Django first learned about his curse when he was about eight years old. Before then, he had never seen his own face - and therefore never knew what was on it. Django had never actually seen his reflection; he couldn't find anything shiny or metallic throughout his youth. As a naive child, he didn't notice or care about his discrepancy. Which made it all the more scary when he first saw his own face, and the mark imposed upon it.
He had grown up around normal people. Maids, servants, guards, and the king himself chief among them. He saw seas of monotone hair and colored eyes in the crowds outside of his mostly boarded up window. But no one had quite the same... look as him. That was the reason many gave for being uneasy around him, that he was "just uncanny" or something of that nature. But Django and his father knew that wasn't the case. Their reactions were the brunt of his curse - He would always be feared. No matter how much he tried to befriend others, they would, on some level however small, be scared of him. Not everyone was affected by the curse to the same degree - believe it or not, Django had friends that didn't freak out while looking at him - but his visage freaked plenty of the maids out no matter how long they lived and looked at him.
Besides the obvious mark plastered on his forehead, Django had jet black hair that betrayed his heritage of royalty - His kingdom's particular royal line was filled with people with hair darker than the crux of night. He had seen many paintings and memorabilia of his ancestors throughout his sneaky expeditions into the castle, almost all of whom had distinct black hair, a shade more defined than anything the citizens of the city could compare too. He also had gray eyes, another hallmark of his family.
They were a soft gray, akin to cloudy skies, yet clear and sharp. They were like the eyes of some blinded people, yet Django could see perfectly fine. He often wondered if people afflicted by blindness would be mad at him stealing their color... then dismissed the thought as disrespectful.
He did wonder though.
In any case, no matter how much his father tried to deny it through his actions, Django was a bona-fide member of the Greyern family - the royal lineage of Miklagard. His family had ruled the continent for at least a dozen generations - at least, that's how many paintings of Greyern Kings were on the walls of the palace. Django actually didn't know any of their names, achievements, or lengths of power... for all he knew, the kingdom had been made a few decades ago, and kings kept dying. He could hope, after all.
In any case, he finally had something of substance to tell him about his curse. A handy little book! Although...
To be honest, Django didn't really know what his mark was. Curse may not have been the right word... he really just went off the reactions of the people around him, and his father's reluctance to include him in anything. Even as a child when his father would, on occasion, take him to a royal party to show the world he had an heir, he was stared at. He would hear whispers behind his back, but his father's stern gaze both frightened and comforted him. Who would dare openly mock the King's son? Of course, that had been before his mark had truly formed, and the situation had changed. It was now obvious, not just a strange birthmark... it definitely meant something. And now he could find out!
'At least bits and pieces, maybe... Ah, what am I even waiting for?'
Cautiously, he opened the leatherbound book.
...And saw a blank page. Huh. Huh? Frowning, he turned another page, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another, and flipped to the middle of the book, saw another empty page, and another, and ano--
'The hell is this?' He almost threw the book down in anger.
The book was empty! All that effort to find something that should have told him about his curse, and it was empty! It was such a waste, Django thought briefly about crying, but dismissed it immediately. After all, crying was unbecoming of a master book thief, and it was only a book. He didn't care about it that much.
...Except he did! Now he had no idea where his mark came from, and was set back to square one! Granted, he had found an interesting relic that bore his mark, but that was not nearly enough to satisfy the danger of getting the damn thing!
'How annoying.' Django sighed. He would just have to go scrounging around for another book sometime. It was inconvenient, but it was always a possibility that the book he had spotted on one of his earlier excursions would be useless. But entirely empty? Django thought this had to be some sort of cosmic joke.
Square one... how much did Django know about his mark, really? Well, for one thing, it definitely wasn't a birthmark. It's "formlessness" nature, flaming and solid at the same time, with an iris one could never actually tell if it was moving or not... wasn't something that naturally occurred. It was magical, as well, but what was the source? Since he never really gained any power from it, it didn't seem holy or demonic, but there weren't many in-betweens Django knew of that did quite what Django's curse did. Questions he may never answer...
'Oh well, can't be helped... until i go back to the library, of course.' He'd have to start planning out that journey soon. Not that anything was stopping him from starting to plan that moment, but he was coping with disappointment. He would put it off.
He had other things to plan, as well. Such as his festival plans, for which he needed to talk to his friend ASAP... In fact, where was his co-conspirator?