There is no hope. It has gone, snuffed out with the most recent inconsequential disappointment, a blackened wick where a flame once flickered with brazen, defiant life. It didn't happen in one day, of course. It never does. When we are children, our hope is infinite, or at least closer to our naive ideas of infinity. But life shaves away at it with a subtle blade of disappointment, one transparent onion-skin at a time. In that murderous moment, we look and smile at the cut's lack of consequence, barely marking its passing. Until, one day, there is so very little onion left.

At some point we awaken in a cold, dark place where light and warmth and companionship once thrived. Or at least we imagine they did. But did they ever? Nihilism slips in to whisper, "No. They never did, and even were they to manifest, it would not matter."

Just when we are at our lowest point, lying on the cold tiles, bottle in hand, lights off because we neither wish for (nor believe we deserve) the dignity of light, something stirs in the darkness: a whisper of movement, a prickle tickle as delicate as the first snowflake, movement upon one outstretched finger.

Our phone is nearby, of course (what is nihilism without social media to reinforce it?), so we fumble the light on with the hand which did not receive the playful itch and pan the beam up to see what foolish thing has dared to stow away in our little black hole.

A moth has alighted upon one hand. Its wings are partly furled, a roil of iridescent cyan and magenta. Two fuzzy antennae rise from above its vast eyes, swaying to unknowable, alien rhythms. The creature has no idea that we have given up finding any meaning in this world. It does not know that when we smile it is one without humour, rueful and bitter. It cares not for our wellbeing, but nor does it hold any malice for us. For now, we are a convenient, safe perch, free of predators, free of threat. We are - whether we like it or not - useful.

There is something compelling about this beauteous creature's utter indifference to us. It exists despite the firm conviction that there is no hope, no light. And for a moment there is a spark of something within us; delight. This little visitor is so very unexpected, and in return expects nothing from us. It simply 'is'.

Then, it occurs to us that tomorrow could bring some other event filled with simple delight. In fact, perhaps many of the elements of our daily life could be considered surprising or even delightful.

'Could'. There is a gamble in this word. Surely, wagering against the chance of a pleasant event is the very definition of hope?

Sitting up in the phone's light, we watch the moth spiral up and away into the gloom of the bathroom's corners. Even when all is lost, a subtle event can shift perspective, and with that the entire world tilts.

Sometimes you get features in Moonring that you had given up on.

- Multiple joysticks are now supported, so playing on a Steam Deck plugged into a TV should work.