Scrambling over Izzy's words - literally; that's how we traverse here - I realise I don't want to carry on. My avatar - a small, faceless girl with dark, flowing hair who pirouettes onto each word with the grace and elegance of the ballerina I never could be - stands still as my fingers sit motionless on my controller. There's a little tear on the opposite side that signals it's time to turn the page, but I can't. I'm stuck. Not because I can't move, but because I don't want to. I know how this is going to end - we all know how this story ends.
It's been some time since I was the age of our protagonist. Like Izzy, I dreamed of being a writer and kept a journal through my formative years, vomiting my thoughts and desires and teenage angst onto the page in curly adolescent script. Like Izzy - like all of us - I've lost people I loved and didn't know how to endure the devastation it caused, nor the white-hot rage and howling emptiness that followed.
Knowing it was coming didn't even soften the blow, by the way. Lost Words: Beyond the Page gut-punched me in a way I didn't quite expect. It'd lulled me into a false sense of security, disguising itself as a simple, if beautiful, 2D platformer that marries two disparate games that, if I'm honest, lack a little challenge and sophistication. There are no hyper-real graphics or intricate animations here. No complex puzzling or dexterous platforming. Just a poignant tale of love and loss tangled up in a make-believe world.
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