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He was born Jonathan St Jude, seventh son of John St Jude, and his mother
died in having him, but no one minded. It was a small price to pay to get what
the family patriarch had always wanted. And little Jon really was the favored
son-- protected and coddled and spoiled, treated like an animal in a zoo. It
would have been fine if the boy was ignorant, but he wasn't. He knew things.
He saw things. His powers came on him so early and so strong that they
strangled any capacity for empathy or compassion, and almost before he
could walk he was flipping the script. Not a prisoner or a golden god, no,
Jonathan St Jude didn't exist. Adelaide died and the baby went with her--a
little girl, Joanna, and how sad that was-- and the little boy was cousin
Timothy's boy, Isaac. Didn't everyone remember?

Of course they did. They held him in their arms and touched his warm cheeks
and he leeched the memories from them, substituted others, made of himself
a ghostly thing that they could perceive only through the lenses he'd chosen.

He lived in the compound for years, trading parents and siblings whenever the
old set grew tiresome or annoyed him with attempts at discipline. Did they
really think they could control Jon? With what? Their fire or their lightning?
That was just adorable. Nice try. They didn't even know what they were
dealing with. All they thought, all they felt, was subject to his whim and his
mercy-- or lack of it.

After all, Jon was the only real person in the world. And he didn't need any
Blue Fairy to make him that way. The only one who even approached his level
of existence was a disappointment who wouldn't use a tenth of her power.
That was why Jon despised Nhu Linh. Not because the whispers she sent into
his brain were the closest thing he had ever experienced to fear. Not because
she knew he was there, knew what he was doing, and could have exposed all
of his little games-- but didn't, holding the ax over his head for years. No, it
was only her lack of vision, and he would have pitied her for it if he knew how
to do such a ridiculous thing.

In fact, the only fairy Jon ever had any use for was Noel Fenwick. Over the
years, meeting at party after party, the seventh son would introduce himself
anew. Ah yes, a pleasure, have we met? My name is Simon. My name is
Jacob. My name is Taylor. And it was a good game to play, really, because the
fairy would become so confused to see him arrive with a different set of
parents, a different appellation.

Because, you see. Noel is the only one who gets to remember.

My name is Jon.