Once there was a woman who came from a foreign land to marry into an old family.
Her husband was from a tiny village in the mountains but he was working in a thriving harbor town abroad when he met and fell in love with her. At the time he asked her to marry him, his father in his home country collapsed and died. Being the eldest son in his family, the young man had no choice but to return to his homeland—taking her with him, of course.
Her name was Myna. This was not a name used by the women of his homeland.
Indeed, her name was not the only thing about her that was different.
The color of her skin, hair, and eyes, and the language she spoke were all different.
Had the young man’s hometown been a harbor city where people of many different lands cross paths, there would have been nothing unusual about this. In such places there were any number of homes that welcomed foreign men and women into the family, generation after generation.