There’s an ephemeral, anxious mood I often find myself looking for in games. A sense of long, sleepless anxiety, the kind of anxious melancholy that hits after a few too many drinks in a town I don’t quite know too well. That, I think, is what I walked away from Taylor Swietanski’s That Night, Steeped By Blood River feeling, a short series of dreamless vignettes where nothing but the signature you scrawl on the hotel room door is certain.
Helps that it’s bloody gorgeous, mind.
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