Phoenix Maplewood I'LL EDIT A THREAD TITLE IN SOON

The Anathema.

More than a name, more than a title. Anathema to the world; Anathema to herself and to the God whose eyes would always pass over her. What God would peer into shadow when He held in His hands the power to create light? A thousand little lights to blink and dance and brighten and dim and die. Sweetharbor. Rivenwood.

Shadows faded, but they never died. Only went away for a little while.

We're going away, Ana murmured half to herself, unsteady even as her gaze sharpened; lucid for a moment but clearly pained by it, frightened of it! Tears filled her eyes. She closed them and took a deep breath to gather herself.

God didn't want us there. Not anywhere. But we'll find Him, too, won't we? Steadying again; serene again. We'll make Him want us.