It's easiest to describe Forgotton Anne in terms of other games: It's a platform game like the original, original Prince of Persia, but without the death -- in fact, I don't think you can die. It's also got some Monkey Island-esque exploration scenes, and dialog-based dilemmas crop up throughout. Then there's a generally simple, puzzle-based component to slow down exploration and eke out the story. These center on the Arca, your font of power as Enforcer of this fictional realm of forgotlings. Strapped to the palm of your hand, the gadget has the ability to draw Anima (magical sci-fi MacGuffin energy) from batteries, engines and even pesky living objects if you're feeling dark.

It'll also power your winged accessory that adds height and distance to your jump. You'll need it: Platforming puzzles typically center on the give-and-take of carrying and discharging Anima energy, while still being able to traverse the world with some wing-assisted jumps and climbs.

The world itself is a place where lost items like clothes and furniture live on, apparently waiting to be reunited with their owners in the Ether, which is framed as the world all these objects came from. However, Anne, who you play as, is one of only two humans, and the other one is a surly older man named Master Bonku, who seems to run the entire place -- what's going on?

Anne is tasked with sorting out issues between forgotlings, and the game kicks off just after a rebellious faction of scarves, shoes, mannequins and more attack facilities and shut down power. In the first few scenes, you encounter a decision about how to deal with a deceptive scarf. Without spoiling things, you can choose to end him or let him get away. While the game doesn't signpost it, most of these decisions lead to repercussions later. We're not talking Mass Effect levels of branching storylines and consequences here, but the story gives the player a bit of choice, even if Anne is kind of frustrating (and dull) as a character -- at least until later.

Fortunately, the supporting cast of talking objects is charming. The developers have distributed plenty of international accents and dialects to ensure every object you talk to feels, to be honest, far more fleshed-out than they need to be. A few examples: There's an excessively mellow lava lamp that slowly talks in a California slur, the rapier-wielding mannequin has a British accent to go alongside his rakish behavior; an old-fashioned folding camera has the wizened grandmotherly voice you might expect.