When the clan was still young, roaming the borders of the Wandering Contagion instead of the Rotrock domain it eventually settled in, an egg was found in the plague-marshes. Tiny and unassuming, it sat, nestled in reeds that were beginning to droop with rot. It was a shadow egg, perhaps left behind as the sickness claimed the corners of the Tangled Wood. The clan took it back with them, and one dawn, in a burst of shimmering darkness, it hatched.

She was a Mirror, they thought. A little pinker than most, perhaps, but she could scream with the best of them and prey all but materialized at her claws each day. And so it went for seven years - seven pink years, filled with pink friendships and pink allegiance to the pink ensign of Lord and Lady Bismol. Nobody suspected.

And then the veil fell.

The dragon that had hatched all those years ago had known, instinctively, that she did not belong; this was not The Forest and these hulking plague dragons were not her kind. And so her first action upon meeting free air was to glamour herself, and match the strange faces peering down at her from outside the shell. And she did belong, after a time, but something deep within her always told her that abandoning her disguise would be anathema.

Now... through ancient mandates broken, she's free to walk among them as she truly is. Mysterious, fey. Pink only half the time, and shimmering in strange, unknowable colors the other.

She still screams a lot, though.