Flesh Caves: Fantasy

Caves ran in the runnels of melted flesh, places where the waxlike slow drip of her features created caverns. They lived there. Some of them remembered her; some of them didn't. *None* of them worshiped her. She was dead; she didn't care. But wars were fought along her skin, and children born, and other good things. The caves ran deeper, near to her bone, and the population grew, and generations lived and died inside her...and she became less dead even as her flesh stretched out to tenuous unrecognizability. Some shred of less-than-conscious--

Inspiration: The way the wax ran inside my desktop candle.
Story Potential: Er, high?
Notes: This is interesting, but I don't know where (if anywhere) it might go.