Admittedly, I'm probably not exactly what you would call your typical average furry. Being first eighty feet tall, and winged as well puts me rather in a unique category, and getting in that category is a tale in and of itself.

For a great deal of my life, I've had what I later found is called 'size disphoria'. Literally, this means that I was uncomfortable with my size, or more specifically, with the size of everything around me. Everything seemed too big, too long, too large, and while it wasn't a case of going mad every time I had to move, it was a constant level of discomfort whose source I simply could not place. It was if the world shrunk me around it, and it was a struggle simply to make myself always reach where required. As it happened, I simply bore with the discomfort, and proceeded to have a very normal life, in getting my education, going to college, continuing into research work, and then getting hired by the military to continue pursuing my reasearch. It was during my work done at the hospital that my research took a rather unique turn.

My research was and is centered on the topic of non-allelic key gene sequences in variegated species. In a bit less scientific English, this means that I was looking to see if there were any correlations to the genetic code that occurs in the sequences between known parts that cause various characteristics (the color of your eyes, for an example) regardless of species. (As it is, the differences in the genecode of one species to the next are very, very small, and even the largest gaps are usually less than 1 percent, which is why such a comparison is possible. ) In trying a new approach. I was introduced to something which I thought at first would be my bane--magic. Magic, that wonderfully nebulous, unexplainable intangible source of everything from shapeshifting to warts.
But it seems magic does follow a few rules...

I use test subjects in my research--it's kind of hard not to, when your work is done using the population as the basis of your study. Several individuals who came in to participate noted they were or are or in some way had 'magic' in them. I of course scoffed at this, even when they would demonstrate their abilities, for until I could come across a justifiable explanation for how 'magic' worked, magic was something I wanted no part in. But then, it occured to me to treat 'magic' on an empirical level, and I kept track of everyone who claimed to be 'magic' in one way or another. And there is where I found my big break: Magic indeed followed at least one rule--it was genetic. Not in the way that other traits are genetic, but consistently, every individual who either could use magic or was innately magical had certain sets of sequences, all at about the same point in their genecode, and it became obvious these were 'keys', just like any allele, even if some of them were pertly inside one allele, and then part of the genetic 'garbage' immediately following. For an idividual to possess the ability to use magic, they had to have certain traits, *and* by some lucky toss of the evolutionary die, the right random sequences inbetween.

I started actively searching for 'magic' creatures, in order to truly establish that this hypothesis was indeed correct: what was needed now was proof in numbers, not ideas. And it was in this search I came across a young lady by the name of Sarah. Sarah is a faerie, one of the innately magical creatures, and in speaking to her, she noted in the screening interview that as part of her abilities, she had the ability to change her size, as well as the size of others.

Perhaps it was wrong of me to ask of her to use her abilities, in the fact that a professional tries to remain detatched from his subject and not allow personal motives to cloud an objective scientific process. But I did ask her about whom and how she had changed others, and then decided to ask her to show me what it is like to be a giant; it would only be experimental, to see first-hand what it was like to be affected by magic.

If only I knew what it felt like, I would never have hesitated.

As I grew, it was if the world suddenly snapped into place, like some gear long since untouched finally had a matching gear turn it for the very first time and set things in motion. I was floating (well, looming is probably a better term for it) and it was one of those moments that simply changes your life, putting it in a new direction. I was a giant, and I was meant to be a giant. So much of my life was going to be different...
And indeed, one doesn't realize the differences at first until I found out how much I could no longer do due to being giant-sized. My apartment? I could fit my hand through the door, and that's about it. My job? I could no longer get inside the hospital to work, and worse, walking on paved roads to get to the hospital always ran the risk of ruining the roads, which would then ruin everyone ELSE'S day. For that matter, every shop, business, and building were pretty much just huge concrete slabs to me now, as there's not exactly a giant-sized entrance on the other side.