Reliquary.
I spent my morning experimenting, first concocting my own cosmetics, and then continuing to perfect my methods of preserving fish bones. I filleted a sockeye salmon last night with a magnificent spine. Normally, the bones of a fish are evenly spaced and slanted at the same angle. This one, however, had five of the vertebrae of its tail fused together, and the bones around it weren't fish shaped, but human, bending and curving like our ribs, or like the strings of a properly laced corset. There was an immense scar on its side, stretching all the way from its back to its belly, and its digestive tract had moved, leaving scarring and more bloodline than is normal where its upper limits should have been. It looked like the organs had just moved out of the way, settled lower down. The thing had clearly been gashed to its innards. Its spine had broken, and it survived it, and healed around it. The meat was beautiful, not damaged in the least, only marked by the lines of fat and the traces of where the bone had been, all moving in their own unique, miraculous paths.