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Dear Journal,

It's the strangest feeling, being a parent. I suppose it's even stranger when you expect to become one. When Nigel gave me the second vial, I knew what was going to happen. It hadn't been long since Tara had been born, I thought I knew what to expect. I thought the vial would eventually start bubbling and would produce a child within two weeks of receiving it, just as Tara's had.

I wasn't expecting it to start exploding the moment I was sent back home with it. And I do mean exploding. At first, when I held it in my hand, it started to shake. I didn't know what to do with it, I didn't want to put it down. I should have. My hands are bandaged now. The glass broke and went into my palm. Jasmine healed it, but--I'm being cautious now. Anyway! The glass broke.

After experiencing the pain of having my hand sliced open with glass, I was able to make a coherent observation. There was a boy demanding that I kneel before him in front of me. He wasn't black like Tara; almost the complete opposite. I don't really know how to describe his coloring. He was white, for the most part. At his fingers, ears and the tip of his tail, it was a darker color--dark gray or blue, I wasn't close enough to tell.

He repeated his order. I ignored him for the most part--my hands were bleeding and it's hard to kneel to a cute fuzzy thing, especially when you're injured. I told him I wouldn't. He insulted me in some strange polite sounding language. I only knew it was insulting from his tone. He told me I was a slave to his will, for he was the king of all fae. He said he had command of the seasons, the weather--and me. I was in disbelief. King of the fae? I couldn't remember there being one. This boy wasn't even fae! He was an impling. Some wizard's creation, or whatever Nigel was. Come from a vial. A glass vial.

Ouch.

The boy introduced himself as Oberon, once he calmed down a bit. It took me over an hour to reassure him that it was perfectly normal for him to have fur; and that he would be taller, soon enough. Honestly, implings! The moment they're born, they start complaining! Tara helpfully provided him with a mug of warm milk, and I decided to question him. Oberon? The name sounded familar, but I couldn't place it. It was like a dream. Or maybe a distant memory. Or some book I read around one hundred years ago.