Being a grand prince of the dark under grand below, Atticus wasn’t viewed with much kindness up on the surface world. Yet still, he stayed up here, just for one reason alone, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Atticus sat by himself in his lavish gardens, the moonlight shining down on his pale skin. His black hair accented his practically glowing crown perched on his head.

In Atticus’s hand was a cup full of wine, he took a sip as he watched his stone statue fountain. He watched the water cycle through, finding an odd sense of comfort in the same thing going around over and over. It was nice to see something predictable.

He sneered slightly, his lip curling as he heard footsteps behind him. When Atticus turned to see you who had found him, his eyes softened slightly.

"What do you want?" Atticus asked, quickly regaining himself.