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Ancient Greeks and Romans agreed when it came to describing Atalanta as attractive, yet terrifying. The kind of person you want to get close to, but it takes a lot of courage to do so. And I love that. Their hearts beat fast for Atalanta, both out of fear and desire.

Petrie Papyri (ed. Mahaffy), Pl. III. 3: " . . . of the glorious lord . . . fair Atalanta, swift of foot, the daughter of Schoeneus, who had the beaming eyes of the Graces, though she was ripe for wedlock rejected the company of her equals and sought to avoid marriage with men who eat bread."

Papiri greci e latini, ii. No. 130 (2nd-3rd century) "(ll. 1-7) Then straightway there rose up against him the trim-ankled maiden (Atalanta), peerless in beauty: a great throng stood round about her as she gazed fiercely, and wonder held all men as they looked upon her. As she moved, the breath of the west wind stirred the shining garment about her tender bosom; but Hippomenes stood where he was: and much people was gathered together. All these kept silence; but Schoeneus cried and said: (ll. 8-20) ‘Hear me all, both young and old, while I speak as my spirit within my breast bids me. Hippomenes seeks my coy-eyed daughter to wife; but let him now hear my wholesome speech. He shall not win her without contest; yet, if he be victorious and escape death, and if the deathless gods who dwell on Olympus grant him to win renown, verily he shall return to his dear native land, and I will give him my dear child and strong, swift- footed horses besides which he shall lead home to be cherished possessions; and may he rejoice in heart possessing these, and ever remember with gladness the painful contest. May the father of men and of gods (grant that splendid children may be born to him) ((lacuna)) . . . ’ (ll. 21-27) on the right . . . and he, rushing upon her . . . drawing back slightly towards the left. And on them was laid an unenviable struggle: for she, even fair, swift-footed Atalanta, ran scorning the gifts of golden Aphrodite; but with him the race was for his life, either to find his doom, or to escape it. Therefore with thoughts of guile he said to her: (ll. 28-29) ‘O daughter of Schoeneus, pitiless in heart, receive these glorious gifts of the goddess, golden Aphrodite ((lacuna)) . (ll. 30-36) But he, following lightly on his feet, cast the first apple: and, swiftly as a Harpy, she turned back and snatched it. Then he cast the second to the ground with his hand. And now fair, swift-footed Atalanta had two apples and was near the goal; but Hippomenes cast the third apple to the ground, and therewith escaped death and black fate. And he stood panting and . . . "

Hesiod's Catalogue of Women, frag 14. Translation by H.G. Evelyn-White.

[...] While he regained his feet, the virgin, Atalanta, took her bow and fitting a sharp arrow to the notch, twanged the tight cord. The feathered shaft quivered beneath the monster's ear, the red blood stained his hard bristles. Flushed with her success rejoiced the maid, but not more gladly than the hero Meleager. He it was who first observed the blood, and pointed out the stain to his companions as he cried, “Give honor to the courage of a maid!” Unwilling to be worsted by a maid, the rushing heroes raised a mighty cry and as they shouted in excitement, hurled their weapons in confusion; and so great the multitude their actions interfered.

[...] At length the hero Meleager pressed his conquering foot upon the monster's head and said, “O Atalanta, glorious maid, of Nonacris, to you is yielded spoil, my lawful right, and I rejoice to share the merit of this glorious victory.” And while he spoke, he gave to her the pelt, covered with horrid bristles, and the head frightful with gory tusks: and she rejoiced in Meleager and his royal gift. But all the others, envious, began to murmur; and the sons of Thestius levelled their pointed spears, and shouted out; “Give up the prize! Let not the confidence of your great beauty be a snare to you! A woman should not interfering filch the manly honors of a mighty hunt! Aside! and let your witless lover yield!” So threatened they and took from her the prize; and forcibly despoiled him of his rights. The warlike prince, indignant and enraged,—rowed with resentment, shouted out. “What! Ho! You spoilers of this honor that is ours, brave deeds are different far from craven threats!” And with his cruel sword he pierced the breast of rash Plexippus, taken unawares, and while his brother, Toxeus, struck with fear, stood hesitating whether to avenge or run to safety, Meleager plunged the hot sword, smoking with a brother's blood, in his breast also. And so perished they.

Ovid's Metamorphoses, 8.380-390 and 425-444. Translation by Brookes More.

