chapter twenty two | old photographs

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ATTICUS ROCKFELLER sat on the edge of the couch, a photograph in his hand. He's holding it carefully, studying each part of photograph - specifically on the facial features of the people in the photograph.

I hover over his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his chest. He seems unbothered by my actions, continuing to stare at the picture. I couldn't help but study it, too, because at first glance, I really did think it was Atticus himself in the frame.

Liam Rhodes sat beside his wife, Hannah, as they both looked down to admire the baby wrapped in the pale blue blankets. The wrinkly hand and the tip of the baby's nose was really the only things that you were able to see of the baby, but we both knew it was Atticus, on the day he was born.

Hannah looked sickly. Maybe it was the fact that she just gave birth, or maybe it was more, because the new mother looked like she was on her death bed, eye sunken into the sockets, skin pale like the snow that's supposed to be in Auxillium. She looked at her baby boy in awe, but her expression had something else.

She knew it was the end.

"Your mother and father," Alaina Scott, the elderly woman in the room started. We were both still in our winter coats, because there was no heater in the room, just a large fireplace in the house the couldn't burn forever. "They knew how special you were. They knew your future was part of the new world as we knew it. They both grew up here, but moved to Noatra just before they decided to welcome you into their lives."

Alaina Scott - or as I quickly learned, Atticus' biological grandmother on his mother's side - said that there were about 10,000 people living in the district of Auxillium still, most far from the actual castle, where most of the attacks occurred. It was safer further away. Over the years, families moved into Noatra to start new lives. Hardly anyone came back.

"It was hard to let my little girl go at the time, but she was with royalty and it was hard to reject them. They wanted you, Atticus, to have any chance to change things back to what it used to be. And the story of the Broken Queen and the Prince of Thread was enough hope for us."

Atticus moves his eye from the portrait briefly to look at me. The Broken Queen, ripped and broken at the seams. And the Prince of Thread, who could barely support himself, puts her back together. The typical love story that I never wanted. Yet, do I even have a chance to escape fate?

"Hannah, oh, my poor baby girl. I wish I was there when she was going into labour, but I was here taking care of Jazzy-"

The girl gives her grandmother an annoyed look. "Jazzy" wasn't the type of nickname I'd want anyone to know either, and on top of that, we were strangers that just entered her life. I also learned that Jazlyn was about a year and a half older than me and Atticus, her parents dying by the hands of the king's guards when they last came to visit. I don't know the entire story, and don't think I'll get it soon, but maybe that explains why every now and then, she scowls at Lysander.

Now that I think of it, our father was probably Captain of the Royal Guard back then. There was no way that he'd let something like that happen to Auxillium's people, especially since he was married to my mother. The nineteen year old King Pheon probably didn't order something like that, either.

"Hannah was so sick at the time you were born, could barely move. She laid in bed for the longest time, barely able to lift her head," Alaina continued her story. She poured Lysander another cup of coffee, despite his protests. He wasn't too big on coffee, only drinking it when he needed the energy.

But then again, maybe he did need the coffee. His bloodshot eyes has trouble staying awake. This is probably what happens when you drive for eight hours straight.

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