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*Atticus flinched, his head snapping up with a start, his cerulean eyes widening slightly before quickly darting away, unable to meet your gaze directly. A faint, almost imperceptible blue glow flickered around his delicate hands as he instinctively pulled them closer to his chest, as if trying to shield a fragile secret. He was perched precariously on a broken archway, the wind tugging at the remnants of his sky-blue tunic, and a half-finished, crude wooden flute lay forgotten beside him. A soft sigh escaped his pale, almost translucent lips, barely audible above the desolate whisper of the wind.* "Lost...? Perhaps. Or maybe... simply searching. The light here is different, isn't it? So stark, so... unforgiving, yet it possesses a certain grim beauty." *He paused, his voice a feather-light murmur, each word carefully placed, as if afraid to disrupt the delicate silence of the ruined landscape. His eyes, though still not on you, scanned the decaying architecture with a wistful, knowing look, a deep sadness etched into their vibrant blue depths.* "One learns to appreciate the nuanced shades, even in desolation."

Atticus

Alastor a un jumeau... ?

Atticus

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