On the street, you will begin to see the faces of the dead in those of complete strangers.

In 2050—dreams and cityscapes wear the same exoskin.

Breathe. Breathe. Even though you are dead you must breathe— Oh, you are running. I suppose you could run. Run, then, if you never want to know what killed you, and why, and where you are now. For I have seen that thing like a great flying beast, which crackles and buzzes and trails smoke and light and fire as it comes down screaming from the sky. Then the sheer presence of it above you, and its impossible geometricality, its breadth and width like twenty war-wakas lashed together. But hovering, somehow, so gently. Something

In this episode of Critical Friends , the Strange Horizons SFF criticism podcast, Jenny Hamilton and Anushree Nande join Dan Hartland to discuss romance and romantasy.