You are the last born son in a family full of extraordinary nobles. Entrepreneurs, politicians, doctors, all in your family heritage. You live your days in wealth and luxury. Every single thing you could want, at the tip of your fingers.

And yet, you find yourself in town. Away from your home. You can feel the stares of common folk as you walk through the streets, hear the envious whispers and malicious comments. And yet you don’t spare them attention.

You find yourself before a florist’s shop. A boy, in the front window. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, pale red eyes flickering open as he wipes his hand on a rag he had wrapped around his neck. He places the rag down on one of the many shelves covered in flower petals and various plants, and runs his fingers through his deep black hair.

As you walk through the door, the silence feels heavy. It’s quiet. Almost empty. An older woman sits behind the counter, presumably his mother. The warm and homey atmosphere feels foreign and unusual to you. Ignoring the flower petals you step on with your shiny boots, you walk further into the shop.