I'm used to being alone. I've been alone for a long time. Ever since the others left, it's just been myself and the ocean. I don't like it. I was built to be filled, to be kept company by the noise of people within me.
Once upon a time my rooms were filled to bursting. I thrived and my people thrived. We existed in harmony; they kept me safe and I kept them safe as best I could. My halls were filled with the sounds of feet, of breath in lungs, laughter, shouting, and song. I was alive with the sounds of living. I was fulfilling my purpose and I was content.
To my eternal shame, there came a black day when I could no longer protect my people. My shields failed, my towers fell. The Wraith closed in on them and in a last effort to survive my people fled through the ring into another galaxy altogether. They buried me beneath the ocean to save me from our enemy.
There I lay for ten thousand years: empty and alone.
I'm used to being alone. I don't like it.
But now the gate is opened again. People have come back to live with me; distant descendants of the ones who'd left me behind. They are cautious and afraid, but I welcome them. I strive to open myself to them and give everything I can to protect and keep them.
My rooms are full again. My halls ring again. I am no longer alone.
I am Atlantis and I am content.