No one thinks they’re going to set up shop in the skull of a dead god, but then again, no one thinks they’re going to get pushed out of their own city by landlords. You are warned, always, of the power of dead god’s corpses. Vials of their blood and sheerings of their bones are sold in seedy alleyways the world over for their potent magical properties. The inherent magic of their bodies isn’t gone because gods can’t die, not in the sense we know it. They are the afterlife, our souls are taken within them when we die, and they form whatever comes next. They’re kind of napping, at the moment. Napping without flesh. And within this cavernous cranium I sometimes see the dreams of the dead god, glimpses of the afterlives of others, and I know that in the next life they are also having a rent crisis.
Paddy Dobson
6th February 2023