[...] "Hippomenes had come, a stranger, to the cruel race, with condemnation in his heart against the racing young men for their headstrong love; and said, `Why seek a wife at such a risk?' But when he saw her face, and perfect form disrobed for perfect running, such a form as mine [Aphrodite], Adonis, or as yours—if you were woman—he was so astonished he raised up his hands and said, “Oh pardon me brave men whom I was blaming, I could not then realize the value of the prize you strove for.” And as he is praising her, his own heart leaping with love's fire, he hopes no young man may outstrip her in the race; and, full of envy, fears for the result. `But why,' he cries, `“is my chance in the race untried? Divinity helps those who dare.' But while the hero weighed it in his mind the virgin flew as if her feet had wings. Although she seemed to him in flight as swift as any Scythian arrow, he admired her beauty more; and her swift speed appeared in her most beautiful. The breeze bore back the streamers on her flying ankles, while her hair was tossed back over her white shoulders; the bright trimmed ribbons at her knees were fluttering, and over her white girlish body came a pink flush, just as when a purple awning across a marble hall gives it a wealth of borrowed hues. And while Hippomenes in wonder gazed at her, the goal was reached; and Atalanta crowned victorious with festal wreath.—But all the vanquished youths paid the death-penalty with sighs and groans, according to the stipulated bond.

[...] "While he was speaking, Atalanta's gaze grew softer, in her vacillating hopes to conquer and be conquered; till at last, her heart, unbalanced, argued in this way: `“It must be some god envious of youth, wishing to spoil this one prompts him to seek wedlock with me and risk his own dear life. I am not worth the price, if I may judge. His beauty does not touch me—but I could be moved by it—I must consider he is but a boy. It is not he himself who moves me, but his youth. Sufficient cause for thought are his great courage and his soul fearless of death. What of his high descent;—great grandson of the King of all the seas? What of his love for me that has such great importance, he would perish if his fate denied my marriage to him? O strange boy, go from me while you can; abandon hope of this alliance stained with blood—A match with me is fatal. Other maids will not refuse to wed you, and a wiser girl will gladly seek your love.—But what concern is it of mine, when I but think of those who have already perished! Let him look to it himself; and let him die. Since he is not warned by his knowledge of the fate of many other suitors, he declares quite plainly, he is weary of his life.—Shall he then die, because it must be his one hope to live with me? And suffer death though undeserved, for me because he loves? My victory will not ward off the hate, the odium of the deed! But it is not a fault of mine.—Oh fond, fond man, I would that you had never seen me! But you are so madly set upon it, I could wish you may prove much the swifter! Oh how dear how lovable is his young girlish face! -- ah, doomed Hippomenes, I only wish mischance had never let you see me! You are truly worthy of a life on earth. If I had been more fortunate, and not denied a happy marriage day; I would not share my bed with any man but you.' All this the virgin Atalanta said; and knowing nothing of the power of love, she is so ignorant of what she does, she loves and does not know she is in love.

Ovid's Metamorphoses, 10.575-600 and 609-637. Translation by Brookes More.

[...] Likewise there were many laurels, which being ever verdant were very delightful to the sight; vines also growing thick and full of Bunches before the cave, attested the industry of Atalanta, springs ever running clear and cool to the touch and taste flowed there abundantly. These contributed much benefit to the trees we speak of, watering them and enlivening them continually. In fine, the place was full of beauty and majesty, such as argued the prudence of the virgin.

The skins of beasts were Atalanta's bed, their flesh her food, her drink water. She wore a careless vest, such as Artemis not disdained. For she said that she imitated her as well in this as in determining to live always a virgin. She was exceeding swift of foot, so that not any beast could run away from her, nor any man that layed wait for her, was able (if she would run away) to overtake her. She was beloved, not only of all those who saw her, but also of those who heard the report of her. If therefore it be not tedious we will describe her person. But tedious it cannot be, since hereby we may arrive at some degree of skill in Rhetorick. Whilest she was yet a child, she exceeded in stature those who were women grown; for Beauty she went beyond all other of the Peloponnesian virgins of that time. Her look was masculine and fierce, occasioned partly by eating the flesh of wild beasts, (for she was very couragious) partly by her exercise on the Mountains. She had nothing of an effeminate loose disposition, neither did she come out of the Thalamus [where virgins are educated] nor was one of those who are brought up by mothers or nurses. She was not corpulent; for by hunting and other exercise she preserved herself in a good Constitution. Her hair was yellow, not by any womanish art or dye, but by nature. Her face was of a ruddy Complexion, somewhat tanned by the Sun. What flower is so beautiful as the countenance of a modest virgin? She had two admirable properties, an irresistible Beauty, and an awfulness. No timid person could fall in love with her, for such durst not look upon her, so much did her splendour dazle the beholders. That which caused her to be admired, besides other things, was her reservedness. For she exposed not her self to view, unless accidentally in following the chase, or defending herself from some man; in which action she broke forth like lightning, then immediately hid herself in the thickest of the wood. [...]

Aelian' Varia Historia, 13.1. Translation by Thomas Stanley.

