In a land where magic was life, one was born.. a little strange. Now, strange was a very strong word in this case, for everyone in the province of Glongersmetch was a bit strange. There was Tempera, the fish whisperer, who with but a single word could send her friends out to capsize an enemy ship. And Glachtus, the metal smith, who formed weapons of the most extraordinary type and power.. through very inappropriate means. He really loved molten metal. Loved it. There was even a warrior called Blevkins, whose extraordinary strength in illusions and transformation allowed him to become fifty foot tall and wield a fearsome battle-axe made entirely of beetle teeth. Now, you might say the beetles do not have teeth, but ever since the Tulinei brothers' tower blew up 127 years ago, all of the beetles in Glongersmetch had teeth. Let us not forget the wise man and his talent for immortality, the revered.. Bob.
Ah, but back to the strange one. It was a cold, November morning when Germaine Belmont cried out, in the first of her labor pains. Her husband, Verges, immediately fetched the midwife, a hunchbacked, shrew-faced little woman whose only magic was making herself completely unreachable until a child was born. The popular theory was that she used a transport scroll, inherited from her great grandfather, Phinneaus of the cloven fist, to spy on the handsome Prince Tybalt as he partook of the mineral baths in nearby Thumberstint. That, or she was really good at hide-and-seek.
Germaine's orange eyes watered with pain as the crone held her hand, encouraging her to push, and screaming for Verges to find more towels. There were already 172 towels in the room, but as the blue-haired wizard knew nothing about child birth, he ran out to seek more.
"Finally," Kumbra, the midwife said, "The dolt's out of here. Now deary, push for all your might and.. here it comes!"
The old woman took up the child in one smooth motion, using the only towel she'd brought of her own to wrap the screaming babe that had been pushed from the screaming mother. It was, of course, magic, and the child was instantly clean. However, the midwife's expression turned sour.
"Oh dear me.."
"What? What's wrong?" Germaine panted, her hair having gone green with the pain. "Is my baby safe?"
"Ohh, she's safe dove. But.. she's.. she's.. a mouse."
----
Not long after that day, the little pink-haired, magenta-eyed child returned to a normal human form, the ears and tail and whiskers having faded away. Though most parents would see this as a blessing, Genevieve's parents, as she was named, did not. This was a family trait on her father's side, apparently, that skipped every ten generations. Vieve.. was a weremouse.
Nobody ever commented on the times her Muscion heritage surfaced, a tandem whisker here and there, the occasional flick of a tail, and that was just as well. It made her nervous, and when nervous, she'd gnaw on things. Her bedroom floor was always littered with pencil shavings, and sawdust from the bedposts.
That didn't mean the girl wasn't talented in the magical ways of people, however. She was quite skilled at simple charms, curatives, restoratives, herbology, and cleaning her room without lifting a finger. However, as the girl grew older, she was also prone to accidental magic. A trip and fall would trigger an odd illusion here and there, a cough would change her hair color, a stray sneeze would turn inanimate objects into people and vice versa.
When the odd little child finally came of age and set out into the world to seek her own fortune, most notably among those with little or no magic, several tea pots were very relieved.
Thus begins the new chapter in the life of Genevieve Belmont.
Genevieve Belmont Community Member 
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