Cerulean Cape jello mold

he was quite wrong about his aforementioned list, lionel discovered. a compactly built woman dragging a length of driftwood that he would have liked to have for himself. her decor of darkblood eyes chilled him somewhat, but what stopped him from immediately grabbing at the strands of her challenge were the markings clawing down her ribcage.
in lionel's world, he had but one father: skellige, and one mother: deirdre. he knew his sisters and brothers by name, the titles of uncles and aunts and grandparents, all tightly connected by ties of blood and marriage and seasalt. 
in his world, then, existed no place for anomalies: like a woman beside the ocean wearing his father's trademark patterning. "whomst the fuck are you?" lionel retorted, though his voice was not hard, more a fading incredulity that ignored the stick completely.