When a project page has lived near its maker for months, every line feels attached to a larger explanation. A cold reader has none of that structure. They arrive with three practical questions.
Can I play it now?
The page should say whether the build is live, where the button goes, and whether the link opens a complete game or a demonstration. “Explore the world” is not a substitute for “Play.”
What do I do?
A player role and one repeatable decision are usually enough. Run the campaign. Price the table. Choose which chapter gets your attention. Spin the click wheel. If the page cannot say what the player does in one sentence, the game may still be a mood board.
What does it cost me?
Money matters, but so do time, account creation, downloads, sound, device fit, and content. “Free · no sign-up · about fifteen minutes” removes a surprising amount of hesitation.
Evocative language earns its place after the practical contract is visible.
Use an actual stranger.
Do not explain the page while they read. Ask them to point to the play button, describe the role, and estimate the time commitment. Their errors are evidence about the page, not about the reader.
The cold-reader test is small, mildly uncomfortable, and far cheaper than shipping an elegant page whose point of view is unattached.