My Gift to the World is Me.

I would have spoken up sooner, but mother said that if I didn't show myself I could continue to receive the New York Times Sunday edition at my placenta-step. However, now that my identity has been partially revealed, and my order for Times Select has been processed, it is incumbent upon me to defend my parents - forged by the gods themselves - from this blogosphere that hurls lies and mistruths upon them. I have no intention of remaining a mystery, blogosphere, so I will share with you self-portrait:

I admit it bears resemblance to Da Vinci (or Great Great Great Great Pop-Pop).
His work has been such an influence upon my craft.

I assure you I have many thoughts to record regarding father, mother, and The Umlaut who threatens to tear us apart, but for now I shall retire to my drawing room. I promised myself I'd install that HDTV today. And not with magic. My powers are terribly unpredictable at this stage.

Growth Note: My skin is perfumed with scents of Scotland's rolling grasses, with subtle notes of tropical citrus and sandalwood.