You sign your name: Sam Timsy. Technically your name is Samantha, but you hate being called that, especially by your mom. Therefore, since you were old enough to write your name, you wrote it as Sam. It's not that you dislike being a girl; it's just that as you never thought you had any choice in the matter, you never bothered to think about any alternatives.
You had just finished World Literature class, and were in the stacks doing research for your term paper. You were supposed to be studying Homer, but along the way you got slightly sidetracked by your fondness of myths and legends, not to mention your boredom with writing papers. Stumbling across a book on Greek mythical creatures, you started examining the nearby books as well, and soon found yourself paging through everything from the medieval Bestiary to Modern Fantasy. Tucked between a copy of Finnish Legendary Beast Hunting and Are We There Yeti? you came across a loose paper. Wondering if it fell out of a book, you opened it to see if there were any clues as to where it belonged.
Greetings, the writing began, Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you of your admission to the College of Trust for enrollment as of this moment. Your admission to the College of Trust is in no way related to the Admission Committee's lack of confidence in your potential or your dearth of scholastic achievement. We doubt you have anything to contribute to the intellectual diveristy of the College of Trust.
As the leading unknown institution, the College of Trust is committed to giving you the most useless education possible. Our faculty continue to find random and pointless ways to continue slacking off and wasting time, involving students in all levels of danger. If you intend to enroll in our institution, as well as to indemnify us of all possible damages (including but not limited to eviceration, decapitation, insinuation, and so forth), please sign below to reserve your place in the incoming class. Again, warmest congratulations on your admission, and we hope you will survive your educational experience at the College of Trust!
Since you figured it was probably part of some stupid game being played by one of the nerdier clubs on campus, or perhaps an attempt to poke fun at your Univeristy's admission procedures, you nearly tossed it in the trash. However, you notice that the paper looks oddly old, and the writing strangely formal. Reluctant to get back to your research, you took another glance at the books you were just leafing through, wondering what it would be like to be a mythical creature, with your only requirement being to trick foolish humans or pass judgment upon them. No more studying! No more boring papers!
Any distraction would be welcome at this point. And so you did it...you signed the paper out of sheer idiocy. Of course, it was idiocy, because if you had known then what would happen next, you would have rather kicked yourself in the head as opposed to having signed the paper.
Your signature fades, and you wonder if your pen's ink is having some weird reaction to the old paper. Oh well, you figure, and are about to turn back to your pile of books. However, as you blink, your surroundings are completely different. You find yourself in a building with a row of booths lined up like an employment office, and look up to see a strange old woman with curly lime-green hair waving you forward to take a seat in the booth across from her.
"Which classes would you like to register for?" the old woman asks tersely as you sit. You spot a nametag pinned to her sweater: Mrs. Dapoint.
"Uh, classes?" You ask, still unsure as to what is going on.
"Oh great, another newbie." Mrs. Dapoint mutters to herself. "I told them to sent them the course catalogs with the admission letters, but does the school listen to me? Oh, no, I'm just the Registrar." Sighing irritatedly, Mrs. Dapoint pulls out a large leatherbound book that looks like a Gutenberg Bible and slams it down in front of you. "Pick out your classes for the upcoming semester, and make it snappy, you're not the only student who needs to register." You sneak a quick look around you while Mrs. Dapoint finishes some paperwork. There is no on else in the building. You shrug, then open the book.
At first, you squint. You're not sure if you're reading this correctly. You look up at Mrs. Dapoint, who ignores you, and realize that at the moment, anything is possible. You're not sure if you should break down laughing or crying, but at an impatient "HMMPH" from Mrs. Dapoint, you immerse yourself in examining the courses. After going through pages upon pages, you finally give up, and decide to choose the course that sounds least insane.
"Ahem, excuse me," you squeak at Mrs. Dupoint. "I would like to register for..."