For those of you who like their very fantasy dark, yet filled with beautiful writing, I give you The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter. A book whose world is like a door -
"Forever ajar, hinges crusted with buboes of rust, wood gone soft and black and pulpy, the door was a swollen affair. Dank vegetation from inside the cell spilled out through the narrow opening and, in many places, through the rotten wood itself, to die there, in the unlit corridor."
It's full of the sort of moody melancholy that accompanies stories of moral rot and dessication, where despair is echoed by a sky that never clears and a sun that is a fable, never seen. The untouchable kholics and the red-blooded hemes of the city of Nowy Solum, and their the old gods-actually human-derived starship brains driven mad by the transition to metal bodies-are about to clash and change the world. This is a science fiction tale told mostly as fable. Once a high tech world falls, what is tech? If any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, then perhaps the fall of such a civilization's ashes can be told as a fable of gods, fading into legends that the human heart often falls for.
The entire book is a fever dream of a corrupt society on the very brink of a needed collapse that never quite comes. The "gods" come instead, fight their petty wars, and leave things more broken than they found them. Except...now there is a break in the clouds, clouds that were a byproduct of of their madness.