The Sentinels shipwrecked

She held her breath, waiting for some bell to ring— for the name to register in her soul and evoke a series of images, perhaps from her youth, but none came. Logic told her it was likely she was related to this mysterious Mayfair, but the dark witch relied on feeling; and there was no shiver of coincidence, no sense of foretelling. After a few miserable moments, she shrugged helplessly. This Deirdre could be her mother, sister, aunt, cousin, or— for all Emaleth knew— a complete stranger altogether.

Would you tell me about her? she queried shyly. It felt strange, to ask someone she had just met to describe her family to her— this wasn't normal, not even remotely. About them? And if they were some other Mayfairs, it hardly mattered; the stories the male told her would be stored away along the stories she told herself, and with no more merit.