Voicewright

This is one of those rare interactive stories where a simple object — a copied fragment — carries the emotional load of an entire city. The sensory writing is exquisite: I could feel the filament hum and taste the resin as Asha worked. The moment the fragment names her mentor and contains her younger voice is chilling; it reframed every interaction with that mentor afterward. I loved how silence and small domestic details (buttons in a drawer, a child's secret about a roof cat) sharpen the stakes instead of distracting from them. The choices are morally messy and feel real: withholding memory can protect people but also perpetuate injustice, and the game doesn't hand you an easy answer. Beautiful, thoughtful, and quietly devastating.

I appreciated the craftsmanship of the prose but the narrative promises more than it delivers. The opening scene is excellent — the sayors, the child's cat confession, the bell that 'remembers' — but the arrival of Mrs. Ellin and the municipal commemoration are introduced and then underused. The political intrigue (the city's deliberate forgetting) is fascinating on paper, yet the game never really explores institutional reasons or consequences; it's treated more like a backdrop than an active force. Asha herself is sympathetic, but secondary characters (the mentor, members of the collective) remain thin. For players who prioritize atmosphere and language over tight plotting, this will work; if you want layered political intrigue, you'll likely feel let down.

Cute concept, beautiful sentences, but I'm left wanting actual consequences. The story leans into 'moral ambiguity' like it's a substitute for stakes; Asha agonizes, we get pretty descriptions of tools and glass, then... decisions. Fine, but the consequences felt muted. The clandestine collective is intriguingly sketchy, but why are they so persuasive? Why does the city learn to forget in the first place? I kept waiting for a hard payoff and felt like I got a soft shrug instead. If you adore atmosphere and don't need plot claws, this will be your jam. If you want payoff and hard choices with teeth, maybe skip.

I wanted to love Voicewright more than I did. The premise is excellent — a craftsperson who restores voices and must decide whether to reveal forgotten truths — and the atmosphere is spot-on, but the pacing drags in the middle. After that evocative opening, the plot gets a little too conversational and the central clash (mentor vs. collective) feels telegraphed rather than earned. The fragment that names Asha's mentor is a great hook, but the subsequent revelations don't escalate in a satisfying way; several choices lead to similar emotional beats rather than divergent outcomes. Also, some plot threads are left dangling: the municipal commemoration looms but doesn't land with the weight it seems to promise. Worth experiencing for the prose and the worldbuilding, but expect a slow burn and a few disappointments.

Gorgeous little gem. I laughed (softly) at the cat confession on the fragment — who knew a hidden feline could make a restoration scene so tender? The workshop details are lovingly exact; I could smell the warmed glass. The story's moral core — keep memory or keep peace — is delivered through Asha's hands and the choices you make. Gameplay felt smooth: your decisions actually change how people remember the city and each other. Also, shoutout to Mrs. Ellin's careful entrance — tiny, human, immediately sympathetic. Took me about an hour, and I kept thinking about it for days 🙂.

Short, quiet, and powerful. The opening workshop scene set the tone — the soft ritual of repair, the tiny labors of restoring voices — and I was hooked. I particularly liked how the bell on the door is described as 'remembering' to interrupt; small language choices like that make the whole piece feel lived-in. Asha's dilemma is handled with restraint: the fragment that names her mentor and keeps a younger voice is haunting without being melodramatic. The interactivity is just enough to let you feel responsible for the outcome. I finished feeling unsettled in the best way.

A precise, well-crafted piece of interactive fiction. The mechanics of voicecraft — sayors, filaments, the brass tweezers with the nick — are more than ornamentation; they inform the stakes and the puzzles. The fragment that stores Asha's younger voice and names her mentor is a terrific narrative device: it creates immediate, personal stakes without resorting to melodrama. I appreciated the political backdrop too — the municipal commemoration and the city's taught forgetfulness — which made the choice to restore or withhold feel consequential. I did wish for a slightly longer exploration of the clandestine collective's methods, but that's a quibble. Overall the prose is economical and sensory, and the branching felt meaningful rather than tacked on. Recommended for anyone who likes morally ambiguous choices grounded in tactile worldbuilding.

Voicewright grabbed me on the second paragraph and wouldn't let go. The way the workshop is described — the calibrator's click, the warmed glass, the filament responding to breath — felt tactile enough to reach out and touch. I loved the small human moments, especially the child's looped confession about the hidden cat; that made Asha's craft feel intimate and necessary, not just clever worldbuilding. The moral tug between mentor and the clandestine collective is quietly brutal: when Asha holds the fragment that names her mentor and contains her younger voice, you can almost feel the weight of the choice. As interactive fiction it balances player agency and narrative consequence really well; my choices made quiet, painful ripple effects. One of the most thoughtful, atmospheric IF pieces I've played in a long time.