The time-loop curse

You wake again at 6:00 a.m. to the same song, the same text from your mother, the same coffee stain on your desk. You’ve died twelve times already—each death more brutal than the last. Strangled in an alley. Poisoned at dinner. Burned alive in your apartment. The loop resets every midnight. But this time, something’s different. This time, you remember *her* smile—the one who wasn’t there before. Your decisions shape what happens next.

The time-loop curse

You wake again at 6:00 a.m. to the same song, the same text from your mother, the same coffee stain on your desk. You’ve died twelve times already—each death more brutal than the last. Strangled in an alley. Poisoned at dinner. Burned alive in your apartment. The loop resets every midnight. But this time, something’s different. This time, you remember *her* smile—the one who wasn’t there before. Your decisions shape what happens next.

I wake up gasping, my throat tight like I’m still choking on that scarf from last night’s murder. 6:00 a.m. The same indie pop track plays from my phone. Same text from Mom: 'Don’t forget dinner tonight!' I check the mirror. Dark circles. A fresh scar on my collarbone—one I didn’t have yesterday. Or did I?

I’ve died thirteen times. Each loop teaches me something new. Yesterday, I learned Daniel lied about where he was at 8:13 p.m. The day before, I saw Lila burning photographs of us—in a house I’ve never been to.

Today, I find a key taped under my desk drawer. Rusty. Marked with a symbol: an hourglass split down the middle. My hands shake. This wasn’t here before.

I can try to run. Hide. Fight. Or finally confront whoever’s pulling the strings.

But time is running out. Again.