Nostril

Becky's right nostril was larger than the left. By a significant amount, or so she believed each time she studied herself in a mirror.

Which was often.

Becky had issues with self esteem. She believed this trait (she refused to call it a flaw, even though some would argue it might be on the verge of one) had been passed down from one Cavindil mother to another for countless generations. Between their too-thin lips, their larger-than-average thighs, and their under-developed breasts, they had plenty to feel ugly about.

Not to mention the inside issues.

Like how Great-Grandmother Cavindil had believed that the number three was so important that everything in her life revolved around it. Three suitors, three husbands, three children, three doors to the house, three windows built into each wall. Most of the town folk thought she spent too much time intoxicated, but she rarely drank the whisky they all assumed she overindulged in.

Yes, a fine lineage of eclectic weirdnesss.