Atlas was born into a supportive muggle family in Sheffield, however they were no strangers to the wizarding world. On her father's side spans a complex and horrifically average line of witches and wizards and muggles alike, mostly all settling as small shop owners. There was only one notable Blackenship, and that was her great uncle Larkin, who worked in the British Ministry Of Magic... for all of a month before getting fired for an undisclosed, although probably justified, reason. But it was cool while it lasted, right? With her father being the youngest Blackenship, and the only to be born a squib, she and her parents are isolated from the rest of her extensive family line. She's had no difficulty making friends in her muggle primary school, or more so, being adopted into groups, but staying connected to people is the harder part for her. There was always a separation she felt towards the other children, an otherness. By no means did she think she was better or lesser than, just not apart of their truth. And so, when the time came to awkwardly fumble her way past the wall to the hidden platform and board the big red train, there was no one else to say goodbye to other than her sobbing parents.

By all accounts, Atlas looks... for lack of a better word basic. She is average height, if a bit short, Caucasian with brown eyes. In fact, the only thing that stands out about her is her naturally curly brown hair and tomboyish nature.

Atlas is a daydreamer, more often than not she will be found dissociating or thinking about magical creatures. She's a loner, who not only struggles to talk to people coherently but also struggles to want to talk to people at all. That doesn't mean she's impolite or unkind at all, she's just... isolated. Besides being a bit awkward and incompetent, that's just about the extent of her real struggles. On any normal day, Atlas will try to be as cheerful and as helpful as she can be if her nerves will allow it.

But there's this feeling, its hard for her to describe. Perhaps its something akin to inadequacy, being from such a family as hers and being the shiny new face in her meager lineage. She doesn't feel like her best will ever be good enough.

It was a nightmare, the first time she cast a spell she had no understanding of it. She was only ten, although she leaned later that was a late bloom for a witch. One moment she was in bed, struggling to sleep through the storm outside, and the next she was on her feet in the center of her room, eyes wide and breathing heavy. There was something under her bed, she was sure of it. Something that scraped its claws into her carpet, something that tipped her sofa bed from one side to another and snarled threats like thunder. And, well, one moment she had a bed and the next... nothing but broken pieces. She felt something then, something stronger than fear. She felt powerful.

But not a day since then has she rekindled that feeling, more so, she has been practically trembling at every loud noise. She's not even sure how to replicate the spell. But Atlas knows she will forever chase it, the absence of her fear and the presence of something higher than humanity.

There was a letter laying on the doormat the next day. Her parents explained everything about the wizarding world and what it meant for her. That she would be sent away to a different school to stay and discover herself. There was "nothing to be afraid of." but even the second she stumbled through that station wall, just like that magical market, she knew it had only been false reassurance. She understands very little and fears far more. Even as the months tick by she still half expects to find her father's estranged family crawling out of the woodworks to finally meet her with great smiles and flashing wands. But of course her father vehemently denied them any knowledge of her and she isn't sure whether that calms her or makes her shake more. Atlas still feels the whiplash of being tugged from one life to another like an uprooted plant.

Despite all of this... despite everything, she is determined to make a name for herself and salvage the Blackenship name. The mundane, though comforting, will have no part in her life from now on.