One look at her and you could tell that she was different than the other girls in the village. There is an ethereal quality to the Old Ones, the Ones whose blood I have in my veins, that leaves an indelible imprint upon everything and everyone it touches. Of course, she would never have been mistaken for anything other than French by eyes who are not trained to see. But those of us who are of the Sidhe, we see our own blood, however a minuscule amount there is, in others. We can sense it in ways that cannot really be described. Trust then, that we simply know..
Perhaps it is the large eyes over fragile and impossibly high cheekbones that alerted me even at a distance as to who and what she was.