I remember this part fondly! It was a great conclusion, a great reveal.
Very easy to take this on surface reading-- the Princess is actually a person, and not some concept... You know, the easy reveal is that Tim is the bad guy, that you've been this bad guy all along, stalking/harassing someone who wants to be left alone. Conclusion, done.

But that's not really what's going on here at all, this is noticeably not some good-to-evil bait & switch, although it wears the trappings of it. The gameplay and visuals are misleading, even intentionally so?

World 1.

Going backwards, backwards...

Book 1.

What is the Princess? What would it mean to find it? He wants to find it, finds hints of where it is (to the North, rather than the South) in "the gloss of the lips on the screen", in "measuring the angle of the plume of a distant helicopter crash" (not on the screen?)

Finding, knowing, the Princess would reveal something momentous, but the 'light' of such a discovery would "flicker down to nothing, taking the castle with it; it would be like burning down the place we've always called home, where we played so innocently as children. Destroying all hope of safety, forever."

Whatever the Princess is, the 'other residents of the city' do not want to find her. She is some secret knowledge... If Tim, or perhaps anyone, were to find her, it would
- be bright and illuminating
- become dark
- take 'the castle' with it, also into darkness
- not make dark but burn down "the place we've always called home, where we played so innocently as children" (what does it mean to burn something down?)
- destroy all hope of safety forever

I don't think I can see anymore without completing all of the puzzles, and I don't see the need when longplays exist... I'm going to go see the rest of the game now.

I have thoughts about the way a game can hide itself, though. It was easier to release poetry in Starseed Pilgrim knowing --- wrongly --- that only a small number of people would read it. Maybe it is a way of dealing with fear without dealing with it. To demand others put the work in before you share with them the inside.

The Princess must be in another castle.
I've never met her...
Are you sure she exists?

World 6.

In this world . . . I have lost some measure of faith in the design of these puzzles . . . not that I don't think they're interesting, but I've lost faith in the rewind power, the ability to control time to solve puzzles. They have been getting more and more elaborate: I am not interested in that. In some way this is terribly appropriate. In Book 2 -- World 2 -- we were naive, we thought controlling time could solve all our problems easily. Now we see that the problems become more complicated in order to meet our ability. By World 6, controlling time is no longer a power but a burden.

The ring. What is the ring? I might say that the ring is another power. When Tim took it out . . . it made for more complicated puzzles. Harder problems.

I preferred the game when the ring was hidden away.

The levels, the puzzles, saw the ring and now I must "[trace] a soft path through their defenses. But this exhausts [me], and it only works to a limited degree. It doesn't get [me] what I need[.]"

Book 6. Hesitance

What is the ring? He hides it away because it complicates interactions. People hesitate when they see it. He prefers that people not hesitate. On the surface, this seems like it suggests infidelity. But what is the ring?

World 5. Many puzzles. The music here is more solemn, and I often succeed by abandoning my past self. Or, really, my parallel self. As Shadow Tim, I do something which must be done in another timeline in order to help Foreground Tim in his timeline. Decisions.

Book 5. Time and decision. Books in opening.

There are only two books here. It is a brief book. Tim leaves her to find the Princess. Who is she? Here 'she' and 'the Princess' are (finally?) decoupled. 'She' is a passive thing here, resigned to love him anyway, even though she was being left, abandoned.

It's funny how the doorway to Book 4 is on the very rightmost edge of the screen. Upon exiting I find myself walking into the right wall of the overworld. Makes me think - is Book 4 the end of the story somehow? Am I rewinding by going to Book 5 and/or 6? (btw: Which to do first? It's interesting that I finally have a choice. I check out the ladder that goes up. I saw it earlier, and its coloured blocks . . . it looks like I need all the jigsaw puzzles complete to get up there. What is up there?)

Book 4.
It's a neat mechanic, always thought it was. Can't believe it's so well executed. I like the level "just out of reach" where the end of the music box's tune, too, is just out of reach. The music in this area is very different, as mentioned it is music box-like. Fitting, because you make it go by moving right. It is great how the music responds to the time control in all these worlds.

There are some good puzzles in here! I am a big fan of how this 'movement, amplified' thing is used exactly once. This is all the mechanic needs.

I skipped the Fickle Companion level.
I noticed a sideways Aleph-1 in the art. Why?

The jigsaw puzzle here is a childhood home.

Book 4. Time and place. Books in opening.
"If she exists --- she must! --- she will transform him, and everyone. . . . her scent fills him with excitement, creates a moment so strong he can remember it in the past."

I am beginning to think that the Princess is not a person, but (somewhat unfortunately, given the history of this type of reverse-objectification) a concept. I hope this is not the case though.

Aside from this, it seems that we are moving into the past . . . there is an interesting idea presented here of places that 'take you back'. Time and memory are interwoven -- before, time was used to forget (subjectively rewind, so that one can remember something another does not). Now, time is used to remember, but it's not presented in the most positive light.

The future always seems better than the past. The present is more comfortable than the past; the future is more attractive than the present, something which is always being reached for. The Princess is there in the future, somewhere. The idea of a hopeful future, inspiration, ambition . . . these present emotions are instead seen as memories of a better future.

Then there is the idea of wandering from place to place, to catch that inspirational future-memory, to catch the scent of it. If a place holds memories of a worse past, then it also holds memories of a better future.

Book 3 finished.
The dinosaur at the end (the Toad stand-in. Why a dinosaur? Why the cute bunnies that get all evil and angry? Why are the goombas these little rock fellows?) doesn't seem to know who the Princess is . . . affected by the time-forgetfulness, maybe?
I killed the boss enemy in its Lair, and felt a twinge of regret. For the most part I felt like these puzzles were a little more laborious, less breezy. More effortful. The twinkling green mechanic of 'things unaffected by time' were chosen carefully - there were very rare situations where I regretted permanently changing something green. Aside from the boss fight (where i felt the mild regret of 'killing a thing') everything was a gentle setback, a tiny annoyance, at best. 'oops, whatever, it will take me another ten seconds.'

I have started to think about the jigsaw puzzles. What do they depict? This one has a guy with a wineglass. It is focused on the wineglass(es) and some plates.

Walking by the puzzle pieces is the same feeling as starting Book 2 without being able to start Book 1. On the one hand I'm helpless to do anything but accept that I'm starting somewhere 'wrong', I'm missing some piece of the whole. On the other hand I'm accepting of it. I move on.

Interlude:
I went to sleep and woke up. My thoughts about gameplay . . . they linger. How did playing Book 2 make me feel?
How did it feel to play through it the first time ever? How does it feel to play it now?
Now it feels gently familiar. It feels easy, but not too easy. I'm solving puzzles. I bump into tiny problems -- Oh, this goomba guy, I have to rewind because I killed him too soon.

I have to walk past a few puzzle pieces because it's unclear how to get them. (In fact I remember that they are not possible to get yet; I need to get future puzzle pieces and do the puzzle later in order to get them.) This doesn't frustrate me. I move on. Maybe there is a naivete to this feeling . . . I don't have to solve all these problems! It's all good!

What is the place of everything within the whole? Not 'regret' but 'power over regret'. I make a mistake, I can easily undo it, I can try again, it takes only a little bit of time. Some things are not solvable, but this is not because of mistakes . . . it is because I'm missing something fundamental.