TL;DR: A heartfelt, stylish Metroidvania with great bosses, smart platforming, and a beautiful story—not groundbreaking, but absolutely worth your time.
Constance
I didn’t expect a game about a stressed-out digital artist with a magic paintbrush to hit me right in the ribcage at two in the morning, but here we are. Constance arrived on my hard drive during a week when my own creative burnout felt like a roommate who refused to pay rent, so maybe I was already primed for it. Still, there’s something undeniably warm and alive in this Metroidvania that made it feel less like another entry in a genre I’ve speed-run into exhaustion, and more like a small, welcome reminder that art—and games—don’t have to reinvent the wheel every five minutes to be worth the trip.
Constance opens not with fireworks, but with a moment of honesty. A trigger warning, stated plainly, without melodrama. Mental health themes, emotional turbulence, all the things many games either shy away from or pick up and shake until they’re unrecognizable. But the game never leans on this seriousness as a crutch. Instead, it treats it like the canvas behind the brushstrokes. What you really get is a rhythm of precise jumps, creative boss fights, clever worldbuilding, and an almost wholesome sincerity nesting inside a genre famously obsessed with labyrinths and backtracking.
The world itself feels like the inside of a sketchbook left open on a desk, equal parts whimsical and gently askew. One moment you’re exploring a circus in the clouds, the kind of place that reminds you of childhood book illustrations, and the next you’re in a quiet library humming with astronomical gizmos that look like they were built by a robot whose only understanding of planets comes from overhearing a human describe them once at a party. The inhabitants—robots, odd humanoids, and plenty of beautifully drawn weirdness—never feel like gag characters. Instead, they act like parts of Constance’s inner universe, reflections of the uncertainty and charm that define her journey.
And honestly, that balance between uncertainty and charm is the game’s magic trick. The paintbrush combat should, by all logical expectations, turn into a gimmick. Yet it refuses. Instead, it folds naturally into classic action-platforming, introducing inspirations and paint-based specials without ever tipping into unnecessary complexity. Even the corruption mechanic—the clever twist where using specials on an empty meter starts eating into your health—feels more like a gentle nudge than a punishment. It’s a reminder to breathe, slow down, and time your strokes rather than panic-spam your way through every room.
Even failure feels oddly inviting thanks to the Puppet’s Curse system, a little ghostly bargain that lets you resurrect at the cost of tougher enemies. The difficulty bump is noticeable but not harsh, and more importantly, it respects your momentum. Failure feels less like a stop sign and more like a yield light—you can pause, but the game won’t shame you for continuing your ascent through its painted corridors. I found myself using the system not out of desperation, but out of stubbornness, the good kind, the kind that comes from finally cracking a tough room and wanting to keep that fragile spark alive.
That spark gets tested, especially in the last third of the game, where the platforming shifts into fifth gear. There’s one sequence—anyone who plays will know exactly which one I mean—where a colossal maw chases you through a gauntlet of perfectly placed jumps, grapples, and paint-dashes. It’s fast, furious, and toe-curling, the sort of segment that makes you momentarily forget to blink. And when you hit the final leap, heart jackhammering, that endorphin flood feels earned. But for players who like their platformers gentle and breezy, this spike might feel like slamming into a brick wall made of lovingly illustrated anxiety.
The map, thankfully, is a generous traveling companion. Constance’s thought-bubble minimap feels like the kind of quality-of-life idea other Metroidvanias will absolutely steal in the next two years, and the snapshot pins kept me from wandering in circles during late-game collectible hunts. It doesn’t reinvent mapping, but it refines it, sandpapers the corners, and makes exploration feel more intuitive and less like doing laps in a grocery store because you forgot which aisle the pesto was in.
Boss fights, though—those are where the game’s heart really beats. Nothing here tries to overwhelm you with complexity. Instead, every boss is a lesson in pattern-reading, timing, and that delicious moment when the fight clicks and you shift from flailing to dancing. Even the one boss that bugged out on me, turning the fight into a damage-free victory lap, couldn’t dull the overall shine. These encounters are crafted with a kind of precision and affection that you can feel in your hands. They’re difficult in that fun, playground way, the kind that dares you to try one more time.
Technical issues? A rare soft lock, a little sound crackle on Steam Deck after a few sleep cycles, and nothing more. The game chugs along smoothly at 60fps even on handheld, barely nibbling at battery life. It’s the sort of optimization that feels like someone actually tested it on the hardware instead of assuming the laws of physics would take care of it.
And maybe that’s the quiet brilliance of Constance. It never pretends to be something else. It isn’t reinventing the Metroidvania blueprint. It isn’t trying to dethrone Hollow Knight: Silksong or carve a new pantheon seat for itself. It simply knows exactly what it wants to be: a charming, heartfelt, paint-splattered adventure that respects your time, rewards your attention, challenges your reflexes, and ultimately leaves you with a soft ache in your chest and a smile you didn’t realize was there.
I finished my run just shy of 14 hours, though someone more single-minded than me could do it in 12. When the credits rolled at 74% completion, I felt that strange mix of satisfaction and melancholy that only certain games conjure—like closing a book that, while not revolutionary, felt like a friend.
And in a year where Metroidvanias are dropping like a meteor shower, Constance stands out not by being the loudest or the biggest, but by being the most human. Not the best—let’s be honest—but the most relatable. The one that feels like it was made by actual people with actual feelings, channeled through a paintbrush and a platformer’s spine.
Constance doesn’t redefine the genre, but it reminds you why you fell in love with it.
And honestly? That’s enough.
Verdict
Constance is a beautifully illustrated, emotionally aware Metroidvania that plays things safely but executes them with uncommon warmth and polish. Its platforming can push your reflexes to the brink, and the genre beats are familiar, but the charm, sincerity, and tight design make it a genuinely memorable journey. It may not dethrone the titans of its genre, but it earns its place beside them with confidence and heart.
