His back was against a tree, the sun beating down from above, slowly filtering through the leaves. To most people, it was a beautiful sight– a grassy knoll, though slightly overgrown from disuse, filled to the brim with wildflowers. Wrath hated it. However, he wasn't there for him; he was there for her. It was one of the places that Celeste had described to him as her favorite haunts when she visited him in his kingdom, back when she was alive. He didn't know what brought him out there– perhaps it was the crushing weight in his chest, constricting his breathing and his heart, that compelled him to. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in his life, the Prince had nothing to do but wait. No long con, no revenge to plan. Just emptiness. Wrath was untethered and swimming through an endless void, and he didn't know how he was supposed to continue, but he had made a promise to Envy to keep living. No matter how much he regretted making such a stupid promise. It was always the plan to simply cease to exist after the King's death, by no specific means, but now he was alive, even after the fact, and he had to figure out how to keep going. Wrath lounged with his elbows on his knees, twisting the hilt of the Kingslayer so that the blade etched into the dirt—the metal catching the light and shining a bright lilac, losing track of time. He supposed that someone would come get him if they needed his expertise, but in the meantime... he wasn't calling the shots, so he decided to wallow away from prying eyes that weren't full of pity or sadness for his situation. The prince felt the presence before he heard the footsteps, always on alert in case the First Son decided to show up, but Wrath made no movement. Only greeting Sloth with silence that stretched. "You don't have to sit with me, you know. This place isn't really either of our preferred places."