Wickling

The Kingdom of Brightmere has never known night. Its people, the Wicklings, have candles for heads and a Sun that never sets. Today the Procession barge came for Pip's little sister. It is a great honour to be chosen. Everyone said so. Pip is going to catch that barge. It plays exactly like the platformers you grew up with. Eight worlds of tight, hand-built levels. A world map with chapels, memory panels and wandering lamplighters. Seven suits: Moth Wings that let you fly when your P-meter fills, a Wax Mask that turns you into a statue, a Newt Suit for the lakes, a Bell Suit that rings enemies off the screen.

Fortresses with crushers and ghosts. Barges full of cannons. End-of-level cards that pay out in spares. And every one of those systems has been turned a few degrees toward dread. Your head is the timer. The level clock is the wax of your own candle. When it gutters, the music thins out, the dark closes in, and you hear your heartbeat. The Hush. A tall, pale thing that lives in the background of certain levels. It only moves while you face away from it.

Look at it and it stops. You still have to reach the exit. Graves. Every death leaves a candle stub on the world map, forever. World 8's map is nothing but them. The Lamplighter walks the map. If he reaches your square, you run.…