pretty enough, through a garden that is, and into another building, where she locates a particular closed door and raps on it. A woman with wispy white hair and a large number of wrinkles emerges. Illia shows her the note and she begins trying more languages, quite a lot of them.

Nope.

She frowns and says something to Illia, who nods, and then writes something on the other side of the sheet. Illia leads her to another building, and knocks on another door. This one is more like the one she was originally in, although the tiers are straight lines instead of curved. She has a brief discussion with the woman standing at the front of the room that involves Illia brandishing the note.

The woman accedes, and calls something up to the seats. A woman comes cheerfully down; unlike most of the people here, she has her hair decently braided. She leaves the room and smiles at Mirelote. "Odette Zavier," she introduces herself.

"Mirelótë Ambela."

She gestures for her to continue speaking.

"- you want me to talk more? Perhaps you're the local equivalent of Fëanáro, who would be overjoyed to be here and would already have derived the word ordering of your language and whether it agglutinates or isolates and catalogued all your phonemes by now."

...She giggles and shakes her head, and points a finger at her ear and then snaps her fingers, sending a small shower of multicolored sparks flying.

"...how did you do that? Can you understand me? Should I assume nodding is at least the same?"

She nods. "I--understand," she says haltingly, mimicking the Quenya clumsily.

"Marvelous. How in the world does it work?"

...She is deeply puzzled by this question in some way she does not have the vocabulary to communicate.

"...I have probably not provided vocabulary sufficient to answer the question. Ah, basics - zero one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve. It's possible you don't use base twelve... I am an Elf, I think you are not Elves but nor are you orcs nor Dwarves nor Ainur... I have arrived here accidentally on my own part and likely as some hilarious divine joke on someone else's part..."

"Base ten," she says after a moment. "...Divine?"

"Probably. Not necessarily, I suppose. I'm concerned I won't be sending backups to Mandos - does whatever you're doing handle proper nouns well -"

She makes a so-so gesture. "Mandos...divine?"