Nova Peak If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above

phaedra gave her mother a strange look and palpated her thoughts for an answer apropos to the request made of her. her parents did not have names that translated to the secret language (hers, however strange, did) so she decided upon a more scholastic response.  "you, mama, woul' be mutter, papa is vater, 'n me ... phädra."
perhaps favorably for wylla, her father's "draculian" burr hadn't stuck to her tongue in consequence of his absenteeism. it sometimes returned to her unbidden when she was speaking to him, but she seldom fell to the lot of such moments.
"names d'usually change" or at least, birth names didn't. nicknames were numerous and oft-times like pop rocks in apprenticed mouths.
the palebrow'd girl bunched her lips together and teethed on her lower gums. an afterthought, after the woman had already gone under the tutelage of her bilingual daughter: "affer i help you, will you answer me a ques'ion? jus' one, thas'all" 
even if wylla refused the barter she would help her regardless, but phaedra had asked because she couldn't bear another moment of being wrought in this troubling penumbra.