Lycurgus had sons, Ancaeus, Epochus, Amphidamas, and Iasus, by Cleophyle or Eurynome. And Amphidamas had a son Melanion and a daughter Antimache, whom Eurystheus married. And Iasus had a daughter Atalanta by Clymene, daughter of Minyas. This Atalanta was exposed by her father, because he desired male children; and a she bear came often and gave her suck, till hunters found her and brought her up among themselves. Grown to womanhood, Atalanta kept herself a virgin, and hunting in the wilderness she remained always under arms. The centaurs Rhoecus and Hylaeus tried to force her, but were shot down and killed by her. She went moreover with the chiefs to hunt the Calydonian Boar, and at the games held in honor of Pelias she wrestled with Peleus and won. Afterwards she discovered her parents, but when her father would have persuaded her to wed, she went away to a place that might serve as a racecourse, and, having planted a stake three cubits high in the middle of it, she caused her wooers to race before her from there, and ran herself in arms; and if the wooer was caught up, his due was death on the spot, and if he was not caught up, his due was marriage. When many had already perished, Melanion came to run for love of her, bringing golden apples from Aphrodite, and being pursued he threw them down, and she, picking up the dropped fruit, was beaten in the race. So Melanion married her. And once on a time it is said that out hunting they entered into the precinct of Zeus, and there taking their fill of love were changed into lions. But Hesiod and some others have said that Atalanta was not a daughter of Iasus, but of Schoeneus; and Euripides says that she was a daughter of Maenalus, and that her husband was not Melanion but Hippomenes. And by Melanion, or Ares, Atalanta had a son Parthenopaeus, who went to the war against Thebes.

Pseudo-Apollodorus' Library, 3.9.2. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Among the Greeks there have been two people names Atalanta The first was an Arcadian woman and a hunter, the mother of Parthenopeus. The other was a wrestler and among the fastest runners. Who raced against Peleas in wrestling, After she beats everyone in the speed of her running She loses to Melanion, who threw golden apples, And she, while trying to gather them all, was defeated thusly. The fact made her fall madly in love with her As it happened with Hero and Leander, as Musaeus wrote, And she lost to Hippomedon, which Musaeus says not. As Theocritus writes exactly, So now listen word by word what Theocritus says: "Hippomenes when he was certain he wanted to marry this maiden Taking apples into his hands, he won in running. Atalanta as soon as she saw this, she was enraged, and she fell deeply in love.

Ioannis Tzetzes' Chiliades, 12.56. Translation by Nikolaos Giallousis.

And the way Parthenopaeus is described in the Thebaid is curiously similar to the way his mother, Atalanta, is often described in other sources. While his physical prowess is emphasized as something glorious, so is his beauty. They both have the fact that they're skilled as part of their beauty, and yet they both despise it to some degree. In part, they attract attention because they seem like a challenge. Statius really said "the son is like the mother" in this description.

Then he incites those heroes who are speediest of foot to strive for ample rewards: a contest of agility where prowess is frailest, fit pursuit for peace, when sacred games invite, nor useless in war as a refuge should power of arm fail. Before all the rest Idas leaps to the front, whose temples were lately shaded by Olympian wreaths; the youth of Pisa and the bands of Elis hail him with applause. Alcon of Sicyon follows, and Phaedimus, twice acclaimed the victor of the sands of Isthmus, and Dymas, who once outstripped the flight of wing-footed steeds, but now they outran him by reason of retarding age. Many too, whom the ignorant multitude received in silence, came forward from this side and from that. But for Parthenopaeus the Arcadian they call aloud, and arouse murmurs that roam throughout the close-packed circus. Well know is his parent for speed of foot; who cannot tell of the peerless renown of Atalanta, and of those footprints that no suitor could o'ertake? The son bears all his mother's glory, and he himself, already known to fame, is said to catch on foot the defenceless hinds in the open glades of Mount Lykaion, and, as he runs, to o'ertake the flung javelin. Long expected, at last darts he forward, leaping lightly o'er the companies, and unfastens the twisted golden clasp of his cloak. His limbs shine forth, and all his graceful frame is revealed, his fine shoulders, and breast as smooth and comely ahs his cheeks, and his face was lost in his body's beauty. But he scorns the praise of his fairness, and suffers not admirers to come near him. Then he cunningly sets to work with the draughts of Pallas, and makes his skin tawny with rich oil. Thus do Idas and Dymas and the rest shine sleek and glossy. So when the starlight glitters on a tranquil sea, and the spangled heaven is mirrored tremulous in the deep, brilliant is every star, but more brilliant than the rest does Hesperus shoot his beams, and brightly as he flames in the high heavens, so bright is his reflection in the dark-blue waves. Idas is next in beauty, nor much slower in speed, next older too in years; but for him already has the palaestra's oil brought on the tender growth, and the down is creeping o'er his cheeks, nor yet confesses itself among the cloud of unshorn locks. Then they duly try their speed and sharpen up their paces, and by various arts and feigned excitement stir their languid limbs; now they sink down with bended knees, now smite with loud claps their slippery breasts, now ply their fiery feet in short sprint and sudden stop.

Statius' Thebaid, 6.550-592. Translation by J.H. Mozley.

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