The Sentinels and never mind how high the cost may grow

she watched as her father adjusted what she had cast, her eyes sharp and observant. every move he made she would one day mimic so she could create her own perfect circle, one that would please his eyes the very moment his gaze met it. he responded to her query vaguely, and asked her another one; her father, the riddler, could be maddening to any other but she with the patience of a trueborn saint, witch.

she shook her head at his question. the Little People spoke with her frequently, but had never given her a name; deirdre had never thought to ask! but she would play with them for what felt like hours, only to return to those she loved mere minutes later.

and he spoke again, speaking in his magick voice, silk spilling over her ears. it caused a stirring in her soul, and an old part of it came to life as she watched him, rapt. spirit, she responded, somehow knowing the word. it sang in her, and as she spoke it, it felt right.