i think the first time i finished this game, i almost hated it but pretended i didn't. something about the abruptness, the smallness, the way the mechanics don't all get Really Used, like they're vestigial hanger-ons from a previous iteration that was more interested in platforming and less interested in place

i think it got an extra star the first year after finishing it. i didn't play it again. i still haven't. it just sat with me. not even the politics. not even the people, or the dialogue, or the music, or the visuals (maybe the visuals a bit) but the actions. i could still remember, a year later, entire in-game days of walking from right of town to left of town, up the hill on the way to the church to attend because i wanted to connect with something in this mess, and maybe god had an answer? to my pet cat. to spending the day inside rotting playing all of demontower and thinking "that was okay at best, why did i play that all the way" and then messing with it a little bit after that, and then sending my friend i barely know a message and not realizing that night would end in me getting too drunk to take inputs correctly and then in real life the next night i ended up doing the same thing without really ever thinking about it.

i remember the feeling of understanding that the place was beautiful and the people who rotted it out were there for the wrong reasons. a feeling i never got at the time, but that i have overwhelmingly upon thinking about my memory of this.

i remember the journal.

i remember the melody to die anywhere else.

i remember how stupid i thought the hand control minigames were and how effective they were when they show up picture-in-picture.

i remember the mineshaft and the earnest thought that one of these characters might really die.

i still haven't replayed it.