In the whispers of the twilight’s breeze,
Lies a magic unseen, yet profoundly felt,
A truth that dances on the edge of dreams,
Where reality and fantasy have gently knelt.

Atticus, a name that conjures the night,
With stars that paint stories across the sky,
In his heart, a boundless light,
That makes the impossible a gentle sigh.

Through the veils of mystic realms,
He walks with grace, a fleeting shadow cast,
Magic’s secrets in his hands overwhelm,
Unveiling wonders that forever last.

The truth of magic is not in spells or charms,
But in the belief that stirs within,
Atticus reveals with tender arms,
That the true magic is where we begin.