Porcupine Ridge Numerous sections are inscribed with "ETERNAL",

Lorcan; a scarred man with a smooth tongue, Anathema noted, taking him in with a practiced emptiness behind her seaglass eyes. She moved her bones from the water slowly, without looking away from him, and tucked them closer.

Maybe enigma. Cute - but that's not what my mother named me.

Her birth mother, her first mother, the first one to abandon her —

She called me Anathema.

She looked away from him then, to her bones, as if she'd forgotten he existed at all. Anathema had nothing to offer him, not a man like that. All she had was her bones, her spiritwhispers, her dreams of the sea; black waters in her veins. She wouldn't pretend to be a girl who could blush and smile when he spoke, or laugh even when his jokes fell short, or tell him pretty stories to pass the time. She couldn't.