"I died on my birthday," Florian said quietly.
His voice was calm, almost too calm—but his hands trembled slightly where they rested against Heinz's chest.
The small shake in his fingers betrayed the weight of the truth he had just spoken.
"It was an accident. I was on my way back to my house..."
'He died?' Heinz's crimson eyes searched Florian's face. 'He...was already dead?'
That must have been what the original Florian meant.
"There are still things about him you don't know."
This Florian... wasn't from this world. Just a soul drifting, borrowed, placed into the body of a prince long gone.
'He has no body of his own. Not anymore...'
"You're probably wondering why I still want to go back," Florian murmured, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "Why I talk as if going back to my life is even possible."
And again—again—Heinz felt that same pain stab through his chest. A strange, twisting ache he couldn't name.
He didn't want to hear Florian talk about leaving again.
