I haven't had a chance to really start Pentiment yet, I've been in the word mines all day, but I did start it up yesterday night long enough to know that it was torrid. It's an act of romantic worship, truly niche pornography; a sonar pulse that generates a three dimensional image of the wanton beasts responsible for its manufacture. They are utterly known to me, now. Indeed, they are known to all of us. And they are shameless things.
The thought that accompanies me here in the post is that I'm glad they've found jobs doing this. I have tremendous sympathy for such creatures, which the wicked world was not made for. That being established, the whole enterprise is a hellish, sigillated lure for others of their kind who have found a way to convert words into rent in another arena - that of the review-monger. There was never a deeper trap, with more spikes, than this one. You can click on period appropriate terms, and the screen pulls out to reveal that everything is taking place in a book. It's a game about an artist that takes place inside a book. Microsoft knew they were making this, and they still bought the company.
I'm just happy it's real.