There are covers that whisper subtle design missteps… and then there are covers that kick down the crypt door, throw on a glowing ribcage, and say, “Let’s duet.” The Skeleton’s Song by Kit Marlowe doesn’t just flirt with failure—it goes full Broadway in the Theatre of Bad Design. And now, friends, it’s time for the final curtain call.
Let’s address the star of this undead performance: the skeleton. Or should we say multi-armed, glow-charged, anatomically confused skeleton? This bony bard backup dancer is sporting three visible arms—one lovingly snaked around the bard’s waist like a clingy ex, one resting casually on his shoulder, and another strumming the lute like it’s auditioning for Rock of Ages: Necromancer Edition. Either this skeleton is breaking the laws of biology or it’s a tragic victim of the “duplicate layer” function left unchecked.
But wait—don’t blink, or you’ll miss one of the cover’s ten thousand glowing elements. The eyes? Glowing. The hand? Glowing. The guitar strings and headstock? Glowing. The ribcage? Also glowing, thanks to the world’s most selective lighting effect. And while the skeleton’s interior is lit up like a Jack-o’-Lantern, not one pixel of that magical glow touches the bard’s shirt, face, or—heaven forbid—the purple crystal cave behind them. It’s magical lighting with stage fright.
And speaking of that bard, let’s pour one out for our tragically tall protagonist. This image is weirdly elongated, giving the whole composition a stretched, slightly melted action figure look. The bard’s proportions say “heroic,” but the cramped layout screams “this was made for a phone screen and got vertical vertigo.” The lute, of course, is glowing too. Because of course it is.
Now, let’s talk sprite overload. You want sparkles? We’ve got sparkles. Magical wisps? Floating orbs? Ambient particles doing nothing but making the background look like a fantasy-themed snow globe at full shake? Check, check, and check. This cover is drowning in magical clutter that adds absolutely no narrative weight, just a vague feeling of pollen allergies in a mystical cave.
Oh—and don’t think we didn’t notice the skeleton’s left hand only has three fingers. Which is either a shocking plot twist (The Skeleton’s Song: The Ballad of Missing Bones) or someone got tired and hoped no one would zoom in.
In conclusion, The Skeleton’s Song is a full-blown bone zone breakdown. What could have been a quirky, campy fantasy duet instead becomes a glowing anatomy fail wrapped in particle effects and stretched proportions. It sings, yes—but it’s off-key, out of sync, and glowing in all the wrong places.
Encore? Let’s not.