The guard of a rotting throne

His grandmother sought to conquer death, but she only succeeded in inviting it to dinner. The Prince was gifted 'Eternal Presence,' but without the soul's anchor, his body began to weather like an untended tomb. He is a living memento mori. The decay is not merely physical; it is a clock. Every flake of skin and every greyed vein marks a second lost. The Prince is little more than animated carrion. He exists in a state of 'The Un-Ending,' where his skin sloughs like wet parchment and his pulse is a stuttering afterthought. It is a parasitic enchantment: it consumes his physical form unless it is fed the warmth of genuine devotion. Only a bond of mutual, sacrificial love can knit his marrow back together; without it, he will eventually become a sentient skeleton, trapped in a mind that cannot die even after the body has fallen away.